#im going to tell my kids this is notebook

[doinggreat]

[ef-1]

girlhood

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The School is Calling

You got a call about your kid(s) fighting at school ... this can't be good .... or is it? [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

Principal: Your child got into a fight during lunch

MC: who started the fight?

Principal: That's not important the important thing is your daughter brutally beat up another child

Zayne: What was the fight about?

Principal: Another child took her fruit cup

MC: Is this the same kid who put slime in her hair two days ago?

Principal: Yes but-

Zayne: Is this the same kid who's been taking her notebooks for the last two weeks

Principal: well you see-

Zayne: This sounds like a case of bullying and it seems as though you and your staff have done little to discipline a student who has been bullying our daughter

Principal: I assure you we have a strict no bullying poli-

Zayne: It's not strict enough.

The principals lips snap shut.

Zayne: Now violence is not the answer, but this sounds like a case of self-defense you along with your staff need to handle the bullying problem you have in this school

Principal: ....

Zayne: Are we done here?

Principal: Yes we're done here sir sorry to bother you two

MC: Don't be sorry be better

Rafayel

Principal: Your children got into a fight during recess

Rafayel: Damn *turns to his kids* did you two win?

Your children rapidly nod with big smiles on their faces.

Rafayel: Hell yea! up top!

Principal: Sir this is not a good thing

Rafayel: Did they start it?

Principal: Well no

Rafayel: So they finished it?

Principal: Sir

Rafayel: Good talk ... tell your students to leave my kids alone now if we're done here im taking them to get ice cream

Rafayel walks outside with the twins in tow and finds you leaning against the hood of the car.

MC: So?

Rafayel: They didn't start it they finished it and they won

MC: That's what I like to hear ... Ice cream?

Rafayel & the twins: ICE CREAM !

Xavier

Principal: Your child got into a fight during P.E.

MC: Who started it?

Principal: That's not important here

Xavier: Answer the question.

Principal: ........The other kid shoved your child into the wall

Xavier: Which explains the bruise on his elbow

Principal: Your child then proceeded to punch the other kid in the mouth knocking his tooth out

Xavier: Sounds like self defense

Principal: Your son busted that kids lip sir

MC: Maybe that kid should've kept his hands off our son

Principal: We can't have your son fighting it goes against everything we stand for

Xavier: My son has told you and your staff multiple times this kid was being mean to him and you've done nothing

Principal: We've done everything we can

Xavier: No you haven't you let it slide until he stood up for himself and showed that kid that his actions have consequences we're done here

Sylus

MC: I just got a call from the school, but I won't be able to make it up there in time Sylus: I'll go I'm not busy MC: Okay let me know how it goes

Principal: Im sorry to inform you that we're going to have to suspend your daughter

Sylus: Why.

Principal: She tied up a student and stuffed him in a locker

Sylus: Why.

Principal:*mumbling* He .... He ripped one of her braids out

Sylus: Speak up.

Principal: Another student pulled her hair and removed a braid by accident

Sylus: If I do recall my daughter has reported this kid pulling her hair multiple times

Principal: Yes but we can't have her fighting

Sylus: She didn't fight .... she overpowered him and showed their difference in strength

Principal: but-

Sylus: You're lucky she doesn't like picking on the weak ... don't bother me or her mother with these trivial matters again ... lets go little dove

MC: How did it go? Sylus: Just a friendly chat nothing serious MC: What did she do? Sylus: Made me proud

[mrdixon]

Shut it

pairing: established daryl dixon x f!reader

wc: 5.9k

summary: pretty much trying to make Daryl jealous GONE WRONG !!!!

warnings: 18+ content, swearing duh, hair pulling, fingering, rough sex, p-in-v, unprotected sex, squirting, little bit degrading, some spanking,,,,

A/N: GOD this took way longer than it shouldve but writers block makes me want to shove my fingers in my eyes. anyway i hope this was worth the wait because i do not enjoy this as much as i should. BEWARE not fully proofread so i may come back to edit things im just so fucking tired and wanna get this out asap. also i personally dont believe that daryl would be the type to be this rough during sex but a guy can dream…

masterlist!

Daryl was never the jealous type, he trusted you and your decisions so there was no point in getting jealous. He had you, you both knew it. So when a certain man in Alexandria started pursuing you, he didn't pay much attention.

It sort of bothered you, feeling kind of guilty that you wanted your boyfriend to be jealous. You guessed it was just cause you wanted him to be possessive, but he wasn't like that. He cherished you, held you carefully. Sure he liked people knowing he was your boyfriend, but he wouldn't go as far as to mark you up or do something rash in public. That didn't mean he didn't care about you, hell he loved taking care of you and loving you. He just preferred to keep your intimate life private.

You were outside in the front yard tending to some flowers when the guy pursuing you, William, walked up.

“Hey, (Y/N).” He grinned down at you, making you have to look up at him. Squinting from the sun in your eyes, smiling.

“Oh hey, what brings you here?” You replying in a friendly tone, wiping the dirt off your knees before standing up and taking your gloves off. You could feel William’s eyes trail down your body and you mentally eye rolled.

“Just… y’know. Hanging around, taking a walk… Whatcha’ up to?” He murmured, clearly distracted.

You laughed sarcastically, “just fixin’ up these flowers. Couple of kids ran over them yesterday.” William nodded absentmindedly, staring at everything but your eyes.

“Uhuh… poor dog…” He mumbled, clearly not paying attention to anything you just said and it took everything in you to not just flip and slap him across his stupid face.

The front door opened, Daryl walking out with his crossbow on his back, covering those angel wings on the fabric of his vest. You looked up at the sky as if thanking some kind of god for sending Daryl to save you. Though to your misfortune, he wasn’t staying for long.

“Jus’ goin’ out huntin’,” he murmured gruffly and kissed your cheek briefly, nodding towards William before walking down the street towards the gates. Your eyes trailed after him sadly while your shoulders slumped, nibbling your lip to stop yourself from calling him back.

“Uh (Y/N)? I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me to pick some berries later, I could even make you a pie with them if you’d like…” William broke through your thoughts and you thought for a bit. One half of you was telling you to say no, but the other half sort of wanted to make Daryl jealous. Or at least try. Ultimately you decided on the second option, this could be fun…. right?

“Sure, later then?” You smiled at William, watching as he looked down towards your chest again, a slight scowl appearing on your face.

“Mhm… I’ll pick you up later then,” he mumbled. You immediately broke out into a smile once he looked up at you again, you just nodded before turning towards your home. Your smile dropping once you entered the house.

The hard part was getting through the afternoon with William, the aftermath with Daryl would surely be the best part.

You sat in the kitchen, doodling in your notebook as you waited for William to come pick you up. Around this time Daryl came home, removing his muddy boots knowing how much you hated when he made a mess in the house before walking into the kitchen to find you with your back to him. You could feel his gaze trail down your body, keeping still particularly around your legs, which were shown off by the shorts you were wearing. Unlike William, you quite liked when Daryl stared at you like this.

You giggled once he came up behind you and wrapped you up in his big, strong arms. Planting soft kisses along your neck and exposed shoulders. “Mmmh… ma girl dress up fer me?” He grumbled, turning your chair around to get a closer look at you. You felt a sense of pride as he bit his lip, admiring your legs, more specifically your thighs which he squeezed affectionately. You weren’t wearing anything extremely extraordinary per se, but it was new to him. You usually covered yourself up for no particular reason, maybe it was your subconscious teasing Daryl since you knew how much he loved seeing you, every part of you. You were just simply wearing a lower cut tank top along with some jean shorts you pulled up in the back of the closet.

He grunted, moving his lips underneath your jaw and planting teasing kisses there, causing you to giggle, “I didn’t dress up for you… I’m going out.” You smiled, rubbing the stubble at his jaw with your thumb.

He jerked his head back slightly, furrowing his brows. “Goin’ out without me?” He snorted jokingly, running his fingers through your hair, gently massaging your scalp which elicited a soft moan from you. “Sounds like you wanna stay home wit’ me…” He huffed, kissing your neck again more forcefully. His hands squeezing at your sides as if trying to convince you to stay home.

You groaned, pushing him back, his hands sliding down to your hips. As much as you’d like to stay home and continue this with him… You were on a mission. And it was to make this man in front of you get jealous. It was like your one fantasy about him, treating you like you were nothing but his. Using you to satisfy his needs, fucking you roughly…

“Sorry baby, I promised to help…” He narrowed his eyes at the nickname but shrugged it off, instead frowning. Rubbing circles into your hips.

“Who ya goin’ with?” He mumbled, burying his face into your neck. Gently pecking any skin he could get his lips on. Your shoulders shook softly as you chuckled, your fingers in his hair.

“William, he asked to help pick berries so he can bake us a pie.” You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about it.

“Err William, the guy you were talkin’ to earlier? The guy who has a painfully obvious crush on ya?” He furrowed his brows questioningly, was it finally working?

You rolled your eyes, “well yeah. That doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with him though, right?” He narrowed his eyes, moving his hands down to your thighs and shrugging.

“Guess so, wha’s the harm in that?” He murmured, rubbing his thumb against the flesh of your thigh. A spark of warmth pooling into your stomach at the gesture, “jus’ be careful. I trust ya, I don’ trust him though. I see the way he looks at ya.”

You sighed, slightly disappointed you couldn’t wring out a bigger reaction from him. Nodding in understanding you responded, “yeah I know. But don’t worry he’s a good guy, I can see it.” You lied smiling, hoping he wouldn’t see through you. He squinted at your defending of William, but again he shrugged it off.

“Well alrigh’, have fun then.” He kissed your cheek, removing his hands from your thighs. The warm feeling leaving you with his hands. You stood up, closing your notebook and wrapping your arms around his neck. Kissing him tenderly, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kissed you back happily. His arms held you in place as his kisses moved down to your chin and onto your neck, softly suckling at the skin causing you to giggle and squeeze him back.

The knock at the door catches you both off guard, Daryl letting you go reluctantly after kissing your lips briefly. You sighed not wanting to leave him but you knew you had to if you wanted to see a jealous counterpart to your boyfriend. As you walked towards the door he gave you a small pat on your ass, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

You grinned at him before opening the door, William’s eyes immediately blazing down your figure. You could hear Daryl snort behind you causing a smirk tug at the corners of your lips. Deciding to tease Daryl a bit you chuckled at William, “like what you see?”

William was caught off guard by your comment, obviously never hearing you give in to his advances, “oh yeah very much…” You smirked, nudging William playfully.

Daryl stood still behind you, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. “Yeah you bring ‘er back before 7 pm. An’ don’ try anything’,” he said jokingly, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone.

William straightened up, he was well aware of your relationship with Daryl but it never stopped him. “Of course… I’ll make sure she’s well… taken care off.” He hovered his hand onto the small of your back, you took the opportunity and placed his hand firmly on the area. Smirking at Daryl.

“I’ll see you later then…” You grinned, placing an arm around William’s shoulder. You cringed in your head, doing all this with William was probably fueling his desire for you. The thought sickening. But by the look on Daryl’s face, it was working. His eyes narrowed, nodding slowly while he nibbled the inside of his lip. He waved to you, keeping an eye on William’s hand on the small of your back while he shut the door to your house.

You sighed deeply now that you were alone with William, slowly moving out of his grasp discreetly. The man grinned at you which you returned with an awkward smile. Now for the hard part, actually hanging out with this guy.

After an agonizing 3 hours of picking berries while flirting with this guy he finally brought you home, after 7 pm, just so Daryl can get a bit more angry about that. You knocked on the door, hearing heavy footsteps come closer before Daryl opens the door.

“Hey… it’s like 8pm,” he murmured, kissing your cheek. You smiled, turning to William.

“Oh well I just had soooo much fun with William, he is such a great guy!” You exclaimed over enthusiastically which Daryl found odd but he shrugged it off, eyeing the man behind you. Who was licking his lips while looking down your back.

“Is that so…” Daryl mumbled skeptical of you two. The other day you were just complaining about how creepy this dude was, and now you’re talking him up like he’s the best person in this fucked up world?

Your eyes twinkled once you realized your teasing was getting to him, deciding to push it and hug William, reluctantly giving him a kiss on the cheek. He of course, hugged you back happily, his hand trailing lower down your back….

You gasped as Daryl grabbed you before William could touch you further. “Okay tha’s enough, goodbye William.” He grunted and slammed the door in his face.

You bit your lip in anticipation, looking up at Daryl who was fuming. “Hun…?”

“What the hell was that about?” He grumbled, pulling away from you. You tilted your head innocently, walking up to him.

“What do you mean?” You asked gently, running a hand down his chest. Which he grabbed forcefully, throwing it back.

“You think tha’s funny?” He growled lowly, his eyes glaring at you enraged. You chuckled, not taking this seriously because it was what you wanted. Stepping towards him with a seductive look on your face.

“Aww is my Daryl jealous?” You hummed playfully. He stared at you in disbelief, running his hand through his hair, a loud grunt escaping him as he paced the room. Your face dropped immediately, definitely not the reaction you expected.

“Tha’s what that was about? You tryna get me jealous? Yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me girl,” he spat agitated. You just stood there looking down at your fingers, not expecting this to backfire so badly. “Shoulda jus’ fucked him at that point. The asshole was practically fucking ya with his eyes.” He growled lowly, pacing around you.

“I didn’t mean to—” You started softly.

“Didn’t what?!” He yelled causing you to flinch, he rarely raised his voice at you. Just by this action alone you knew he really was angry, not just frustrated, pissed. Off.

“I just wanted to… get you angry,” you mumbled, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Well ya did, happy?” He grunted, standing in front of you with his hands on his hips. A stern look on his face, “I didn’ even care if ya wanted to hang out with the guy. But goin’ as far as to kiss and touch up on ‘im. Not fuckin’ funny. Especially when ya’ve been complainin’ about him all week, wha’s wrong with you?”

“I didn’t… actually kiss him y’know…” you argued softly, looking down ashamed of yourself.

“Not the point. It’s the fact that you, flirted, acted invitingly, and even kissed a guy on the cheek who’s been tryna get wit’ ya, invitin’ him fer more. Hence the way he almost grabbed your ass. You led him on, purposefully to get a rise outta me.” He said through gritted teeth, his gaze piercing.

You sighed, realizing how out of line you’ve been acting. Your own lustful desires leading you to act out stupidly. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this to go this far.” You whispered, looking down embarrassed.

He took your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. Fury flashing through his blue eyes, his breathing heavy. “I bet,” he grumbled, harshly letting you go before walking upstairs to your shared bedroom. You stood downstairs, beating yourself up mentally for acting like an idiot. The door to your bedroom slamming shut as Daryl locked himself up upstairs.

You groaned, digging your palms into your eyes frustratingly. Not liking the outcome of this at all, instead you were left needy, ashamed, and with your boyfriend angry at you.

A few days passed and Daryl was still rightfully so angry at you, ignoring you and giving you the cold shoulder. Still, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed. Was he really that angry?

You found your boyfriend outside on the front porch sharpening his knife, his muscles flexing slightly by the force he used. The longer he stayed angry at you the more desperate you got. You were practically aching for his touch, to feel him against you.

“Dar?” You said quietly, stepping out onto the porch. He didn’t turn his head but you could see his eyes shift up towards you, grumbling something you couldn’t quite make out before returning his gaze on his knife. You frowned once you realized he was ignoring you again, moving to sit down next to him, to which he immediately stood up and holstered his knife. “Can you just talk to me?” You sighed exasperated.

“Dun’ wan’ ‘ta talk.” He mumbled, stepping into the house. You followed him in, slamming the door behind you. Daryl spun around, glaring at you. “The fuck do you wan’?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Can we just talk and be fucking mature about this?”

“Yer one ‘ta talk,” he grumbled under his breath to which you rolled your eyes at.

“I said I was sorry, I really am Daryl! But you’re being so unfair, you won’t even kiss me.” You threw your arms up before running your hands through your hair, all he did was roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Whatever, you pull tha’ shit on me then you get what you get,” he grunted before turning to head into the living room. You watched your boyfriend’s back angrily as he exited from the conversation.

“Fine,” you grumbled to yourself, stomping upstairs. If he wanted to play this game then you were too, wanting to see how long it’d take for him to snap. Rummaging through your closet you decided to put on a very, very short skirt. Wondering to yourself as to why you even have this in the first place, well first time for everything. You made sure to put on a pair of panties that you knew for sure would drive Daryl crazy, finally finishing the outfit with a tight fitting tanktop. After looking at yourself in the mirror you snorted, you looked ridiculous for sure but maybe it’d work.

You made your way down the stairs quietly, walking with a little sway in your step. Daryl wasn’t shy about his attraction to your body, he loved having his hands on you so you were curious to see what he would do seeing you like this. Especially having not touched you for days now. You moved swiftly into the living room where he was sitting on the couch smoking, you felt his eyes immediately shift over to your body, a shift from where he was sitting.

“Wha’ are ya wearin’?” He grunted, his voice a slight rasp while he looked you up and down. You turned to him, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips.

“It’s a little hot today… s’all.” You chuckled, moving towards the disc rack. It held a lot of cds for music, the two of you never played anything because of how outdated it was but you went over to look at it anyway. Hearing the way he choked once you bent over to check out the bottom of the rack. You moved onto your knees, reaching under the rack to grab, nothing. There was nothing under the rack, but his breathing was getting heavier and you knew he would give in soon.

You sat on your knees, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him. Smiling once you met his eyes, he was already looking at you with parted lips. His cigarette sat between his index and middle finger, nothing but a mere object as he already forgotten about it. His leg crossed over the other while his eyes started at your own, slowly moving down to your lips. Then the swell of your neck, down your back, and of course over to your ass which was peaking out from under your skirt. He swallowed thickly when he noticed the lace fabric of your panties, contrasting beautifully with the colour of your skin. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, from the look in his eyes you knew he was aroused. You just had to push him further to get him to actually act on it…

You stood up slowly, making sure to flash him a little of your panties. He coughed, putting out the cigarette as you walked up to him. Slow and seductive. However he kept his eyes ahead, you would’ve scoffed if you were still in a mood but you were far too aroused to do all that. He was stubborn and you praised him for it, after all you were both the same. You lightly traced your fingers up his forearm, towards his bicep, and then over his shoulder. Standing behind him as you leaned down next to his ear, “what’s that look for?” You whispered low and sultry.

“Wha’ do you think yer doin’?” He murmured quietly, his breathing shortening. You smirked, placing a soft kiss under his ear, his breath hitching as you do that. “(Y/N).” He said lowly, your hands moving from his shoulders and down the front of his chest, slowly making your way down to his belt. Looking over his shoulder and noticing the huge bulge in his pants, a sense of pride flowing through your body at the effect you had on him. He uncrossed his legs due to the tightness in his pants, groaning softly as your hands moved down towards his thighs, teasingly avoiding his erection.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whispered in his ear, causing him to shudder back onto the couch. His breathing shallow and hot while one of your hands moved towards the erection.

“Don’t.” He muttered, grabbing your wrist. He flicked your hand back away from his crotch, suddenly getting up and turning to face you. His eyes were narrowed and full of fury, but most importantly. Lust.

His piercing blue eyes looked at you with a hungry gaze, stepping around the couch to stand closer to you. Nibbling the inside of his lip as he stared at you, especially your exposed thighs. He abruptly picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder carelessly, causing you to shout out in protest. “Daryl! Put me down!”

”Shut it.” He growled lowly which for sure shut you up quickly. He moved through the house with ease, walking up the stairs and making his way towards your shared bedroom. His fingers dug into your thighs possessively which drew out your excitement even more, wondering what he would do to you. He walked into the bedroom with you over his shoulders, shutting the door with his foot and throwing you onto the bed, eliciting a small yelp from you. Your eyes were wide when you met his own, his jaw clenched at the sight of you laying on the bed in the provocative outfit. He grunted, crawling onto the bed and up to you. Rough and calloused hands gripping onto your thighs as he pushed them apart, a raspy groan leaving his mouth as he saw your soaked panties. “This whatcha’ want?” He murmured with a hint of amusement, running a finger over your slick covered panties.

“Daryl,” you gasped, closing your eyes. His free hand shot up to grab your face harshly, your eyes opening in shock.

“You look at me, ya ain’t gettin’ outta this one easily girl.” He drawled, letting go of your face as he removed his finger from your panties, “and I don’ wanna hear a word from tha’ pretty little mouth of yours unless I say so, ya hear me?” You nodded slowly as you met his intense gaze.

“Good girl,” he murmured which had you throbbing around nothing. His hands grabbed at the collar of your tanktop, ripping it off your body easily. You gasped, wanting to scold him for ripping it but you kept quiet as to not anger him even more. His eyes rolled back in arousal when he saw you weren’t wearing a bra underneath the top, “such a fuckin’ tease.” His hands groped at your breasts, your nipples hardening under his touch as you let out a quiet moan. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on one of them, licking around the bud before biting down harshly. A loud groan left your lips, causing him to growl and pull away.

Your eyes searched for his while you panted softly from the loss, his hands gripping your waist and flipping you over onto your stomach before grabbing your hips and lifting them up so your ass hung up in the air. “Hold yerself up baby,” he grunted. You did as you were told, placing your hands underneath you and onto the bed while pushing yourself up so you were on your hands and knees. Blushing profusely from the position you were in, trying to turn your head to look back at him. He slapped your ass once, a groan escaping you at the contact before his hands started pulling off your skirt, tossing it onto the floor haphazardly leaving you in your lace panties.

He sat up on his knees, teasingly running two fingers over the waistband, lifting it off your skin only to let it go and have it snap against your hips. You jolted slightly, one of his hands rubbing your ass softly before slapping it again. He leaned closer towards your ear, biting your earlobe before whispering gruffly, “don’ think ‘m gonna be gentle tonight. No, you got yerself into this.”

You whimpered as he pulled away, a big hand grabbing at the crotch of your panties and ripping them apart. The same hand running its fingers through your slick causing you to moan, your arms shaking momentarily. It didn’t take long before two thick fingers plunged themselves into your tight entrance, the sudden intrusion causing you to cry out, “Daryl! Wait!”

“Shut up,” he grunted. Forcing his fingers in and out of you roughly, the pain mixed with pleasure only made you wetter, groaning softly. The obscene noises of his fingers thrusting into you at that speed echoed through the small space of your bedroom, your moans getting louder as you got closer to your orgasm.

But just as you were about to reach that sweet release he yanked his fingers out of you, bringing them up to you and shoving them into your mouth. Immediately your tastebuds were met with the taste of your own arousal, “suck.” He growled lowly to which you obliged, sucking on his fingers that were covered in your juices. He groaned as your tongue slithered between his two fingers in your mouth, reaching down to adjust himself in his pants.

He removed his fingers, moving behind you once more and giving you a little tap on your bum. While you kept your head straight forward, looking at the wooden headboard. You heard the clink of his belt being undone, soon pulled out of his belt loops. You breathed heavily out of your nose once you heard the sound of the belt being tossed aside, hitting the floor with a slight thud. The heat pooling between your legs was getting hotter, throbbing with need as you waited patiently. Your arms were burning from holding yourself up while your stomach swirled with anxiety and excitement.

You heard him shuffle behind you, his pants soon joining the rest of the garments on the floor. His eyes were on you the entire time, though you couldn't see it, you could feel it. By the way his breathing deepened seeing your pussy clench at nothing, the way a low purr sounded from the back of his throat, and the way your skin burned from his lustful gaze. When it got a little too silent you turned your head back, you eyes immediately meeting his. He peered at you through his eyebrows, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up over his elbows. Biting your lip when you saw his forearms, sprinkled with random tattoos here and there. Ones you’d kiss over when he'd make gentle love to you, but it would be different this time.

You couldn't look any lower from the position you were in, settling to look back at the headboard. Which had definitely seen better days. A small gasp left your lips when his large hands suddenly grabbed at your hips, engulfing them completely. His touch wasn't gentle. His calloused hands rubbed at your hips harshly, squeezing and pinching your sides resulting in you mewling softly from the tinge of pain. Suddenly, a slap sounded through the room as his thick cock landed on your ass. A low groan escaping him as he slowly rocked himself against you, rubbing his length between your asscheeks.

“Daryl….” You whined, moving your hips back against his cock. His hand made contact with your ass again, the slap echoing through the room as he pulled his cock away from your ass.

“Wha’ did I say?” He drawled lowly, rubbing the area he just smacked, spanking you once more causing you to jolt. “Answer me.”

You whimpered at the sting, your skin turning a bright red. “No speaking unless asked…”

He spanked you again on the same buttock, eliciting a moan from you this time. “See? Ya know the rules so why do ya not listen?” He tutted you, hitting your other buttock. He sighed, placing his thumbs on the folds of your pussy, spreading them and teasing a finger at your entrance. Just circling it around, not entering you. “Yer such a bad girl.”

You whined, trying to push back on his fingers, desperate for something to ease the ache in your core. He pulled back once again, slapping your pussy. The action sending a wave of pleasure through your body though it was harsh, a quiet mewl slipping out your mouth. Your arms were slowly getting tired of holding yourself up, moving down to your elbows which made your back arch. He grunted, running a hand down your back and into your hair before suddenly gripping it, pulling you up harshly against his chest. You cried out in pain, his lips against your ear while his fingers remained gripped in your hair. “Yer not listening again. I told ya to hold yerself up, so do it.”

He threw you back down, your eyes teary as you placed your hands down again to hold yourself up. His hands found place on your hips again, the rough feel of his palm against your skin made you shiver. One hand left you to grab his cock, teasing it around your clit. “Ya wan’ me to fuck ya, don’cha?” He murmured teasingly after hearing your impatient whines. He chuckled, finding your desperation amusing. “This is wha’ ya wanted, isn’ it?” He slapped the tip of his cock upwards against your clit, your wetness only fueling the sensation further.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he murmured, circling his tip around your entrance. The longer he teased you, the more you were willing to speak up. You moved back on him, his cock slipping into you slightly before he hissed and pulled out.

“Jesus fucking christ can you just fuck me already?” You snapped, earning a spank from him once again. You groaned, already sick of his teasing. “Daryl if you don’t—”

He suddenly shoved his whole length into you, the stretch painful as he started thrusting in and out of you hard. Not giving you any time to adjust to his size, crying out. “If I don’? Yer just gonna find someone else to fuck ya?” He growled gruffly, his hips snapping against yours.

Pleasure soon overpowered the pain, a loud moan ripping itself out of you. He groaned in response, squeezing your hips as he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, making an erotic symphony that heightened the both of your arousals. “Not gonna answer me? You’d jus’ let anyone fuck ya huh?” He grunted, the tip of his dick hitting closer towards your sweet spot.

You cried out once again, tears of pleasure brimming at your waterline, shaking your head at his question. Your fingers gripped onto the bedsheets below you, your biceps burning which made you just want to drop down onto the bed while he fucked you senseless. His fingers found themselves in your hair again, tugging you upwards so your back was against his chest, growling into your ear.

“Wha’ was tha’? You’d let anyone fuck ya, righ’?” He grunted, thrusting up into your sweet spot, eliciting a loud whine out of you. “Yer such a filthy slut, ya know tha’?” He bit at your neck, leaving a mark that was going to be hard to cover.

You clenched around his cock at his words, shaking your head slightly while he tugged your head back further against his shoulder. “No…” You moaned weakly, the pain from him pulling your hair was even more arousing than you thought. The tears in your eyes spilling over and down your cheeks.

“Yeah yer mine… This pussy?” He mumbled, reaching down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, your back arching as you cried out in ecstasy. “This pussy is mine, only mine ya hear me?” He let out a primal growl, tugging your hair once more.

“Yes! Yes Daryl only yours!” You cried out pathetically, your walls clamping down on his cock as it moved in and out of you at a punishing speed. He grunted approvingly, releasing his grip on your hair which caused you to fall over, landing straight onto your face into the pillows. His hands then gripping at your ribcage, just under your breasts as he pounded deep into you, hitting that same spot over and over again. “Fuck… Oh shit, Daryl..” You whined into the pillows, the bed creaking under the movements.

He pulled you up again, his hands still under your breasts while he whispered in your ear. “Ya gonna be a good slut for me now?” He grunted lowly, you nodded vigorously as moans continued to escape your mouth. “No one can fuck you like I can.” And with that he held you just enough to push himself deeper into you, making sure you feel every inch of his cock invading your tight heat.

The small space of your bedroom soon shifted into a safe, intimate haven in which you two created. Full of your moans and his grunts, skin slapping against skin, while the bed rocked under your movements. You felt a familiar feeling building up and you knew you were close, clenching around him as your moans got whinier and breathy.

He groaned, feeling your walls tighten around him, thrusting deeper into you. You whined at the feeling, anticipating the soreness you’d feel in the morning. “Daryl…” You whined, “I’m gonna cum.”

He growled, pulling you up against his chest again, a hand near your throat while the other moved between your thighs. “Ya really think ya deserve to cum?” He groaned, his breathing a little ragged from his own orgasm building up. His fingers moved to play at your clit again, tugging it as he thrusted sloppily into you. “Go on.”

You mewled softly, turning your head to his. He grunted, his lips meeting yours messily. Shoving his tongue into your mouth and exploring the depths of it while bringing you both closer to the edge. You bit his lip, earning a whimper from him as your walls clenched around his cock, reaching your climax. His hands jumped up to your breasts while you screamed in ecstasy, pulling your nipples while speeding up his pace.

Your back arched, the pleasure getting overwhelming as he continued to delve deeper, abusing that sweet spot inside of you. “Fuck! Daryl too much!” You cried, reaching back and grabbing his hips. But it didn’t stop him.

“I told ya, ya aren’ gettin’ out of this easily,” he grunted, his hips maintaining his pace while you felt something else squirt out of you. The slippery liquid slipped out of your pussy, slithering down the base of his cock and onto the bedsheets. A rough moan tearing through your throat before collapsing down onto the bed, feeling him pump his cum into you.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, stilling inside of you as he emptied out inside your cunt. He chuckled, pulling out of you and letting the rest of your body fall onto the now wet sheets. “Haven’t seen ya do that before,” he sighed, patting your ass before falling down next to you. “Ya got wha’cha wanted?”

You looked at him tiredly, the tears on your face dried, your voice too hoarse to even respond. Settling for a gentle nod and a small, “I win.” He chuckled, shaking his head before leaning back and closing his eyes. He was also extremely exhausted.

You lay there, unable to move and felt his cum slowly drip out of you. It almost felt uncomfortable but you couldn’t be bothered to get up and clean yourself, wanting to lay there and sink into the sheets. You sighed contently, scooting closer to him and burying your face into his chest. He grumbled, his arm wrapping itself lazily over your waist. You smiled to yourself, closing your eyes as you felt the rush of satisfaction. Sure you were going to feel absolute pain once you woke up, and maybe you wouldn’t be able to walk or speak for a while. Nevertheless you had finally got yourself fucked rough by a jealous Daryl, who was no longer mad and pushing you away. The issues led up to something amazing for the both of you. Maybe you should get him angry more often.

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦𝔦

summary. a train ride to one's demise alongside an addict and a capitolite. only to be followed by a flowery attempt at beautification as to be flaunted like cattle to your soon-to-be butchers. what a lovely way to go, though, right?

content warnings. mentions of addiction, abuse, exploitation, nudity, and murder.

total wc. 10,802

notes!! i'm gonna so honest rn: i rewrote this entire chapter 5 different times. my writers block did, in fact, return after writing last chapter. surprisingly, the push it took to get my thoughts flowing again was getting drunk for new years. so! yay for alcohol! (im kidding) (no im not) anyway. once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

21:23.

DISTRICT FOUR’S TRAIN.

Seductive. Smart. Dull. Funny. Strong. Fragile.

There are infinite ways one could present themselves to the Capitol prior to the Games. The catch, however, is that whichever of these facades is chosen must be completely reliable; mustn’t be a doubt whether the tribute can withhold the mask. Usually, this is something that the tributes’ mentor is burdened with — figuring out how best to please the Capitol. But your mentor is Ruben and, seeing as you’re not exactly on talking terms, you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands. Plus, nobody knows you better than you know yourself. This should be easy.

Except it’s not. You’re good at wearing masks in front of authoritative figures. You’d done it all your life for your mother. So it’s really just a matter of which of these facades will work best. And you’re coming to realize you don’t know yourself at all. How could you, anyway? To perceive oneself is nonviable. You know how you look and where your mind resides on certain topics, sure, but you’re oblivious as to how others deem you. You’d never really had friends, what with your parents’ belief that other children will taint you. Do people think you’re funny, attractive, strong? You haven’t a clue.

You tear yet another piece of parchment from your notebook, balling it up in your fist. 

I’ll come back to that later. You tell yourself, despite knowing you won’t be doing any such thing. 

The room you’ve been given is rather remarkable, considering it’s on a train. You have your own private bathroom and dressing quarters. The space is smaller than your bedroom at home, but you honestly prefer it this way. You don’t feel nearly as suffocated, despite the irony of the size to tolerance ratio. 

The floors are hardwood, perfectly cleaned by virtue of the Avoxes aboard. The wallpaper is tan with floral designs, small metal windows providing evidence to how unnaturally fast the train is moving. Though you’ve long since shut the curtains, as the speed made you dizzy. You’re currently sitting at a wooden desk, a plethora of papers and notebooks flooding the surface. Your thoughts are running at a speed of which rivals that of that train. You’re trying to puzzle everything out within one night, think it best to have a plan laid out. 

You pick up your pen once more, tapping it against the newly blank page as you ponder on where to redirect your attention. There’s so many things to be solidified — how your stylist will dress you for the parade and interview, how you’ll manage to survive the arena considering, what to think of what Ruben told you regarding the other tributes, what life you’ll lead after returning back home. Will you get married or will you remain a Capitol diamond all your life, forever single in order to remain desirable to them?  

You’re about to resume your mental mania when a knock is heard at your door.

With a heavy sigh, you push to your feet and head toward it. You open it only a few inches, just enough to poke your head out. Alice Reymond is standing in the hallway, a plate of food in her hands and a freakishly white smile on her face. 

You open the door wider to allow her entry. She saunters in, nosily peering around as she takes in the sight of your current living quarters. Her nose is upturned in judgement of the mess, though she doesn’t dare utter a word. Instead, she moves to place the plate atop an open book on your desk. You grimace at the sight of the steaming dish resting on the delicate pages.

“Oh, I hope the meal is up to your standards. I’m sure, as a L/n, you’re fed only the best Four has to offer.” Says Alice Reymond as she begins an unprompted spiel about, well, who knows what. The assumptions she makes about you cause you to bristle, though you remain silent. “I gave very strict instructions to the Avoxes, informing them to make sure the food is as perfected as possible. Though you can never trust an Avox. I mean, they’re made into silent servants for a reason, yes?”

She falls into a tangent following that, one that entails elongated complaints regarding the Avoxes and the loathing she holds for them. You’re forced to bite your tongue so as not to shout at her for withholding such ignorance. But you should’ve expected such idiocy from a Capitolite of ehr standing.

You find yourself tuning her words out, smiling and nodding as she practically talks to the wall. Her chatting flows from one topic to the next like a never ending river of panache. All the while, your meal grows cold with neglect atop your residually blank notebook.

You’re only brought consciously into the conversation when she speaks Ruben’s name. Your head snaps up, now deeply invested.

“—I’ve worked with him for years, you see.” She says. You suppose that’s true as she’s the escort to his mentorship, the two of them working as a pair to train the yearly tributes and attempt to bring them home. Frankly, you haven't a clue how Ruben can tolerate her when she talks so fucking much. “I think I’ve come to know him rather well, due to this. But, in all the lovely years spent in his company, I’ve never since witnessed such seclusion. He’s hardly eaten since the Reaping and prefers to hole up in his room rather than speak with me as he usually does. He’s not taking care of himself and I’ve begun to worry.”

“He’ll come around.” Is all you can think to say in response. 

For some reason, her claim to know him oh so well sparks a sense of irritation in your chest. You’re aware that your irascibility is due to more than her mere claim of rapport with your brother — it’s due to the Reaping, to your mother, and to your lack of ability to do everything yourself. 

But gall is a creature of impulsivity, rearing its head in the most accessible direction possible. And, at the moment, the easiest target is Alice Reymond and her lack of affinity. It takes everything in you to hold that tangible feeling back, gritting your teeth as you bite your tongue. Though, like the dull magnate she is, the woman continues on, completely heedless to your rising temper.

“Perhaps.” She hums, though it’s evident that her worry for Ruben’s recluse remains ceaseless. What she says next plucks the final thread that’d been holding the leash around your animalistic gall. “At times, he feels like a brother to me, y’know? That’s the kind of relationship—”

“Get out.” You interrupt, the tether snapping like a twig. The sharpness to your tone mocks that of your mother’s, only further fueling your rage as you scowl at the Capitolite before you.

Her overly large eyelashes blink dumbly, “What?”

“I said, get the fuck out.” You repeat, lip upturned with disgust as you take a threatening step toward her. Her eyes grow comically wide as she registers your words, surprisingly hasty to put the pieces together.

“Oh, dear,” She bleats, “I didn’t mean—” “Out!” You shout, voice reverberating off the metal walls of the train. You sound so similar to your mother that it makes your stomach churn. You vaguely wonder if Ruben had heard you, possibly mistaking your voice for hers.

One good thing comes out of it, though, and that’s Alice Reymond’s swift exit. She shrieks, turning on her heel and quickly traipsing out the door. 

A week. You’re expected to live like this for a week.

Not always in the train, of course, but always in the company of three people — First of which being Ruben, your mentor, who you’ve yet to speak a single word to. The heavy tension between you two is nigh palpable whilst surrounding your proximity, albeit rare. Second being Alice Reymond, the nosy escort who can’t seem to mind her own damn business. In the past two hours, she’s asked you about fifty questions regarding your family, your financial decisions, and your relationships with certain people. And lastly, Remy Wilson, your fellow tribute. He’s, admittedly, the most tolerable of the bunch. You pity him greatly due to his being Reaped at such a young age. And, despite having nothing in common and not having said a single word to one another, you’re pretty sure the two of you have come to form an alliance of some kind. Wordlessly, of course.

See, after being separated from Ruben in the Justice Building, you and Remy were led to District Four’s train station. There, hundreds of cameramen were buzzing around the both of you, trying to get the clearest shot for the Capitol news. They reminded you of bugs; pestering and obnoxious. Not to mention their appearances. It’s kinda funny, the way the Capitol treats the people of the Districts as less than human when they’re the ones that look like monstrous deformities.

Under the flashing lights, your mother’s voice rang through your mind. “Back straight, chin high, eyes level, brows set.” She’d repeatedly told you this, slamming her cane into your spine to ameliorate your posture. You had been so occupied trying to recall each technique your mother had beat into you that you nearly failed to descry Remy. He was hiding behind your dress. He’d done so with such subtlety that nobody else noticed, this act being made especially easy when you were unintentionally taking up most of the reporters’ attention. 

You glanced back, catching sight of his watery eyes and rapid breathing pattern. For a split second, a voice in your head told you to shove him away. Catering to a kid would be a look of weakness, of vulnerability. But nobody was even looking at him; they’d be unable to deem you weak if they hadn’t seen the act to cause it. Plus, the voice in your head sounded oddly like your mother. And you’ll be damned if you abide by her senseless rules in her absence. 

You then flicked your dress, flashing the gemstones on your waist. The cameramen gobbled it up, taking a million more photos. Though, unbeknownst to them, you’d only done so in order to fully shield Remy from their sight.

Knock knock knock. 

You’re broken from your thoughts at the sound of a second visit to your bedroom.

You’d just begun eating, having returned to your prior endeavor of mapping out every plan for the Games possible. You’re not very hungry, though, so you hardly mind the interruption in regards to dinner. But you’re still irritated at Alice Reymond and don’t particularly wish to see her so soon after your last interaction. Not wishing to stand up again, you simply call out for her to enter. 

But it’s not her whose voice reaches your ears. It’s Ruben’s.

“Alice sent me to tell you that the Reapings are about to be aired.” He says, voice uncharacteristically rough. Perhaps he hasn’t been taking care of himself. “She claims that the two of you got into a ‘squabble’ of some kind.”

You spin your chair to face him. There are bags under his eyes, his lips chapped. Worry settles in your chest at the sight. Though the moment you recognize it, you squash it beneath feelings of distaste.

“I’ll be out in a bit.” You reply, surprised to hear how steady your voice is.

He pauses, appearing as though he wishes to ask you something more. Probably what you and Alice Reymond could possibly have argued over. But he never voices it, instead giving a curt nod before shutting the door.

Upon his exit, you release a heavy breath.

You don’t hate Ruben, despite how much you sometimes wish you did. Frankly, you don’t think you could ever hate him. When your parents were abusive, Ruben protected you. He raised you. And for that, you’ll forever be in his debt. 

When you were six and Ruben was eleven, your father was Reaped. He won his Games, as expected, and thus began the lush life of a diamond. He still lives in District Four, but he’s a full-blown Capitolite in every other sense. He became so obsessed with the life of wealth and riches that he never returned to normalcy.

The closest you’d gotten to having a conversation with him is watching his interviews on the television — which you did a lot as a kid. He was presented to the public as a sweet man and a loving father, wearing that mask so well that you nearly believed it in spite of how he’d treated you.

You and Ruben lived with your mother for two years. She trained you two so strictly than it was more rare to go to sleep sweaty than it was to not. From dawn to dusk, you’d train. Just in case you two were Reaped. This was the height of your relationship with Ruben. You only had each other. 

You’d sneak into his room at night, loathing the vastness of your own bed. You’d stay up until midnight, laughing into the darkness. Then, at dawn, you’d be woken together by your mother and made to train as one. Whether you got food depended on how well you’d performed. If he were to be punished, you’d sneak some bread into your pocket and give it to him when you’d slip into his room at night. And vice versa.

Though that relationship didn’t last long. When Ruben was thirteen, it was his name to be pulled from the bowl. You screamed and cried, the cameramen gobbling up the image of an eight year old sobbing over her big brother’s sealed fate; of a L/n showing such raw emotion. Your mother, however, was not pleased. She threatened to forbid you from visiting him in the Justice Building. Though, as it turned out, she had at least a small ounce of morality in her heart because she ended up allowing you to say goodbye.

“Don’t leave.” You’d pleaded, crying into his chest as his shirt became soaked with your salty tears.

“I’ll come back.” He promised. “You know I will.”

He hadn’t lied then. He did return, though he wasn’t the same. Never again would he be the same. He was distant and oftentimes thrashed out on you when you tried to be around him. One night, two months following his return, you were sleeping beside him when you awoke to a pair of hands around your throat. Ruben was choking you. Luckily, your mother intervened before he could kill you, though you were left with bruises around your neck for a week. 

He was a child; you both were. He could hardly be blamed for having nightmares considering all he’d been through during the Games. To have been forced into killing people at such a young age… it’s no shock what befell him. 

You insisted you’d forgiven him, but he never forgave himself. Because, after that, he moved out of your family home and into his assigned house in the Victor’s Village. He was only fourteen, living all alone in that mansion of a building.

He’d visited home often, though that dwindled as well over time. Then, when his Victory Tour rolled around and he’d visited the Capitol, that’s when he officially became a diamond. They loved him so much, infatuated with all he entailed. And, due to having been so young and so deprived of love from his own parents, Ruben became just as obsessed with the lush life as his father before him. The more time he spent with Capitolites, the more he mimicked their etiquette and behaviorisms. And, at some point along the way, he became addicted to Capitol-enhanced drugs at a young age. One of his creepy “friends” made the drug specially for him, to rid him of memories regarding his traumas.

Nothing that happened was his fault and you know that. 

But you were a child yourself, left all alone in that house of horrors. Alone with your mother, given no explanation to why your beloved brother left so abruptly. To be nine years of age and abandoned twice is no small feat. Not to mention the way your mother spoke of Ruben and your father, cursing them for having left. It gets to a child’s head. And, eventually, you came to resent him.

Whenever you saw Ruben on TV, he was smiling and talking about how much he adored the Capitol. And all you could think of, in those moments, was how vehemently he’d once hated them for having stolen his father away. No, your father wasn’t a good man, but he was still your dad. Even more so to Ruben than you. Due to this, Ruben should know better than anyone how badly his own absence would affect you. 

And that’s what hurt most — he knew leaving would ruin you, and he did it anyway.

“There she is!” Alice Reymond grins as you enter the living room.

Everyone else is already settled in, three couches surrounding the television. Two single chairs and one triple cushioned sofa. Alice and Ruben sit in the chairs, postures perfect and movements impeccably graceful. Your mother would be gushing over her son’s flawlessness. The thought makes you frown. On the larger couch, Remy sits alone in the fetal position. His legs are hugged against his chest as he peers over his knees at the TV. He looks every bit the helpless child that he is. You move to sit beside him, leaving an entire cushion empty between you two.

You seem to have arrived at the perfect time because the Reapings begin playing just as you settle down. They begin with One, going through each of the other Districts until ending on Twelve.

Ruben hadn’t mentioned the tributes of One, causing you to assume they’re unimportant. Oh, how wrong you’d been. Anthea Solace is the first name to be called. A small girl, sixteen years in age, walks up to the stage. Her hair is dirty blonde, her face contorted into one of wonder as she overlooks the town square. Next to be called is Thalia Thatcher. You know who she is the moment you see her as she looks exactly like her older sister, Thea, who was the victor of the 68th Games six years ago. Thalia appears absolutely elated to be Reaped, a viscous grin on her face.

The screen cuts away from One and moves onto the next District.

Ruben told you about the tributes of Two — Lev and Yara. Siblings. Yara is called up first, walking onto the stage with a raised chin. She appears even younger than Anthea Solace from One, though she stands with such valor. This bravery quickly fades when her younger brother’s name is called. Her face drops as he walks up to the stage, taking his place at her side. They look absolutely distraught to have been Reaped. The Capitol must hate that, their humanity. This assumption is proven correct as the program flicks to District Three the moment Yara begins to shout in protest. No shock there, the rush to get away from the pain that the Games induce.

You were informed of Three as well. Sam and Henry. Another pair of siblings. Their Reaping is far more peculiar than Two’s, though. Sam’s name is called and Henry volunteers for him in a heartbeat. Sam screams for his older brother as he’s yanked onto the stage. Though, right after, Sam’s name is called a second time, something unheard of. To have one’s name called twice in a single Reaping? It’s outlandish. Henry’s act of volunteering proves futile by Sam’s second name call. Henry’s eyes are wide with horror as Sam walks onto the stage. The cameras are cut off just as Henry begins screaming at the escort who Reaped them both.

Next is Four. Your District. You watch as Remy’s name is called, the boy beside you hiding his face in his knees as he refuses to look at the screen. Your name is pulled next, the entire square going silent as you walk up to the stage. From this angle, you’re able to see the trepidation that floods Ruben’s face as you exit the mass of people. You hike up your navy dress as you ascend the stairs, careful not to lift the hem above your ankles. As you turn to the crowd, you’re rather pleased to see that your expression is blank, appearing more bored than anything. Good. Had you cried or screamed, the Capitol would know of your agitation. You relish in knowing that they’re clueless to how you feel at this moment.

Ruben told you about Five’s tributes as well. Best friends, Ariadne Evans and Selene Jones. They both seem to be around the age of eighteen. Ariadne is called up first, a woman with jet black hair and bright green eyes. She ascends the stage with a set jaw and darkened gaze. Selene is the polar opposite with platinum hair and brown eyes that glint with something akin to hope despite the situation she’s been thrusted into. They’re the face of perfectly balanced dualism, yin and yang. Though they’re both wise enough to keep their emotions shielded from the cameras.

District Six you heard of as well. They’re the ones in a relationship. Archie Bardot and Roland Jennings. The two men stood side by side in the crowd, hands clasped together. Archie’s name is called first, his eyes wide and glossed over as he’s yanked to the stage and away from his boyfriend. Roland screams, the sounds guttural and ringing through your ears; pure agony, fear. The escort utters not one syllable of the second tribute’s name before Roland is volunteering in their place, yearning to be with his lover despite knowing the pain it’ll bring them both. 

It’s horrible. It’s absolutely horrible that they’re put in this situation, that anyone should be put in this situation. Though, before you’re able to fully register the awfulness of Six’s Reaping, the program moves onto Seven. 

Ruben told you about this pair as well. Another duo of best friends. Riley Abel is called up first, her coiled hair tied back into a low bun at her nape. Her gaze is condescending as she approaches the escort. You recognize the expression all too well; this girl is pissed. Whereas most tributes exude fear, sadness, or even avidity, Riley is irate. The next name to be drawn is Ellie Williams, a girl with short auburn hair done half-up. Her eyes are light green, mocking the hue of Seven’s leaves. Freckles fan across her tanned skin. She’s wearing a wrinkled linen shirt and a pair of worn out jeans. You almost laugh at the sight of such laxity in her outfit. Ellie walks onto the stage with wide eyes, a faraway look to their viridescence. It’s not long before Riley grabs her by the hand and lifts it into the air. 

You instantly wince, knowing exactly the intentions of such an act. To others, this may look harmless. But it’s the very opposite. Tributes are meant to be enemies. Duos are being called together this year, likely in hopes that they’ll turn on each other and provide the Capitol with a good show. But Riley doing this is a direct defiance against the Capitol, a clear way to say ‘Fuck you, your plans to separate us are idiotic.’ It’s smart in the fact that only certain people will understand its gravity. But it’s impulsive and thereby foolish.

The cameras cut quickly after the show of repudiation, flicking over to District Eight. 

The first name called up is Raven Hansley, a girl with frizzy brown hair and doe shaped eyes. She looks so small on stage despite clearly being older than you. Ashley West is the second tribute, a girl with fiery hair done into a braid down her back. She wears something strange on her ear. You only realize what it is when a ginger man — who you assume to be her father — turns to her and does something weird with his hands. Sign language. She’s Deaf. Your heart drops in realization that they’re Reaping a Deaf girl. Is that not immoral? Ashley seems rather strong, though, as she nods curtly to her father and then walks up to the stage with a hardened expression. Frankly, she looks more resilient than half the other tributes. 

District Nine Reaps Elliot Delcan, a blonde boy with circular glasses and dopey hazel eyes, and Whitney Sato, a girl with a slick back bun atop her head. Whitney is quick to shove something into her jacket when her name is called. It looked almost like a game system, though you’re unsure how someone from Nine would get their hands on that.

From Ten comes Nolan Barlowe and Violetta Yaxley. Nolan is huge in the muscular sense of things. His shirt appears too tight for his biceps as he walks to the stage with a wicked grin. Violetta, on the other hand, is nigh impossible to read. She looks terrified when her name is called, though she looks bloodthirsty once she’s on the stage. Perhaps she changed her expression for the camera? Or maybe she truly did have such a hasty change of heart? Who knows.

Eleven offers two children. A small boy named Cooper Whitlock and an even smaller girl named Dahlia Hart. Dahlia has poofy black hair that form two buns atop her head and big brown eyes that are glistening with tears. Her hands fumble together in front of her as her bottom lip quivers. The mentor for their District, who you believe to be named Dina Woodward, reaches forward to comfort her. The show of humanity causes the scene to be cut short.

District twelve, last but not least, Reaps two old men. James, who has a scar down his face and a heavy beanie atop his head, and David, who had a thin beard and huge red nose. You briefly wonder why Twelve Reaps such old men, as they appear to be in their forties, then you see that the crowd is mostly middle aged people. Twelve is the lowest District and thereby the poorest. They barely have enough food to scrape by; it’s no shock if they simply don’t have any kids to offer up.

The program ends with the anthem playing solemnly.

The room is silent for a long time, none of you knowing exactly what to say. There’s so much to address — the amount of pairs, the vicious boy from Ten, the Deaf girl from Eight, the show of defiance in Seven, or, most hauntingly, the two lovers from Six.

With so much to take in and process, one thing rings through your head loudest. The Capitol wants a show this year.  And with who they’ve Reaped, it’s no doubt that they’re sure to get one.

22:00.

DISTRICT SEVEN’S TRAIN.

The program hadn’t even ended when Riley stood from the sofa and stomped off to her room. Eleven’s Reaping was being aired and, upon the sight of such young children being drawn, Riley left. Ellie can’t blame her for this, of course. Seeing such a display of cruelty is rather hard to stomach. 

But, the thing is, Riley has been acting off for a while now. In fact, she hasn’t yet spoken a single word to Ellie since the Reaping. And, considering they now only have each other, this act of neglect is infuriating. What with Cat’s departure and Marlene’s peculiarity, Riley was supposed to be the break in that. The calm to the chaos. Instead, she’d done nothing but add weight to the burden on Ellie’s shoulders.

Ellie only realizes she’d missed the entirety of Twelve’s Reaping when Joel powers down the screen with a huff. 

Joel Miller has proven to be a strange man. He’s easily irritable and drinks a lot — though he claims that he always remains sober enough to do his job as a mentor. Ellie’s not so sure that’s true. Setting alcoholism aside, he’s not too bad. He’s got a country drawl, the Millers having come from the deep South before the formation of the Districts. He’s not talkative, but doesn’t shut down conversation when it’s offered to him. Ellie can’t tell if he hates her or not.

“Fuckin’ Four.” He curses under his breath, tossing the remote onto the coffee table with a scoff. “‘Course one of them had t’ be Reaped this year.”

“And Ruben’s sister, no less.” Chimes in the escort — whose name Ellie has found to be Tilly Reymond. The Capitol woman huffs, nose upturned in displeasure. “Oh, I’m sure my sister is rapturous beyond her wits about this. Not that she has many.” 

Ellie has no clue who Tilly’s sister is, though she doesn't dare ask when both she and Joel appear so vexed.

“Alice is always pleased when one of ‘em is Reaped.” Joel points out, leaning back in his armchair with a distasteful expression. He crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed. “Only adds t’ her inestimable mountain of wealth.”

The two continue to complain about Four’s tributes, speaking without providing context. Ellie finds herself swimming in lack of information, completely lost on what they’re talking about. Tilly’s sister, some guy named Ruben, some girl in a navy gown, etc etc etc. It’s dizzying. After a few more minutes of cluelessness, Ellie finally cuts into their conversation.

“Okay. What the hell is so special about Four’s tributes?” She asks. She’d watched the same program they did. Though, to her, all she saw was some rich girl and a teary-eyed little boy.

The two of them face her with mirrored expressions of shock. Joel is the first to speak, tone laced with annoyance. “Don’t play dumb, kid. We ain’t got the time for this.”

“I’m not playing dumb!” Ellie exclaims, her own annoyance spiking.

He scowls at her before pushing to his feet And, without another word, he exits the room. Ellie continues to seethe, sitting on the sofa with a glare despite the person of cause no longer present. She scowls at the doorway he exited through.

Tilly turns to Ellie with comically wide eyes. Her hair is green, done up in a star-shaped braid that balances crookedly on the top of her head. Her eyes look upside down, having only the bottom row of lashes made three inches long. A Capitolite, she is. And, even more so than that, she’s terrifying. All of them are, having been shifted into humanoid concepts of people rather than natural beings. The Capitol always has a new style trend, each more insane than the last in terms of unattainability.

“The tributes Reaped from Four are Remy Wilson and Y/n L/n.” Tilly explains. Her voice is so gentle that Ellie nearly feels bad for having judged her for being a Capitolite. “Remy isn’t the one that causes such fret. It’s the girl. The L/n.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of the family.” Ellie brushes her off. “Dunno anything about them aside from the fact that they’re crazy rich.”

“You don’t know why they’re rich?”

“Nope.”

“Oh dear,” Tilly hums, lips thinning as she ponders on how exactly to explain. “The L/ns are Capitol diamonds, you see. Reaped more commonly than any other family in the country, they’ve built a long line of tributes in the Games. The catch, however, is that they’ve all come out victorious.”

“All?” Ellie questions, finding this hard to believe.

“All.” Tilly confirms with a solemn nod. She then holds up a hand to her side, counting on her fingers as she lists off your esteemed relatives. “Ethan L/n, victor of the 32nd Hunger Games. Cassiopeia L/n, victor of the 38th Games. Emiliana L/n, 42nd Games. Lysandra L/n, 47th. Penelope L/n, the oldest of their living lineage, victor of the 50th Games — the second Quell. The Capitol adores her. Yasmin L/n, 54th Games. Elina L/n, 57th. Then, for the 60th Games, Y/n’s father was victorious. Two years following his victory came his son, her brother, Ruben L/n, for the 62nd Games. Theodore L/n for the 64th. And now, for the 74th Hunger Games, ten years after the last one of them was Reaped, there’s Y/n L/n.”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, her mind struggling to keep up with Tilly’s unprompted history lesson. Truly, all she managed to process just then is that this family has a lot of kids. She shoots Tilly an incredulous look. “And you’ve memorized them all?”

The woman simply shrugs, “They’re diamonds, Ellie. Everyone has memorized them.”

“Not me.” She points out.

“Well,” Tilly tilts her head, “You’re the only one.”

God, these Games are even more insane than Ellie has initially deemed them to be. She knew they were malicious, everyone knows that, though some people choose to ignore it. Children are killed and starved for entertainment. Nothing should shock her considering that. But here she is, mind unable to keep up with even more lunatic information thrown her way.

An entire family tree memorized by almost the entire country purely because they’re inherently skilled at murdering people. What the fuck? But yeah, Ellie’s the weird one for not having all of their hundred children known by heart.

And what’s worse is that one of these crazed L/ns will be tossed in the arena with her. With Riley. Does Riley know about this? She probably does, but that doesn't stop the worry from seeping into Ellie’s chest at the thought. Had Ellie not known of this, she’d likely have not thought the navy woman to be any different from everyone else. She would likely have died for her lack of care for the Capitol. Perhaps that’s the point. 

Before she can spiral further down the rabbit hole that is her mind, a soft gasp escapes Tilly’s lips, pulling her attention back to reality. The woman moves toward the window of the train, her upside down eyes impossibly wide as she looks outside. She pulls the window open with a loud thud. She attempts to poke her head outside, though her hair is too large to fit.

They’re in the Capitol now, crowds of people swarming the tributes’ trains as they coast down the tracks. Despite Ellie’s loathing for the Capitol, her curiosity gets the better of her and she ends up walking over to the glass alongside Tilly.

It’s gorgeous, the Capitol. Skyscrapers stretch high above the clouds, built into a plethora of colors, the entire city bursting with vibrance. Below the skyline, is a huge crowd of people. They’re all just as silly looking as Tilly, their hairstyles larger than their heads and their makeup reminding her of  clowns. Their clothes are industrialized, some people wearing literal paper or leaves or other unfathomably odd fabrics.

“Wave!” Tilly says, placing an excited hand on Ellie’s shoulder. Ellie shrugs her off with a scoff, wordlessly refusing to do such a thing. Tilly frowns, “They’re here to see you! One wave or one smile could go a long way, y’know.”

Ellie looks back out the window, scowling at the mass of people. “They’re here to see me before I’m in a casket, you mean.”

Tilly groans, “Is it so hard for you to be pleasant?”

“Yes.”

“They’re clueless, you know.” Tilly says, tone far more somber than that of before. “They’ve been conditioned to enjoy this. Just as you’ve been conditioned into loving the woods as a person of Seven; just as those in Four are conditioned to love water; just as those in Twelve are conditioned to fight for scraps. Everyone is equally as controlled by the president’s thumb.”

“Yet the effects of such control vary in morality.” Ellie points out harshly. “Capitolites are controlled into enjoying the death of children and eating feasts until they puke whereas Districts are controlled into offering their kids to the Games and be well off with eating only a crumb. There’s a colossal difference between the two.” 

Tilly says nothing for a while after that, only frowning. Then, after a few minutes of silence, she says, “Y’know the word Capitolite is offensive,” and walks away.

Her lack of reprimanding in response to Ellie’s entire spiel speaks more than a lecture would have. In her last six words of acknowledgement, she manages to point out yet another thing that Ellie has been ‘conditioned’ into. Something harmless to her yet the opposite to others. Everyone in Seven refers to them as Capitolites. Since when was that offensive? Perhaps it’s always been, Ellie oblivious to it just as they’re oblivious to their malice. 

But she can’t process it. They love the Games, gathering ‘round the television to watch twenty-four innocent people fight to the death. They relish in the gore of it all. Something like that can’t be controlled, she feels. Something so malicious can be altered if one cares enough to do so.

But they don’t. 

8:33.

REMAKE CENTER.

Tributes are to meet their stylist today for the Chariot Parade. Ellie, however, already knows who Seven’s is to be this year. 

For the first time ever, she dreads seeing Cat’s face.

“No need to be so nervous!” Tilly says kindly, taking notice of Ellie’s fidgeting fingers and weary expression. Beside Ellie stands Riley, her face hardened. They still haven’t spoken. “They’re just going to make you nice and pretty. Then you’ll be paraded around as an introduction to the Capitol.”

They're currently in a building called the Remake Center, though it feels more like an asylum than anything. The walls are white concrete, the floors and ceilings both made of shiny tile. There are two rooms on either side of the one they’re currently waiting in. Behind one of those doors is Cat, waiting.

Joel is nowhere to be found, though Ellie supposes that’s a good thing. He’d probably manage to get into an argument with the stylists about one thing or another.

“So you’re saying we’re to be flaunted about like cattle?” Riley asks dryly. “Makes fucking sense.”

Ellie says nothing, her hands continuing to pick at the skin around her nails. Marlene would always tell her to drop that habit because it made her fingers look dirty, but the stylists will probably create her new ones anyway. 

“See, that’s what we’re not going to say.” Tilly replies pointedly. 

Though, before she could say anything more, Riley and Ellie are being pulled into separate rooms by their respective designers. As she’s being led away, Ellie looks over her shoulder. A small ounce of her hopes that Riley will be looking back as well. But she’s not. 

“Here, here,” Says a male voice she doesn’t recognize, “Have a seat.”

The man gestures behind him where a metal table resides. A mini mattress is placed atop the table, pure white in color with a thin, crinkly sheet embodying it. It adds a hospital-like effect to the entire situation, making Ellie a bit uncomfortable. Despite this, she obliges and sits on the mattress. The room is exactly like the rest of the Remake Center, white in every place, made of tile and concrete.

The man stares at Ellie, looking her up and down with intense eyes. It makes her feel like some sort of animal to be tested on. She supposes, in his eyes, she likely is.

“Ah, sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable!” He apologizes. His hair is bright blue, matching his vibrant makeup. “I’m Clay, your designer, aka your stylist’s helper! She should be here shortly. I’m going to prep you, and she’ll dress you.”

Ellie nods, a bit dazed by it all. “Yeah, okay.”

“Perfect.” He chirps, clasping his hands together with a kind smile. “Now, now, get undressed.”

“Excuse me?” She blurts out.

“Hm? Oh! No no no.” He chuckles as he pieces together the reason for her defensive tone. “No need for modesty, Miss Williams, I mean nothing indecent by it. My job is to help you look perfect for the parade! Nothing more than that shall be done. You have my word.”

But Ellie doesn’t trust his word. She doesn’t even trust him. “I’m keeping my underthings on.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable!” He smiles. “That’s fine until you get into the bath. Then, I’ll have to see you at least a bit.”

Ellie does not like this, but she has no choice but to agree. The Capitol has no issue with nudity, they deem it normal. Tributes strip in the arena all the time to bathe, change, or get out of old clothes. Nobody minds. So, she knows this is normal to Clay. He thinks not a thing by it. But, as Ellie is not from the Capitol, she loathes it.

She eyes Clay, taking in his build. He’s thin, his clothes hanging off his shoulders. It comforts her to know she’ll be able to fight him if need be. Ellie vaguely wonders about Riley — is she arguing with her designer or is she silent and abiding? 

It’s driving her crazy. The disregard, the lack of communication. She used to know everything about Riley, knowing her better than she knew herself. And yet.

“I’ll turn away while you bathe.” Clay offers.

Ellie’s grateful for this, though it’s the bare minimum. God, how do other tributes do this? Nobody mentions these parts of the Games — the people she’s expected to just trust. She’s putting her life in Joel’s hands by trusting him with gaining her sponsors, she’s trusting Tilly to manage her schedule and meals and everything else domestic, and now she’s trusting Clay to see her nude. It’s maddening.

She bathes quickly, scrubbing her skin harshly with the floral scented soap. The aroma of the wash is so strong it makes her nose hairs sting. It’s a good smell, though way too pungent for her preference.

When she steps out of the tub, she wraps herself in the robe Clay provides her. His hands remain over his eyes as he passes it to her, though it’s clear he’s unused to doing such a thing. 

She ties the robe around her waist and follows Clay into another room. He does his job within that space, then leads her into another. Then another. Then another. 

By the end of it, Ellie is sure she doesn’t have a single strand of hair on her body. It makes her feel vulnerable, the lack of it. In Seven, where she hunts year-round, body hair is useful in cold weather as it provides an extra layer of warmth. Plus, nobody there gives a damn if you have hair. It’s normal. In fact, Ellie had an abundance of it — much to Clay’s distaste.

Her brows are shaped, her nails are filed, her legs are waxed. She feels like a plucked bird, ready to be roasted and feasted upon. It’s unsettling, the way she’s being prepped for death. The arena would be the equivalent to the butcher shop, the other tributes being the weapons wielded by the president to kill her. 

“You have so many scars.” Clay comments bluntly, once the entire ordeal has been completed and she’s sitting atop the thin mattress once more. “I tried to hide the one in your eyebrow since it’s on your face, but some of them can’t be covered. You have tons on your legs and back. It’s—”

“It’s fine.” She finishes for him.

He nods kindly, though it’s evident he doesn’t necessarily concur. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s— Uh, it’s human.”

She gives him a condescending glance, “Exactly.”

Clay shifts from one foot to the other as he tries to think of what else to say. He inhales deeply before deciding on his next course of action. “I think you’re ready to be dressed, don’t you? Yeah, I’ll go fetch the stylist. You’re gonna love her.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and leaves the room, leaving Ellie in naught but a robe and lack of hair. In fact, it feels like he’d ripped off at least three layers of skin when he waxed her. She didn’t make a single noise of pain nor complaint, refusing to show any sense of pain to the Capitolites people of the Capitol.

The Chariot Parade isn’t something she’s exactly looking forward to, either. It’s where each pair of tributes are stuffed into little carriages and shown to the Capitol. If the tributes don’t stand out, the Parade hardly matters. Though, if they do, it can be a great way to gain sponsors before anyone else. For as long as she can remember, Seven’s tributes are always dressed in odd tree-like gowns or suits of paper. However, since Cat’s rise to diamondcy, the game has changed a bit. She branches out more into unexplored territory — using designs inspired by leaves, wood, textile, and other things that a Capitolite wouldn’t think to use. But, as someone from Seven, Cat appreciates the trees more than the past stylists did.

The one good thing that’ll come out of the Parade, though, is the fact that she’ll be able to catch a glance at all the other tributes. After being dressed, they’re all stuffed into a room together. It’ll only be for a few minutes while the chariots are being set up, but she’ll make the most of the time. She can analyze them, get an idea for each character and their structures. She hopes to analyze everyone, of course, but most of all you. The infamous L/n of whom she’s heard so much. Will you be modest or will you flaunt your wealth and predetermined fame? Will you be kind or rude to the child you were Reaped alongside? 

“Miss Ellie Williams!”

Before she can even turn her head to the sound of Cat’s voice, she’s being hugged. Ellie is taken aback by this, the public show of affection not exactly Cat’s forte — even if it’s only in front of one person who she works with.

But then she’s whispering something in her ear and the odd behavior suddenly makes sense.

“We’re being recorded, don’t say anything about our relationship.” She whispers, speaking fast and almost frantically. Almost like she’s in danger. “Act as though you’d just met me.”

Cat pulls back, hands on Ellie’s shoulders and a wide smile on her face. Worry instantly shoots through Ellie’s chest, but she’s quick to play along.

“You must be my stylist.” She speaks, slowly removing Cat’s hands from her shoulders as though the action makes her uncomfortable. Despite, in all honesty, wanting nothing more than to pull her closer.

Cat laughs, her arms falling to her sides, “Yeah, sorry, I’m an affectionate person. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let’s get a look at you, shall we?” Cat says with a smile. She looks over her shoulder at Clay, wordlessly telling him to leave the room. He abides by this, quickly exiting the space and rendering the two alleged strangers alone.

Ellie takes this time to examine Cat. She’s wearing another Capitolistic outfit, dressed in silver head to toe. Her dress has one strap, thick on her right shoulder, and is tight around the torso before turning into a muffin shape past the hips, ending at her knees. Her shoes are just as blindingly shiny, their tall heels adding a significant difference to her height. Her makeup is all silver as well, her eyeliner forming an artistic wing of metallic lines. 

“Remove the robe, please,” Cat asks kindly.

Considering their history, Ellie wouldn’t hesitate. Cat has seen her body too many times to count. But with the knowledge that they’re being watched, Ellie feigns defense. She pulls the cloth closer around her body, scowling at Cat in a way she’d never do outside of peering eyes. “No.”

“I just need to see what I’m working with, ma’am.” Says Cat. “You can cover your chest and private area with your hands, if you’d like.”

Ellie pretends to think on this, considering the thought before nodding in agreement. She unties the robe and quickly moves her hands to shield her body. Cat pretends to examine her, though they both know she doesn’t need to.

“Okay, you can put your robe back on.” Cat says. “Follow me.”

Ellie obliges, trailing behind Cat as they enter a new room. One that Clay hadn’t taken her into. It’s large, the all white interior now feeling more fancy than stifling. There are two couches at the center, clothes strewn about everywhere. Cat sits on one of the couches, crossing her legs elegantly. She looks like she belongs here, among such wealth.

Ellie moves to sit on the sofa opposite her, surely looking far less comfortable than Cat. She fidgets with her hands, looking around the space. She can feel Cat’s eyes on her, raking up and down her body. Had they not been in this particular situation — broken up and forced into roles of formality — Ellie would probably be flustered out of her mind. But she knows Cat’s only analyzing her like this for work, to imagine certain pieces on her for the Parade.

“I’m thinking of putting you and your partner, Riley, into something that matches.” She says. “To highlight the show she’d put on at the Reaping.”

The words are innocent enough, but Ellie knows the passiveness to Cat’s tone. She recognizes it from all the times Cat would curse Riley for her impulsive defiance. Ellie can tell that Cat is pissed. Well, until she sees a hint of something else in her gaze. As though her irises caught the light, her eyes sparkle with something Ellie can’t quite place — amusement, admiration, mischief? But that can’t be right. Cat isn’t defiant. To the Capitol, she’s loyal to a fault.

“What’re you thinking?” Ellie asks casually, trying to hide the way her mind is reeling with confusion.

“Well, as you likely are aware, the Chariot Parade is meant to introduce the tributes to the Capitol. You’re to be dressed in something that relates to your District, rather than to you yourself. That is saved for the interviews.” Cat explains, talking with her left hand as her right reaches for a wine glass sat on the glass coffee table between them. She holds it between her fingers as she continues on. “I hope to bring attention to Seven in a unique fashion, whilst simultaneously making you and Riley to be deemed a pair. An unbreakable duo.”

Ellie thinks back to all the past Parades for Seven. A few years back, the tributes were rendered completely naked, covered only by paint to make their skin resemble the bark of a tree, their hair dyed green to mock the leaves. In short, most Parade outfits are hideous. People expect them to be because they mirror Capitol fashion — which is, well, hideous. 

The catch, however, is that it’s Cat this year. Not some random elder.

“Sounds good.” Ellie agrees shortly, still attempting to maintain a facade of distrust.

Cat smiles kindly, professionally. She takes a sip of wine before standing from the couch with a flourish. It’s unsettling how she moves. The very way she places down her glass and crosses the room is sickeningly Capitolistic. 

Ellie loves Cat, she likely will for a long time following their disbandment, but she’s beginning to see things she’d not noticed when she was blinded by adoration. Like the sharpness to her gaze, the fluidity to her actions, the rise and fall of her voice — all traits of the Capitol. But then again, perhaps she’s only doing these things to keep up their act. Ellie can’t tell and that irks her.

“Come, come,” Cat beckons her toward one of the many overflowing closets. 

And within a half hour, Ellie is dressed. She’s adorned in a suit-like outfit. It’s far too tight around her thrtoat and she feels as though she’s being suffocated. Her pants are forest green and flow around her legs so, at certain angles, it might appear to be a skirt. She’s wearing a blazer, which fits snugly on her shoulders and neck. It’s the color of Ellie’s skin with black lines that mimic tree roots, these lines coming out to cover her chest. It gives the appearance that she’s hardly wearing anything, though she is.

Cat positions her in front of a full-body mirror, asking for her opinion on the outfit. Ellie doesn’t respond, though. She looks like herself well enough, just accentuated oddly. Her face looks too symmetrical, her hair pulled into a half-bun to highlight her cheekbones. Cat is quick to pick up on Ellie’s hesitation to respond.

“You’re an attractive woman, Ellie.” Cat tells her, though her tone remains casual, conversational. She places her hands on her shoulders from behind, a friendly act between strangers. Ellie visibly stiffens at it. “The Capitol loves an attractive tribute. Take Ruben L/n for example, do you think he’d be nearly as successful if he weren’t so hot? No. So, in my choice to dress you like this, I provide the Capitol with thinking they’re seeing your bare skin, whilst also providing you with the consolation of knowing that they’re not.”

Well. Ellie definitely hadn’t viewed it that way initially. She’s right, though. If the Capitol finds a tribute to be appealing, they’ll have a much easier time obtaining sponsors for the Games. This way, everyone gets what they want — the Capitol gets to exploit a young woman and Ellie gets to know that she’s tricking them. In knowing this, Ellie actually kind of likes the outfit. 

She gives Cat a nod in the mirror, “I like it.” She grins, “Oh, I’m glad! Come now, Kenyon Clampitt should be finished with Riley.”

Cat leads Ellie out of the room. As they exit, Clay spots them. His eyes widen with glee as he sees the design. He compliments Cat on her work, trailing behind them as they continue on their way to the bottom floor of the Remake Center where all the tributes will be loaded into Chariots for the Parade. Clay doesn’t stop talking the entire way down, Cat kindly nodding and indulging him.

The bottom level feels like a horse stable, everyone lined up by District as their mentors, escorts, and stylists assist them in readying their chariots. Ellie instantly spots Riley. She’s wearing a long green dress, the same color as Ellie’s flowy pants. She wears fingerless gloves that are the same material as Ellie’s top, root designs tracing up her arms, stopping at her elbows.

Tilly holds out a hand, offering her help to Riley up. Though, expectantly, she declines the offer and hoists herself into the chariot on her own. 

Ellie and Cat near the carriage, Clay in tow. Joel is the first to notice their presence, eyes widening at the sight of Ellie’s outfit. He turns to Cat with a deepened scowl, pulling her aside to reprimand her style choice. 

He speaks lowly, though Ellie can still hear his words. “That’s way too showy!”

“It’s not actually her skin, Miller.” Cat argues back. “She’s completely covered, the fabric is just the same color as–” “It doesn’t matter!” He exclaims. “Fake or not, the Capitol’s reaction’ll be the same. Exploitation. She may be an adult, but she ain’t old enough for that shit!” That’s when Ellie tunes them out. She vaguely wonders if they’d ever met formally before, though the answer is obvious. No. Joel is the mentor, assigned to pass the tributes off at the Remake Center to the stylist. He then waits by the chariot on the bottom floor until the tributes are brought to him, then the stylist leaves without making much conversation. Sometimes, if the tributes come to like their stylists, they can visit their suites in the Training Center. Ellie wonders if that’s ever happened. She can’t imagine it, though. Joel, Tilly, Cat, Clay, and two tributes all eating dinner together. She almost laughs at the mere thought of it. The awkwardness.

Ellie hops into the chariot, standing beside Riley. Riley says nothing, expression hardened as she overlooks all the other tributes. Ellie decides to do the same thing.

She recognizes everyone from watching the Reapings. The people who stand out most to her are Thalia Thatcher, who is the younger sister to the 68th victor; the pairs of siblings — Lev and Yara, who stand shoulder to shoulder, then Sam and Henry, where the latter is giving what seems to be a pep talk to the former; Ashley West, the Deaf girl who is signing with a translator as means to communicate with her mentor; the couple, Roland Jennings and Archie Bardot, who appear to be inseparable and always touching in one way or another; and — who everyone else is already staring at — you.

You’re dressed in a pirate outfit. You’re wearing an overly large linen blouse, a corset atop it that’s a blue so dark it’s almost black. An abundance of belts are secured around your hips, adding layers to the look. Below them resides a few layers of skirts — ranging from light blue to navy. The back of the skirt reaches the floor, the front coming to your mid-thigh. Combat boots are on your feet, heeled to add a few inches to your height.

It’s clever, Ellie thinks, to take such a unique approach to your District’s fishing fixation. Most past tributes of Four wore odd outfits of flowing blue tunics or, three years ago, they wore nothing but seashells to cover their chests and crotches. As it turns out, most stylists yearn to have attractive tributes because they can exploit them to the Capitol and be praised for having as little clothes on them as possible. Ellie is, admittedly, shocked you’re so covered. Not that she finds you attractive or anything personally, it’s just a fact. You’re good looking. Everyone knows it. It’s more than just your body, though, it’s your eyes and hair and— 

Yeah, okay. Moving on.

A young boy stands beside you in your chariot, two feet shorter than you. He’s wearing a pirate hat and a linen shirt the same color as yours. As he’s not wearing a bodice, his pants are the dark blue shade that your corset is. His outfit is much less complex, though still gives off the same piratey feel to it that yours does. 

“Don’t stare at her.” Riley’s voice takes her by surprise, Ellie’s head snapping to face her. “Her ego is probably inflated enough as is.”

“Nice of you to fucking speak to me.” Ellie snaps, unable to help her irritation.

Riley scoffs, not saying anything more. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Ellie turns her attention to where Cat and Clay are retreating back into the building. Joel watches them leave, standing with his arms crossed in disapproval regarding their conversation. Ellie looks around for Tilly, unable to find her. But when she does, she sees that Tilly is speaking with Four’s escort, your escort. They look similar, actually. They have the same bone structure, mouth shape, and stand the same way.

Realization smacks her in the face. That’s Tilly’s sister. That’s why she was talking about her sister being happy for a L/n being Reaped. Because she gets to escort you. Fucking duh. Ellie suddenly feels stupid for not having realized earlier.

Ellie watches the back of your head, not at all heeding Riley’s words. Your head is chin held high, shoulders back. You exude power, wealth, and confidence. Anyone would be a fool not to sponsor you. Ellie’s sure she would, had she been a Capitolite person of the Capitol. Well. For logical reasons, not personal preference. Of course.

Just then, a blinding light stings her eyes. The front wall opens up like a door, allowing the sounds of cheers and screams to pass through the opening. The crowd is already lined up, anxiously waiting to see this year’s tributes. The mentors and escorts back away from their respective carriages, allowing the horses to pull the chariots out. 

First to leave is District One, Anthea Solace and Thalia Thatcher. Directly behind them, Two comes out. Lev and Yara. Then Three, Sam and Henry. Ellie finds it rather odd how many sibling and friend duos there are this year. She’d recognized the peculiarity to it, though she never gave it much thought, as she was preoccupied with other concerns such as Cat and Riley and the fucking Hunger Games. 

Her attention is snapped back forward as the crowd goes wild. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they’re cheering so loudly for. And, when she looks up, she realizes her assumption was correct. Four’s chariot is being pulled out. Yours and Remy’s faces flood the screens overhead, all cameras pointed in your direction. Ellie watches from within the building as you wave at the crowd, smiling brightly. She wonders, briefly, if it’s fake, your elation. She doubts it. Someone who grew up in the spotlight has to love it. Right? God, you’re probably eating this up.

Before long, Seven’s chariot is being pulled forward. The crowd cheers, cameras now turned to them. Cat was right, the Capitol is loving Ellie’s outfit. They whoop and clap, and it makes Ellie feel sick. They’re cheering, yes, but for what? For their excitement to see her tossed into the arena to be killed?

She then feels Riley grab her hand. Ellie has no time to react before Riley is hoisting it into the air, a carbon copy of what she’d done at the Reaping. The crowd goes wild, loving their show of amity. But now that she’s aware of what it symbolizes, Ellie can’t help the way her stomach churns. Marlene’s words ring loudly through her skull. 

“I’ve seen the Capitol kill people for less than holding hands.” 

She wants to drop Riley’s hand. But she can’t, not when the cameras are zoomed in on their clasped fingers. So she simply puts on a mask, just as she’d done with Cat. She lifts her chin, mimicking the way she’d seen you do it. She hopes desperately that she exudes that same air of confidence that you had. She’s dressed to be attractive so her personality must match that, yes?

Ellie adjusts her expression as to appear more alluring — a sharp gaze that she’d learned from Cat, set shoulders that she’s learned from you, and parted lips that she’d learned from Riley. Ellie isn’t sure how to naturally look a certain way. But she’s observant. She’s able to use people like puzzle pieces to form her own image. Taking features from those she finds most appealing, she’s able to concoct that puzzle of hers. And, when put all together, she looks beguiling. The crowd loves her.

The commotion dies down only when the carriage comes to a halt, Riley releasing Ellie’s hand as she peers up at something. Ellie follows her gaze to see a building that holds people of status — Capitol Diamonds, early victors, and the president himself. His first name left unknown, President Fedra is the puppeteer pulling the strings behind every malicious act that happens within this country. The Games, the deaths, the wars. It’s all him.

The look of hatred within Riley’s gaze is evident as she scowls up at President Fedra. Ellie kicks her in the ankle, subtle enough nobody aside from her would notice. In an instant, Riley has managed to tone down her loathing, though it’s still painfully obvious.

Fedra rakes his gaze over the tributes, all twelve chariots stopped in front of the building for examination. His eyes go to Four first, as expected, analyzing you harshly. Ellie doesn’t fail to notice the way your jaw clenches under his gaze. She wonders if it’s due to nerves, pride, or if you loathe the president as vehemently as she and Riley do. Afterall, you’re a pawn in his games as well, Reaped just as unwillingly.

Then, Fedra gazes at the other tributes, pausing for a brief moment on Riley. Ellie prays that he’s not taken her hatred as a threat, though it definitely is one. 

And, with that and naught more, he turns and walks away from the window he’d been peering out of. As though the tributes matter no more. As though they’re already six feet under his expensive boots.

Following his sudden absence, the carriages pull forward to complete one more circle before retreating to the Training Center. Ellie watches your chariot as it pulls away, your hands holding onto the rail tightly. Beside you, Remy has wide glossy eyes.

It takes Riley kicking her in the ankle to pull her gaze away.

[post] notes!! ellie’s top for the parade is heavily inspired by the root designs that zuhair murad explored in fall of 2013 for vogue. specifically the back of the red velvet dress (idk who the model is, i've been searching for hours & can't find her name). anyway yippee for me FINALLY getting this goddamn chapter out. i feel like i just fought goliath (he definitely won).

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo.     @ilovewomenfr.     @zzombiegirl.     @elliessweetheart.     @shawangel.     @defnoteleonor.     @fatbootymuncher.     @autisticintr0vert. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 series taglist @kirammanss.  @dsybouquet.   @serraphinm.   @smellovie.   @sakiigami.   @opt1mistic.   @spacecinnamonbuns.   @clouded-whispers.    @sappicarribean.   @corpsebridenightmare.     @jaliyah-s.    @pixiec4t.    @chappellroankisser.   @mxquelo.    @vahnilla.     @moshuka.    @cupidluvzz.    @elliewilliamssrealgf.    @h4-rt3s.    @tmbpyv.     @prwttiestbunnies.    @jinxtheplanet.   

[sirxlla]

Ink, Paper, Mud & Memories

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

Warnings: Angst

Prompt: Remembering Jason/Writing in your journal after Jason dies + "I'm alright until Im alone and lately thats all the time. Who else can I talk to? I'm lost. When you left, you took everything with you. The absence of you is everywhere I look. It's like a huge hole has been punched through my chest but in a way I'm glad. The pain is my only reminder that you were real, that you all were." <- from New Moon.

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

"I wanna compare it to the worst of the worst. Tell everyone its been hell without Jason but it's not Hell. Hell serves a purpose in punishment and its deserved. He didn't deserve to die, I didn't deserve to lose the only man I ever loved, to have Joker send me that goddamn tape...that tape. I see it in my restless hours, I hear his screams in my darkest nightmares. I smell blood in the sweet musk of his cologne, the comforting smell now tainted by what smells like rust or iron."

"To say I'm in hell without Jason would be an understatement. This isnt Hell, this is Purgetory, an endless void of nothingness. The meaning of my being having been sucked from my very soul like a- there's nothing to compare it to, everything feels like an understatement. Nothing comes close."

"I miss his smile, that warm smile that he used to give me. His eyes were bright and so full of life. I wish I could only remember those happy eyes but every time I remember his eyes I see the dead look on his face after Joker beat him to a pulp."

-"That asshole, that fuckin asshole. I'd do anything to avenge Jace. I'd do it without question if Bruce and the others wouldn't keep such an annoying watchful eye over me."

-"I wanna watch Joker burn, watch him beg for mercy as his flesh melts from his bones...Who am I kidding? He's psychotic. He wouldn't care. He'd probably piss himself laughing before he ever screamed."

"Everyone's watchful eyes are annoying but I know they mean well, they want whats best for me, what Jason would want."

-"What Jason would want? Jason would want to be alive!"-

"Jason would want me to be happy, to move on, to find someone. But who do I find? Who is even remotely comparable to such an amazing man? Who's smile brightens up a room like his? Who can make me laugh the way he did? Who's curly hair smells the way his does? Who's gonna click his pen so much I find it annoying but miss it so deeply now that it's gone? Who's him? No one's him."

"Everything feels fine until I'm alone, the pains the only reminder of him, a reminder of his short existence on this planet."

"Who am I writing to? Why am I writing this? Who will read this? Is this helping? WHY AREN'T YOU HERE?! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU JUST HAD TO GO AFTER JOKER ALONE! I HATE YOU! HOW COULD YOU EVER BE SO FUCKIN STUPID?! YOU WEREN'T STUPID SO WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO SOMETHING SO DUMB! GODDAMN IT, JASON!"

You ripped the notebook into pieces and threw it across the room. Nothing was helping, it had been two years and everyone kept telling you that you would 'heal', 'give it time', 'you're working through the stages of grief.'

You didn't wanna work through shit, if you worked through any of it then it meant he was gone. That he was truly gone and thats just something you couldn't except.

The AC turned on in Jason's room, the air kicked up the scent of him. It's so strong...'Wait? What the hell?' You turned around to see a man clad in black and red. Was that him that smelt like Jason or was it the clash of the smell of Jason and the cigarette smell that permeated off the stranger. Who is he? You blinked, rubbed your eyes and he was gone. You journal was gone and you could almost wear you heard Jason say something.

"Get some sleep, Babygirl. You know you need it."

'Am I going insane? Was that real? I should sleep, I should definitely sleep. No way in hell someone got in here without alarming any of the rest of the family.'

Your head found the pillow falling with a hard and quick thump against the soft fluffy pillow. 'Was the window always open?' You thought before sleep took you in such a deep quick grasp giving you no time to exlore the thought.

In the morning you thought nothing of it, it was clearly a dream. 'The window mustve been opened earlier in the night by me.' You kept telling yourself that over and over that was until you found mud in your room. Red mud? There was no such mud around this part of Gotham and you hadn't been out of this room.

'Was it real?'

'Why'd he smell like Jason?'

'Did he smell like Jason or was it the AC?'

'No, Jason doesnt smoke.'

'The smell was stronger, it had to be him.'

'No, I was just tired, there was no one.'

'Was there?'

'He wasn't.'

'He had to be.'

-> Masterlist <-

[petertingle-yipyip]

WISH YOU WERE SOBER - MIGUEL O’HARA

Pairing: Platonic Miguel x Young Reader (father/daughter dynamic)

Word Count: 2,651

Summary: (Request) hi!! i have a platonic req for miguel x chaotic teen reader who has a bad relationship with her dad, just a man who lost his daughter and a girl who never had a proper father.. what could go wrong..(im a slut for found family)

Getting bit by a spider is less than ideal to begin with. But when you were bitten by a highly experimental spider that came from the labs your dad worked at, it was arguably worse. And then, when said spider bite results in you sticking to walls and being able to shoot webs from your wrists, it all becomes terrifying.

——————————

“Dad… Something’s not right.” You try to tell him while your notebook is stuck to your open hand. You shake it, only to hear the crumple and flap of papers hitting together. “Please.”

“Mhmm, mhmm.” He nods with his back to you, refusing to turn in his desk chair. “Yes, go ahead, kiddo.”

“Dad?”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Go wherever.”

“I’m not… I’m scared! Please!”

“Enough.” He says firmly, a hand hits the desk and you hear the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle. “Go.”

“You’re drinking?” 

“It’s not your business. Go.”

——————————

A few years later and nothing changed. He hadn’t even noticed that you were never home at night. Your bruises and bloody lips never got acknowledged. Winces and groans as you walked around were unheard. He had constantly drank himself into stupors, rivaling the depth of a coma at one point.

Your heart constantly ached for the relationship you two had when you were younger, before your mother left. Her treatment stopped helping and she died in the hospital, a place you and your father could never go back to. After that, he told you he’d rather drive to Jersey for a hospital than ever walk back into Metro General.

As your relationship crumbled, so did your faith in people. If your father, the man who you owed half your genetics to and the man who raised you, couldn’t put his own child’s needs ahead of his own despair, how could anyone truly love one unconditionally?

“Hey!” A familiar voice called behind you as you were sitting on your rooftop. “It’s my favorite spider kid!”

It was your father’s birthday and - of course, he was passed out in a puddle of whiskey in the kitchen. You had turned him on his side and propped him against the cabinet to ensure he didn’t choke on his own vomit before you suited up and just… sat. Chin resting on knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around and fingers locked together. Mask pushed up to your hairline as the cold night breeze blew through. You were too absorbed in your thoughts to realize your spider sense had been going off.

“Peter B.” You smiled quickly as you turned and saw the bright orange of the portal. “Shit. Did I miss an assignment?” You turned your wrist and saw nothing on your watch screen.

“No… Just knew what day it was.”

“Oh..”

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You hummed slightly and let him pull you to your feet. Mayday offered you a grabby hand gesture that made you smile and she took that as approval so she shot a web to your chest and pulled herself into your arms. You laughed as you followed Peter, his daughter in your arms and babbling nonsense.

You two walked into the familiar HQ building, greeting various spider people on the way before Hobie and Pav replaced him. You huffed a sigh when you realized that it wasn’t just a coincidence that the entirety of your gang was taking turns walking with you.

They were keeping an eye on you.

You slipped away during Pav’s dramatic retelling of his latest date with Gayatri. He was gesturing wildly with his arms when you sidestepped and dropped down a few levels, catching yourself on the ledge and pulling yourself to sit underneath. After a few moments of sitting alone, you headed to the training center.

It didn’t take long for Hobie to find you there.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” You snapped.

“Right..” He nodded carefully, moving behind the heavy bag you were lightly punching. He held it in place and leaned around it to offer you a questioning expression. “That’s why you bailed on Pav, eh? Y’know he was crushed.”

“I’ll apologize later. Just leave it alone, Hob.”

“Squashed.” He shrugged and leaned away. He gave the bag a small shake and tapped it, telling you to keep hitting it. “But I gotta say, Y/N/N, it’s not hard to see you’re angry.”

“Oh I wonder why.” You said sarcastically as your fists began to make contact again.”

“If it’s about your pops, maybe you should-“

“I should what? Talk to him? You can’t talk to a man two thirds in on a bottle of whiskey. Help him? Like he helped me when my mom died, right? Because that’s what we do, right?”

Every sentence led to your fists hitting harder and harder, more direct contact that stung the skin.

“He doesn’t care about me. He abandoned me when I needed him… He’s probably a canon event for me anyway so the sooner he’s gone the better.”

“You don’t wanna be alone, Y/N.” Hobie offered gently.

Though the gentle tone only scraped your nerves and your fist went through the leather of the punching bag with enough force to push Hobie back.

“Says a lot about the person I’m becoming.” You shrugged and pulled your hand out.

The sand inside began spilling out and you sighed when the faint glow of the familiar AI appeared in front of you.

“Hello, Lyla.” You grumbled and kicked at the growing sand pile.

“Heart rate elevated. Adrenaline and cortisol are spiking and you busted a punching bag… I’m getting Miguel.” She said simply.

“Don’t get Miguel.” You groaned.

“I’m getting Miguel.”

“Lyla!”

“He’s expecting you.”

“Why would you-“

“Because you need to-“

“Why is everyone telling me what I need?” You shouted, throwing an arm to the side which swatted through the projection. 

She appeared again at your shoulder with glasses disheveled.

“Case and point.” She nodded. “Go and talk to him. Now.”

“I hate it here sometimes.” You muttered and dropped to the floor, back to the door while you drew with a finger in the still growing sand pile.

As annoying as it could be at HQ, anything was better than home.

You were in the process of drawing your spider logo when you saw his looming shadow. You ignored him up until he sat next to you and you pulled your knees to your chest.

“She’s gonna come back.” Peter said gently and you felt Mayday’s hand patting your arm to a beat only she understood. “C’mon, kid. Say something.”

“Nothing to say.” You grumbled and shot webs at the ceiling so you could get away from the conversation attempt.

You slowly made your way to Miguel’s workspace. Your watch beeped as you went, probably messages from Lyla telling you to move your ass or one of your friends trying to check on you. You ignored the sounds and kept walking along the ceiling, hardly registering the directional change when you started walking on his wall.

“Siéntete.” He said simply as he pointed to the chair beside him without facing you.

“How’d you know it was me?” You asked simply.

“I’ve been tracking your watch. Sit.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.”

“I wasn’t asking, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to-“

Your complaint was cut short by the bright red webbing that looped around your torso. You cursed quietly as he yanked you to the platform and pushed you into the seat.

“Wasn’t so hard.” He smirked before he crossed his arms and leaned against the table behind him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You huffed.

“You put a hole in the heaviest bag today and you swatted through Lyla.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mhmm, right.” He nodded absently before sliding a video clip to present between you two. “So what’s this?”

…so the sooner he’s gone, the better.

“I’m just angry.” You shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Hmm. And this?” He slid a secondary video underneath.

It was you, rolling your dad over and placing two bottles of water by his head. You picked up the tipped cup and cleaned up the spilled liquor. You tucked a small folded note under the bottles, stating a quick and simple happy birthday with a quick heart.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Someone was worried about you. I had a quick survey done of you in your universe.”

“Who was worried? Peter B? Is that why he showed up for me earlier?”

“Pavitr.” He corrected. “And you walked away from his date night story.”

“I didn’t-“ You groaned and threw your head back. “It had nothing to do with him!”

“It felt very personal to him.”

“Look, whatever kind of intervention this is, I don’t need it or want it. Forgive me for having my mother’s kind heart.”

“Okay.”

The webbing around your torso disappeared and he cleared the video clips away. You frowned slightly when he gestured for you to go.

“That’s it?” Your brows furrowed and you kept the disappointment out of your voice.

“That’s it.” He shrugged. “You won’t listen to anyone trying to help and I can see exactly what’s going on and what you need. But what do I know, hmm?”

“Right… I’m just gonna..” You stood slowly and moved to the edge of the platform, freezing at his next sentence.

“When I was with Gabriella…” He said softly, so kindly you almost didn’t hear it.

But the mention of her name froze you in your tracks. He hardly ever talked about his daughter. Why would he tell you anything about such a sensitive subject? You figured you should listen.

“I made sure to know everything I could about her.. That’s what dads do, right? I knew what she liked and what she didn’t. I learned her friends’ names and faces. I even learned how to make these silly little paper origami animals…”

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked weakly. You almost felt awkward hearing such a sweet sentiment coming from your usually angry boss.

“Because it’s part of what you’re missing..”

That sentence made you turn to face him.

“You want a male authority figure that can tell you he knows that you like cheerios for breakfast, but if you don’t have any, you’ll toast half a bagel and put peanut butter.. Sometimes you’ll get a green apple with it.. You want to hear someone acknowledge that you get caffeine headaches but can’t drink more than a Cola in a day. The one time you tried an energy drink, your senses kicked up to a forty and you could hear colors for four hours.

“You used to play sports before you got bit but after, the contact from the ball irritated your skin so bad you had to quit. You told your team that you had developed a health condition and overworking your kidneys could kill you.

“The logo of your suit is the vague shape of the spider that bit you, which was a common California house spider. Usually they’re not a problem but thanks to Oscorp, it was a lot more aggressive than it should’ve been…. You use clips in your hair because a hair tie makes it too tight. And you sharpie’d those words on the inside of your sleeve because you couldn’t stop thinking of them when you made your suit.”

“I don’t like cheerios.” You said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes with a small smile. “Honey nut cheerios.”

“And I didn’t just quit because of that..”

“Cause you got a job.” Miguel continued. “Under the table, cash only, for a graveyard shift at an all night diner.”

“Did you know my brother and sister moved out? My younger brother moved in with either his girlfriend or his friends because he couldn’t be around my dad. And my older sister, I don’t even know where she is… They might not even be in New York anymore. But I still make sure they don’t have to get the call to ID my father’s body.”

“But you want him dead to pass your canon?”

“Well yeah, I…” You sighed and threw your hands to the side. “No.. I don’t know. It’s not easy to live in that apartment anymore.”

“I know… But you’re still here. You still have your suit and your abilities and you help people.”

“Couldn’t help my mom.” You shrugged. “Couldn’t help my siblings. Can’t help my dad… What kind of a spider person am I if I can’t even help the people I care about most?”

“Makes you human.”

“Why do you know all that anyway?” You asked instead, allowing his gentle tone soften some of the sharpness in your chest. “What does my story matter in the whole arachno-whatever?”

“Every spider’s story matters here.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and swallowed the taste of disappointment on your tongue.

“Aren’t people like.. predisposed to addiction based on genetics?” You changed the subject.

“Sometimes, why?”

“So I'll end up like him, most likely.”

“Y/N..”

“Can you fix it?”

“What?” His eyes went wide.

“You’re a geneticist, right? You can run my genes and figure out where the problem is. You can fix it.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Or.. him. You can fix my dad!”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” You groaned. 

“Because he’ll be dead by the end of the night!” He snapped and you felt your body run cold while regret crossed his features.

“What?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “What do you- How- How do you know?”

He sighed to himself and rubbed his temple before he spoke slowly, putting extra caution into his word selection.

“When you told Hobie about it tonight, I had Lyla run the algorithm for your canon… His liver has been on the brink for a couple days and it looks like tonight’s the night it finally gives out.”

“Can I save him?” You asked tightly, eyes locked to the floor as the tears burned behind your eyes. “If I go home now and call the ambulance, can I?”

“You tell me how great the ambulance response in your neighborhood is.” He deadpanned and you sighed heavily, knowing he was right.

“I still wanna go home.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“He shouldn’t die alone.”

“You can’t change it… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so invested?” You looked up at him with a newfound anger burning behind your eyes, ignoring the tears falling down your cheeks. “What the hell does my life matter to you?”

“Because..” He sighed before he knelt in front of you. “I see so much of Gabriella in you, arañita.. And I can see you’re hurting.”

Your bottom lip quivered and the tears welled in your eyes. You hadn’t even realized that you wanted someone to notice things like your pain. You just wanted someone to pay attention to you and not feel like you were a background character in your own home, to feel like you were alone in the one place you were supposed to be safest.

“I’m just-“ You began, though your voice broke. “I’m so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”

“I know, mija.” He nodded. “But remember this.”

He turned your forearm so you’d see the words in your own sloppy, tiny handwriting.

“Keep your head up and don’t lose twice.” He read the words before he put hands on your shoulders. “You’re so strong, Y/N.”

“I’ll end up like him.” You said bitterly but your immediate sniffle iced any venom in your tone. “I’ll end up a pathetic loser that passes out in the kitchen… I’ll abandon the people that need me when they need me the most. I-“

He shook his head and pulled you in for a tight hug, cutting off what would’ve been the most self-degrading sentence you could’ve mustered.

“I won’t let that happen, mija.”

[marauders-bs]

p4! and so soon :3 @jamie-potters ty for the comment it made me finish this <3 @r0seprincess no meadowes kids this time 😔 next time tho @im-a-mess-of-a-person :3

masterlist

Hermione watched Dorcas sprint, laughing with her braids flying behind her, summer sun glinting off the grass.

Regulus was just in front of her, laughing quieter but still laughing. 

"Fine!" a boy's voice called, and Hermione realized as she looked around that Barty, Evan and Pandora were with Dorcas and Regulus. The boy who had spoken was Barty. "Fine, Reg wins, and my dumbass should learn to stop challenging you two to races."

"You should learn," Pandora said. Barty flicked her arm.

"Are you guys going to try out for the Quidditch team?" Evan asked, meeting Dorcas and Regulus in the middle of the field. "I think the Keeper and the Seeker just graduated."

Regulus shrugged. "I'm not sure I will. That kind of thing will get back to my mother fast, and she'll think I'm turning into Sirius."

"I might," Dorcas said. "I'm not sure I'm good enough, but it's worth a shot. Bat, you're good enough to be a Beater, I think."

"Dora too," Barty said, nudging her. "We would be the best power duo."

"Bone-breaking duo," Regulus said. "Everyone would rue the day Flitwick let you play."

Pandora nodded, smiling. Every memory Hermione saw with her in it made her wonder what had happened to the twins to make them practically swap personalities. 

The memory began to whirl, and Hermione smiled at it. She knew the way Dorcas went out, and she was glad that she seemed to have a good childhood.

-

The next scene was the inside of the Slytherin common room. Dorcas was pointing her wand at a Muggle pen and trying to transform it- into what, Hermione couldn't tell.

"Just do it without the wand," Evan said. "You're better without it."

"I know," Dorcas said. She looked over at him, smiling, but something in his expression made her smile drop.

Evan picked up his quill, eyes vacant, and began to sketch without looking at his paper. Five drawings appeared out of the seemingly random strokes– a boy who looked like Regulus, but older, reaching a hand upwards as hands drug him down into water. An older Dorcas stood angry, wand nowhere to be seen but hands outstretched, as a jet of light shot at her. Evan himself laying in Barty's arms, dead, as the blond boy screamed at the sky. Pandora looked like she was flying backwards, a cauldron in front of her. Barty's eyes were vacant but he was standing, a dementor in front of him.

Hermione didn't believe in Divination, but this might be something to prove her wrong. She knew that Luna's mum had blown herself up, Regulus had drowned in the lake and that Barty had received the Dementor's Kiss. That was the drawings on the paper.

"Ev?" Dorcas asked, pulling the notebook towards her. Her own death predicted on the page didn't seem to faze her, but the others did. "Ev?"

"What?" he asked, pulling the notebook back to him. "Did I do this?"

"Just now," she answered. "Evan, what-"

"I don't know either," he said. "I don't know why Dora would be messing around with potions. That's my thing, not hers."

Dorcas shrugged, concerned look on her face, but Evan went back to his work, so Dorcas did too. 

-

The next memory was the Quidditch pitch. Dorcas stood there beside three older people, two boys and a girl. She didn't seem nervous, but confident in her abilities. 

The Chasers sent seven hard goals to the first potential Keeper, and he missed five. The captain just waved him off, turning to the next boy. He did even worse, missing six of the goals. The older girl saved six but missed the seventh, which was understandable as it was a professional-level shot.

Then it was Dorcas's turn. Hermione had never met the girl, yet she couldn't help but hold her breath as Dorcas saved one, two, three, four, five, six shots. The seventh was the one the older girl had missed, a feint to one side and a shot on the far goal. Dorcas managed to save that one and throw it to a Chaser halfway down the field, making it look simple and stupid that the other girl had missed it.

The captain raised an eyebrow at Dorcas, who was a third-year. "How'd you make those?" he asked.

"I practice," she said simply. "And I'm good at what I do."

"'Good at what you do,' my ass." the captain said. "Do you have your wand on you?"

"No," Dorcas answered calmly. "I don't need it. I'm perfectly capable of saving goals without help."

One of the Chasers rolled his eyes. "We can just take both of them, you know. Let Meadowes play until she gets herself injured too bad."

Hermione could actually feel Ron thrumming with anger from beside her. He was protective of all people, even ones he didn't know very well. It was Hermione's favorite thing about him, if she was honest.

The captain made a face at the Chaser who had spoken. "You're usually right, Anna, but we haven't let someone below fifth year on the team in more than a decade."

"I'll take talent over age," one of the Beaters said. "That might just be me, though."

"Not just you," muttered the Chaser who had made the most difficult shots, picking at her nails. 

"Fine," the captain said. He turned to Dorcas and her opponent. "Meadowes, congratulations, you're on the team. Sorry, Blanchet, but you're going to be our reserve Keeper for if Meadowes gets hurt."

The girl – Blanchet? – took it better than McLaggen had. She clapped Dorcas on the shoulder, and the memory began to whirl.

-

"So, Sirius told me you're on the Slytherin team?" Marlene said, swinging down into the seat beside Dorcas. A glance around told Hermione that they were back in the Transfiguration classroom.

"Why would Sirius know that?" Dorcas asked, pulling out an ink bottle.

"Baby Black, obviously," Marlene replied. "Him and Sirius together must know everything that goes on in the school."

"That's because of Barty, not Reg," Dorcas said, laughing a little. "For all his loudmouth tenancies, he does a surprising amount of lurking."

Marlene laughed, very clearly surprised at Dorcas's honesty. Hermione knew about her brutal honesty at that point, and she was a bit taken aback that Marlene didn't know about that.

McGonagall entered the room then, Dorcas turned to her, and the memory spun away.

-

The next memory showed Dorcas looking stoic in a locker room similar to the one that Hermione had spent time in because of Ron and Harry. The grip she had on her broom told Hermione that her entire attitude was probably faked. 

"Are you ready for this, Meadowes?" the only other female player asked, lacing up her boots. "Ravenclaw's really good this year thanks to those new Beaters they got. Second years, both of them, and one's a girl, but they work together better than anyone I've ever seen."

"I'm friends with the Beaters," Dorcas said dismissively. "One of them will do his level best to knock anyone off their broom except me and the other will be a problem because she's actually smart."

"Which one?" the captain asked from where he was pulling on his jersey.

"The girl," Dorcas said. "The blond one's book-smart but incredibly stupid. He's only on the team because he's powerful. Pandora's smart and strong."

"Hope you all heard that," the captain called to the team. "The girl Beater's the smarter one and the boy will just try to knock you off your broom. If you can take her out of commission, do, but try not to get taken out of the game, Dahar."

"Boring," one of the Beaters muttered. "But fine."

"Anything else, since you're friends with them?" the Chaser girl asked.

Dorcas looked deep in thought. "Levine is their lead Chaser, but he's not as good as Abbas is. They let him lead because it's his last year, but it's going to be Abbas who scores if anyone does."

"Their Seeker?" the Slytherin Seeker asked.

"Smart, as Ravenclaw Seekers usually are," Dorcas replied. "His broom is horrible and he refuses to buy another one, so he'll be slow."

The Chaser girl grinned and clapped Dorcas on the back, "Earning your keep this game, aren't you? Bet your friends are going to be real mad when they lose."

"They already know they're going to lose, Anna," Dorcas said with a grin.

"That's the spirit," the captain said. "Alright, everyone up. They're going to call Ravenclaw first because they hate us, but we'll be soon after that. Order we fly out in is as it usually is– Koz, Ford, me, Dahar, Stroll, Meadowes, and St James. It's going to be a rough game, but we have our own little secret weapon."

"Stop making jokes about my height, asshole," Dorcas muttered, but she was smiling as everyone laughed with her.

Outside the room, someone began to call out the names of the Ravenclaws. Hermione heard only two she recognized- Crouch Jr and Rosier, presumably Barty and Pandora, and then the commentator began to call names the captain had said. The Chaser girl, Anna, flew out first, kicking hard off the ground and flying through the curtain. The second Chaser followed, then the captain, then the two Beaters, then Dorcas.

Hermione felt the wind in her hair like she was flying with Dorcas. She watched her do a loop around Barty, stick her tongue out, and fly to the goalposts. 

A memory interrupted the main one, sort of like a flashback within a flashback.

Dorcas was sitting with Anna and the captain, presumably after a practice.

"Hey, Meadowes," the captain said. "If you save more goals than we score, I'll let you hit Snape for every save you make. I'll even whipe his memory for you."

"That sounds fantastic," Dorcas said, grinning at him sideways.

The memory went back to Dorcas in front of the goalposts, waiting there as a younger Madame Hooch called out to the captains. Dorcas's captain shook hands with the Ravenclaw one, looking as though his mind was already in the sky.

Hermione still didn't understand Quidditch, and the fact that the memory only showed Dorcas's saves made it harder still to follow. One flash showed a Bludger coming at Dorcas at top speed, one of the Beaters throwing her his bat, and her smacking it as hard as she could at Barty and throwing the bat back to its rightful owner. Pandora smacked Barty's head the next time she flew by.

The memory began to whirl suddenly as a bludger rocketed towards Dorcas. She looked at it in surprise and tried to dive out of the way, but the memory went black.

send thoughts and prayers grade check ins for my seventh graders come out tomorrow and 1/2 of them are failing because they won't do the two pieces of gd homework i assigned them IT'S CADEN'S OWN DAMN FAULT HE'S FAILING JENNIFER HE HASN'T DONE AN ASSIGNMENT IN TWO MONTHS

[volturissideslut]

I think I worded it better lol

How you think Rebekah Mikaelson would react to the girl she keeps rejecting (who always gives Beks princess treatment and her undivided attention) suddenly being super nice to Elena

𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖐𝖆𝖍 𝕸𝖎𝖐𝖆𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖔𝖓

"Hi, Bex" you grin, sitting next to the blonde. It was history class, first period, and the only seat next was the one left next to her because she glared at everyone else that dared to try. Not so secretly, you want her, and also not so secretly, she wants you. But Rebekah likes to be chased, she likes to be pampered, and she likes to make life hard. So though she also wanted you and enjoyed any previous advances you had given her, she was going to play hard to get.

"You again? Won't you ever learn to bugger off?" she huffs, turning away to hide her small smile at your presence. You catch the smile, though, and decide to play along despite the small pang in your chest.

"Never. What would i do without my favourite original by my side to talk to, hm?"

"Oh shush, Mr. Saltzman's starting his lesson, now let me borrow a pen"

___

This same back and forth continued between Rebekah and yourself for a few more days now and you stupidly began to think she would start being nice back. You shared your lunch, met when she called, watched her cheer leading try outs like she requested, even tied her laces for her once. And yet, today it seemed like it was going backwards.

"Oh go away, would you. You and-" Rebekah started, about to rant about the 'bloody Salvatores' and 'whiney Elena' but when she turned around to give you a practiced scowl she was met with the sight of you actually walking away.

The smile hidden under her grimace disappeared, wiped cleanly off of her face. Instead, a blank expression laid there, with eyes wide in surprise.

What was more surprising, though, was when you didn't show up for her practice. She no longer felt the need to show Caroline up, and slunk to the back of the group to peer at the stands.

Even more so, when she didn't see you sat next to her usual spot in history class. Instead at the front, doodling in your notebook.

Okay, so maybe it hurt a little. But she got what she asked for, right?

But what actually made her react was getting to the bonfire, expecting to speak to you and bicker - to hash it all out and move along - only to see you laughing with... Elena??

The two of you just looked like peas in a pod, giggling together and reminiscing about when you were closer as kids, when it was all less complicated. And then... and then you shared a smore. Like actually bit into the same one as that - that bitch!

And Rebekah was seething. Not that she really had any right to be.

And so she marched right up there, arms crossed in discontent, "A word, please?" and yet her tone indicated the 'please' was more of a 'get your arse up now'. And so, with a huff of annoyance and a shrug from you, Elena stood up to follow Rebekah. "Not you, you pest" she glared. Elena only looked to you with worry.

Brushing it off, you stood and followed Rebekah.

"What on earth has gotten into you lately? You've-" The blonde girl begins after sputtering for a few seconds

"I thought you wanted to be left alone bex, isn't that what you always tell me? To 'bugger off'?" and she has to hold back a wince at the way her own words are thrown back at her. "You asked to be left alone, and im leaving you alone. Is that all?"

"No that's not all!"

"Then what, hm?"

"Then... then-" she surges forward, kissing you deeply. "That, that's what!" she says angrily. "I'll see you Monday, in your normal seat, thank you very much" she turns to storm away, pointedly ignoring the hammering in her chest and the butterflies in her belly

"Okay" you whisper, fingers ghosting over your lips, mouth still tingling from the feel of hers. "See you Monday"

And that Monday she decides that maybe it's time to switch the narrative. Maybe its time for her to be attentive to you.

[seeingivy]

fearless 

satoru gojo x f!reader 

in which satoru makes you a little more fearless 

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: no one will stop me from writing satoru one shots based on taylor swift songs. no one. 

- 

You watch the manager get in her car, waving her goodbye as you sit on the bench. You pull out your phone, shooting fast text messages to all of your friends. It was time for this godforsaken night to be over. 

satoru. favor pls pls pls. 

beg :P 

i was on a date but i got stood up. i need a ride back home and shoko has night shift :0 

alsoooo….the restaurant closed and i’m kinda standing alone in the rain :( 

wtf. address. omw now. 

faster. im freezing to death as you speak. 

stfu. 

You can feel the rain coming down harder as time goes on and you huddle under the wall of the building. You’re trying to avoid getting wet or contracting hypothermia in the twenty minutes it will take Satoru to get here. 

The rain is…surprisingly refreshing. You can see puddles forming in the divots of the pavement, the glow of the sign overhead reflecting in them. The air smells clean, the streetlights making the entire road glow. If your date had actually showed up, it could make for a very special memory, like the Notebook or the Titanic. You could walk in the rain, hand in hand getting drenched and jumping in the puddles. 

See. This was your problem. You curse your sweet little romantic heart in moments like this. It would kill you one day. The real world is not like your romance novels. Or your favorite movies. Or the songs you love to listen to. 

In the real world, people don’t respond to your texts, they leave you stranded at a restaurant in the middle of a god damn monsoon. People don’t ask you on dates, or spill coffee on you in restaurants, or stay in love with you after years of dating. 

You shake your head, dispelling the thoughts from your mind. You’re not going to think about that tonight. 

You see a car pull into the parking lot and recognize it immediately. The black car has music blaring from it, the front bumper entirely gone. When you told Satoru he needed to get his driving under control since he’s driving two kids around all the time, all he said was “hot girls can’t park” in response. 

Satoru smacks the door shut, an umbrella in his hand. You watch him run over, noting that he was in a fancier outfit than usual. He pulls you under the umbrella, the two of you standing closely underneath it. 

“Well, there’s hardly a point for that now.” you say, looking up at the umbrella. 

“You could have checked the weather forecast and kept an umbrella with you.” 

“Victim blaming is a horrible look on you, Satoru Gojo.” 

He laughs, rolling his eyes as he secures his arm around you, leading you back to the car. 

“I’m glad to see your horrible night has done nothing to kill your attitude problem.” 

You ignore the comment, ducking into the car. It’s nice and toasty, the heater being cranked to the highest setting. Satoru runs to the other side, jumping into the car as well. He backs out of the parking lot, the two of you heading home. The two of you drive in silence for some time, the only sound being Satoru’s music blasting from the stereo. 

“So…you were on a date?” 

“Well, he didn’t come. So no, I wasn’t on a date.” 

“Shut up. You’re so annoying.” 

You smile, putting your hands under your thighs to warm them. 

“But actually. You’re dating again, Y/N?” 

“Trying to. Figured it was time to get back out there and all.” you whisper, the car enveloping in silence again. Your head mulls over the events of the night again. 

You got ready. You took out your nice curling iron, spent an hour on your makeup, and took out your best party dress. All to sit in the restaurant eating the free bread and eating dinner alone. 

“Sometimes, I think I expect too much. I’m too shy to love for real.” 

“What do you mean, Y/N?” 

“I don’t know. I’m not making any sense.” 

“Tell me what comes to mind. I’ll piece it together, yeah?” 

You nod, feeling the blood pulsating in your neck. 

“I just…want love so bad. The real kind. Like throwing pebbles at the window, stereo over your head, running to the airport, dancing in the rain, kind of love. But, I’d never really do that. I’m too scared to say I want that and too much of a coward to actually do it myself. I just wish someone would come around who wanted to do it all with me.” 

Satoru is quiet, his hands still placed on the steering wheel. He doesn’t respond, his jaw clenched. 

“Nevermind. I’m being silly, Satoru.” 

At the sound of your dismissance, he stops the car, pulling it over on the side of the road. You turn your head, confused on why he was stopping in front of a Walgreens that was already closed. 

“Satoru. Why are you stopping?” 

He looks over, his eyes peering into yours. His hand reaches for the stereo, turning the volume all the way up. You’re about to protest but he jumps out of the car before you can. He’s standing outside in the pouring rain, getting drenched. You scoot over to his seat, rolling the window down to talk to him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you nearly scream, the sound of the rain and the wind obscenely loud. 

“Get out of the car, Y/N!” 

“It’s pouring. And my clothes will get wet.” 

He leans over the side of the car, his veiny hands resting on the window you opened. You look down, the water tracking into the side of his car. You look back up, his eyes boring into yours. You’re unable to place the look in his eyes. 

“Get out. I’m not asking. I want to dance with you, right here and right now.” 

He pushes off the car and extends his hand out, the rain pouring down on him. His hair is a matted mess, his shirt sticking to his torso. Fuck it. You peel off your jacket before joining him in the rain. 

The drops are cold against your bare shoulders, the curls you spent hours doing wilting in the rain. You put your hand in his and smile, the water dripping down both of your faces. He spins you around, holding you against his chest. 

He hands you his phone, placing his head on your shoulder to look at the screen with you. 

“Pick the song, peaches.” 

You turn your head, his lips a few inches from yours. 

“Peaches?” 

“Your shampoo. It smells like peaches.” 

You nod, turning back to scroll through his phone. You can feel his arms snaking around your waist, holding you tight against his back. You pick the first song you can find - Lover by Taylor Swift - and press the button. 

You can hear the opening notes start to blare out of his car. Satoru snatches his phone back from your fingers and spins you back around to face him. His hands readjust to interlock with yours. The two of you take turns spinning each other around and swaying in the rain, the song whistling in the back. Satoru tries to dip you and horribly fails, the two of you nearly tumbling onto the pavement. 

“Okay, maybe I’m not the best at dancing, but the thought is still there.” 

You laugh, your cheeks sore from smiling so hard. You slow down your swaying and press yourself against Satoru, digging your face into the crook of his neck. You feel like your heart is about to burst. You could die right here, in Satoru Gojo’s arms. You feel him slow down at the contact, his hands pressing you even closer into him. 

The two of you sway in silence, enveloped in each other's embrace for what feels like a long time, before you break apart to actually go home. You move first, murmuring how Tsumiki and Megumi were probably worried sick. He responds that they could care less but heads back to the car nonetheless. 

You settle back into the car, the two of you tracking rain all over his seats. As he backs out, he interlocks his fingers with yours, squeezing your fingers twice before driving on. You lean your head against his shoulder, his minty smell overwhelming your nose. 

When he pulls into your driveway, the two of you get out, the rain finally stopping. There are puddles in the pavement as you make your way up the driveway, you and Satoru stomping in them on your way up. You can’t tell if you’re trembling from the cold or from his hand in yours. 

He stops at your porch, turning back over to face you. 

“Did you want to come in? I can find a change of clothes.” you whisper, breaking the silence. 

He shakes his head, grinning at you. 

“Kids are waiting at home with Nanami. I’m sure he’s already pissed at how long I’ve been gone.” 

You smile, nodding at his words. His hair is damp now, lying messily against the top of his forehead. You resist the urge to reach up and touch it. 

You’re not sure what it is, maybe something in the air but…you want to kiss him. You want to kiss Satoru Gojo, right here right now. Drenched from the rain, freezing cold, on your dingy ass porch. 

You ignore the shaking in your hands and swing your hands around his neck, your faces inches away from each other. You can see the hesitance in his eyes, the confusion at what you were doing. 

You close your eyes and lean forward, sincerely hoping he won’t reject you. And just like you wished, he didn’t. His plush lips press against yours, his hands snaking around you to pull you closer. He tastes sweet, the mint you were smelling earlier present on his lips. He breaks apart, pressing soft kisses all over your face - the side of your cheek, the bridge of your nose, the top of your forehead. 

You’re interrupted by Satoru’s phone ringing, Nanami’s contact flashing against the screen. Before Satoru can speak, you shake your head, telling him to head home. He presses another peck to your lips before leaving. 

You lock the door behind you, flicking on the lights as you head up to your room. As you peel out of your soaked dress, you hear a light knocking against your window. 

You look down to find Satoru in your lawn, throwing pebbles at your window. You swing it open, glaring down at him. 

“You’re going to break my window, idiot.”

“You wanted this!” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Dancing in the rain, pebbles on your window, stereo of your head, running to the airport kind of love. I’m the person who wants to do it with you!” 

You pause, taking in his words. You can feel your heart pounding against your chest, realizing what was happening. This idiot was going to be the death of you. 

You throw a shirt on quickly and run back down the stairs, to where Satoru was still standing outside. When you reach him, you grab him by the end of his collar, pulling him down to kiss him again. He freezes at the contact at first before smiling against your mouth and returning your affections. 

The two of you break apart, again, both of you laughing. He rests his forehead against yours, smiling down at you. 

“God.” 

“What, Satoru?” 

“For someone who is supposedly a coward, you’re feeling bold today.” 

You pause. 

“It’s you. You make me fearless.” 

You feel him take your face into his hands, his eyes filled with warmth as he looks down at you. 

“Fearless enough to stand in your lawn with no pants on?” 

You smack the side of his shoulder, before running back into your house. He joins you back at the door, reminding you that he won’t treat you to the best second date ever if you parade in front of your neighbors half naked again. You smack him one more time for good measure, before pressing a kiss to his cheek to say goodbye.

-- 

the satoru as taylor swift series masterlist

[vyl3tpwny]

why it ourple

ok.

i'm going to tell you the story of how purple became my favourite colour. and then, where the name vylet pony came from.

———————————————————

ch.1 the mace windu incident

once upon a time. I really liked star wars. i kind of still like star wars i guess. but when i was a kid, i REALLY liked star wars.

in my room, i had a mace windu poster.

i still can't find the exact poster. it looked something like this

mace windu was my fav star wars character for an inconceivably long time. with that, i also became fascinated with his purple lightsaber. nobody else had a purple lightsaber. i loved it. staring at that poster constantly made me really like the colour purple. ever since the poster started exerting its technicolour pressures and whimsies upon me, i became fixated on the colour purple. forever.

"hai!~ im mace windu and i loveee Videos!" - mace windu, star wars episode iii: revenge of the sith

———————————————————

ch. 2 the viny scratch era

fast forward like 7 years. i am in the my little pony fandom now. i am 13 years old. i really like vinyl scratch. she is pictured here:

my first online presence in the mlp community was as a vinyl scratch / dj pon3 roleplay account. for a good year, people called me vinyl and "vy".

however when it came time to start releasing music in the fandom, i couldn't go by vinyl scratch at the time. this name was already being used by the artist who currently goes by Scraton!

this is still one of my favourite songs by them:

anyway. i actually held a really insane, irrational grudge against scraton for being named "vinyl scratch" as a music artist before me. i got past that after a while, because i had to stop being 13 first. i stopped being 13 and eventually fell in love with their music and we became friends later after!

but it's 2013 and i can't be vinyl scratch anymore. people already called me "vy" because of being a vinyl scratch persona.

so.

———————————————————

ch. 3 it's vylet time-wait is that can opener? CANNI?

it started on december 28, 2012. i posted to my then-instagram account this image:

you may recognize this as my oc canni. here's their reworked look in the 2022 album (10 years later) can opener's notebook: fish whisperer (illustrated by @astroeden):

can opener's original name was "ultra vylet". their colour scheme was originally intended to be the inverse of vinyl scratch's, as a sort of strange protest to not being able to be vinyl scratch. i was like ok. well if i cant be vinyl scratch, i am going to make a character that swaps the main colours. within a few months of "ultra vylet" existing, i discarded the design in favour of a completely different one:

this would be the only time vylet consistently had purple in her design until 2018 or so.. lol.

then. on april 15, 2013, i posted this to my instagram:

i had essentially combined three things:

The fact the people called me "vy'

The fact that my favourite colour is purple (violet)

The fact that I wanted to be vinyl scratch (dj pon3) before

———————————————————

ch. 4 vylet pony ≠ vinyl scratch

that is to say, i never really put a lot of thought into "vylet pony" as a name. i just made it when i was 14 and now i am going to be 25 soon. will i keep vylet pony as a name forever? not sure. do i take great pride in its insanely snarky origin? absolutely.

after i had decided firmly on "vylet pony" as a name — after dropping the "3" from it — i made a new instagram account. the very first thing i posted to it was this:

illustrated by my friend, shade.

now that looks slightly vylet-like, design-wise, oc-wise. oh. but now she is grey and black? ok.

she stopped being purple from 2013-2018.

here is how her design progressed through the years:

the first one is by my then-partner sara. this is when vylet's cutiemark was still an upside down music note, reflected from "ultra vylet" / can opener's original design. i'll show how it became a puzzle piece next.

the second one is by shade

the third one is by chibadeer

the fourth one is by astroeden

———————————————————

ch. 5 the puzzle piece

to this day, i still cannot find the fanart in question. but over instagram, someone asked to draw fanart of my pony. in doing so, they misconstrued the shape of the upside down music note as a puzzle piece, like this:

i've been looking forever for the original fanart/fanartist that made this mistake. because ever since that art, i just stuck with it anyway. i like puzzles and puzzle games. i'm also a puzzling and enigmatic person. and the puzzle piece can go into so many different things. all sorts of problem solving is like a puzzle. music fits neatly into that category in my opinion. so because of its intrigue and ability to mean so many different things, i just went with it. i never looked back.

———————————————————

ch. 6 that is the history of the colour purple and vylet pony character design

i hope this answers the question "why it ourple"!

[starrykirsche]

im so obsessed with your theme and your writing woah

could you maybe do a tom kaulitz x fem!reader and like how they met and how he started catching feelings and confessed

it can be headcanons or an imagine it really doesnt matter, but just something along those lines like maybe she went to their school or something

up to you love!!

Thank you for the req anon!! I had soo much fun writing this ^.^

Tom’s Confession

Tom Kaulitz fluff imagine + mini fic

when you first meet, you definitely do something that catches his attention other than just being attractive

maybe you offer to give him the answers to the homework without him even asking, or you compliment a new piece of clothing he got

whatever it is that you do, he will not stop talking about it to Bill.

“Can you believe that she did that? Oh and she’s so beautiful too! And smart, I bet she gets really good grades.”

subconsciously stops paying/giving any attention to other girls since he met you

he’ll talk about you glancing at him in the hallway for weeks.

eventually, Bill will get so tired of him constantly talking about you and he’ll ask why Tom has such a big crush on you.

“Wait— What? I don’t have a crush on her,”

“Yes you do dude, she’s all you ever talk about anymore.”

it takes Tom a minor argument with his brother to realize he’s completely head over heels for you, but once he does he’s always trying to impress you

raises his hand in class to answer the teacher, and gets it wrong confidently. you chuckle at him and he gets so flustered.

overworks himself in gym class to try to impress you, but his face is all red and he’s so sweaty when he tries to talk to you afterwards.

you see him defending Bill from a few bullies and the next time you see him you tell him that was a really nice thing for him to do for his brother

“Oh! Yeah of course, I mean, Bill’s my brother— and my best friend— how could I not?”

he’s so fidgety talking to you, and after Bill teases him for not being his usual confident self around you

even his bodyguard knows about you because he talks about you so much

when you guys are in class together he literally watches you the whole time

one time, he asked you for a pencil and you forgot to ask for it back and he’s treasured it ever since

Bill subtly trips him in front of you to tease Tom and then calls Tom a fumble foot when talking to you later on

he’s always “accidentally” bumping into you between classes but it’s so obvious it wasn’t accidental at all

learns your schedule so that he can awkwardly wave at you in the halls

during your last period of class, one that you share with Tom, a teacher asks if anyone will volunteer to sort some papers for her. you volunteer, and Tom decides that this is his time.

The final bell of the day rings and all the kids shuffle out. The teacher thanks you again for your help and disappears out of the room too. Tom and Bill are leaving the school together when Tom stops his brother and their bodyguard.

“Oh, I think I forgot my notebook in class,” He says nervously, “I’ll go grab that real quick,”

Bill shoots him a speculative look but after a beat, just nods in agreement.

Tom begins to walk back towards the school doors and yells back: “Pull the limo back around for me, okay?”

As Tom’s footsteps echo through the empty hallways, he finds himself more and more anxious. He tongues at the metal ring that decorates his bottom lip and clears his throat, going over his “lines”. Mouthing the words that he’s sure he’s going to say to you. He’s never been one to be nervous around girls, but for some reason you flip that switch in his brain. He makes it to the doorway of the classroom and peaks in. He sees you there, and his heart is in his throat. Letting out one last deep breath, he nods to himself.

He knocks on the door frame. You turn around, a stack of papers in your hand, and smile. “Oh, hey stranger.” She says warmly, “Forget something?”

He clears his throat and steps into the room, twiddling his thumbs. “No, actually. I was hoping I could talk to you.” Tom finally looks up at you and your eyes meet for a moment.

You set down the stack of papers and lean your hip on a desk, “Sure, what’s up?”

He sighs and walks a bit closer to you. “So.. um…” Hesitation laces his voice, his unsureness now bubbling up. But he looks at you again, and he’s sure he has to do this. “I’ve had this… feeling.. about you for quite some time,” Chewing on his bottom lip, he tries to figure out how to articulate this unfamiliar feeling of, well, adoration.

He winces and continues to speak, “I just think that you’re so wonderful, it’s not just your beauty, but- but your kindness and um…” He clears his throat and looks at you nervously. Your eyes are slightly wide and you slowly nod your head.

“I really like you.” He finally says. It feels like a great weight has been lifted off of him by this admission, and now all he can worry about is whether or not you reciprocate.

You sigh and let out an exasperated chuckle, “Really?” You ask. It seems to good to be true. A rockstar really likes you? I mean he’s been particularly friendly to you so far but this is… a touch more than friendly.

He nods his head nervously, thinking the worst from your reaction. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” He chokes out, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes.

“I do.” You say softly. His face lights up and he looks at you with full eyes, “You do?” With a small smile you nod. He beams and places his hands on your shoulders, shaking you by them, “You do!” Excitement paints his face and you can’t help but chuckle in return.

You two stand there for a moment, just giggling. Suddenly, he gasps and looks at the doorway, “The limo!” He says nervously, “They’re waiting on me!”

He turns back to you and leans down to kiss your cheek, “See ya tomorrow!” He shouts back as he makes a break for the limousine.

When he finally slams the door to long black vehicle, Bill’s looking at him with an unimpressed expression. Tom’s cheeks are flushed and he’s out of breath.

“Did she say yes?” Bill asks nonchalantly, crossing his arms.

A moment of silence hangs between them before Tom smiles wide, “She said yes.” Bill’s unimpressed expression breaks and he smiles.

“Dude I’m so proud of you!” Bill says excitedly as he raises his hand up for a high-five. Tom slaps his hand against Bill’s and squeals like a school girl.

“And I kissed her cheek!” Tom gushes.

Bill chuckles and shakes his head, “Good for you, Tomi.”

Tom hadn’t been this happy in a while, he couldn’t be any more glad that he had finally confessed to his favorite girl.

deine, kirsche. ✮

[absurdthirst]

Hey! I hope you’re having a nice day and don’t feel pressured to answer this, but how do you think the Pedro boys would react to having triplets? (I just learned im having two boys and one girl)

Heaven knows I’m already worried about mine with the casually offered reductions and all the talks about how difficult it’s going to be since it’s my first time. My heart goes out for the Pedro boys in less advanced universes knowing the complications that could come up.

Having Triplets:

Javier Peña: Gets drunk. Like - very drunk. Smokes an entire pack of cigarettes while he drinks. Worrying. Obsessing over the idea that he was already nervous to be responsible for one kid, but three???? He's never gonna sleep again. He's going to be grey by the time the kids are born, or bald from the stress. Once he's gotten over his hangover, he's asking questions. Demanding to know the risks and he has a fucking notebook full of questions for the doctors every time you go. Turns into the most solid father that you've ever seen.

Ezra: Speechless. For the first time since you have met the loquacious prospector, he is completely speechless. "I don't quite thing your suit's gonna be fitting you soon, little gem." His life has been one big adventure and he has just floated along. Now he will have to put that sharp mind to work to make sure that his little family has their feet firmly planted on a safe planet. Ezra will be planting roots - just don't ask him where he acquired the things he brings home for the babies.

Mando: Have you ever seen a wall of metal worry? That's what it would be like. This towering hunk of beskar would just lurk and be underfoot. Silently watching and you would wake up to any and all little luxuries that he could possibly get his hands on. The man would invest in a real bed for Maker's sake. He would even get a medical droid, putting aside his dislike for most tech to make sure you had the best help available.

Pero Tovar: Pero wonders why you are as big as a horse. (You hit him with a frying pan for saying that) When the midwife tells him that she feels more than one babe in your belly, he starts to worry. Childbirth in his days is not without risk and multiple babes are even riskier. He will start praying to God to allow the babes to born healthy and breaking his back even more to provide for the four of you.

Frankie Morales: His military training is the only goddamn thing keeping this man from having a panic attack, or a stroke. Definitely going to be getting high one last time before he flushes the coke down the toilet. If for nothing but to work out that fear without you knowing. To your face, Francisco Morales would be the most calm, rational man with dealing with the idea of triplets. He even trades in his beloved truck for a van - not a mini van, because those things drive like fucking ass - but a cargo van to haul the kids and all their shit around. He will be working himself into the ground to his get license re-instated so he can be earning more. He can't raise triplets on his retirement alone.

Agent Whiskey: In complete denial. Absolutely refuses to believe that you are having more than one baby. Like complete disassociates when it comes to that. Despite Ginger confirming it and everyone talking about the babies. He's convinced that everyone is pulling some elaborate trick on him. Right up until the moment he has baby number one in his arms and you start pushing again for the next one. Then shit gets real.

Dave York: Dave is another cool cucumber when it comes to dealing with the idea of triplets. He starts planning. Logistics is what matters. Paying for these kids. He will start taking more contracts and being away from home, but he always tries to make sure he's home for doctor's appointments. Surprisingly handy. Already put together the three cribs and started stocking up on diapers. He's changed his share before with Molly and Alice, but this time it's going to be interesting with three at the same time.

Oberyn Martell: Thrilled. He will be on the maester's ass to make sure that the births are smooth sailing for you. Multiple babies at once? He will enjoy running his hands over your swollen belly and making sure that the servants are nearby all the time so you do not have to do a thing. Spending hours with you in the water because it easy on your body with all three babies growing. Present for every moment from the moment your pains begin, until you are holding all three.

Max Phillips: Mixed feelings honestly. Three little baby biters? Pretty cool. Three sets of dirty diapers to change? Less so. Max is smarmy and cocky, but the cracks of that facade start to show when he realizes he's made three tiny little half vamp/half human beings that will need to be cared for. He might even put his little feud with Evan aside because the man has bigger fish to fry. But expect him to start offering you blood smoothies. You know, for protein.

Marcus Pike: The combination of stress and excitement inside him is like being pulled in two different directions at once. Immediately starts reading books on the subject of twins and making a detailed list of everything you need to buy. Will be making full use of his paternity leave to help you with the babies.

Marcus Moreno: It's a good goddamn thing he's a super hero. Marcus literally saves the world, so he is used to stress. There's a little bit of panic behind those rimmed Clark Kent glasses he has and he wonders if his powers was what caused this. He knew that copper IUD was a bad idea. He can only hope that Missy loves being a big sister, because she's gonna have 3 younger siblings.

Max Lord: Passes out. Literally the man faints at the news that he is going to be a father to triplets. The internal panicking that this man does rivals ten men. Nearly enough to do something stupid like wish he had the dream stone back, but not quite. You end up having to calm him down.

Zach Wellison: Gets a second job. Then a third. You practically don't see the man for nearly three weeks after being told that he's going to have triplets with you because he's working so damn much. Trying to make sure that he can buy everything you need and provide for the babies. Only starts to slow down when you remind him that you need him with you now. You don't want to do this alone. It takes him a minute to get that through his head, but he's pretty happy as soon as he gives himself a moment to be.

Dieter Bravo: FREAKS OUT. Like has a melt down as he denies it. Until he can see the ultrasound and has the three little nuggets pointed out to him. He's wide eyed and asking you if you want some of his drugs. You might need them more than him. When you decline, he takes all of them himself and starts to ask if you feel any different now. Playing with your stomach and talking to the babies as he lays out why is he upset. He's scared. Scared he's going to screw up and then it's three little people he's fucked up. Showing exactly why Dieter will end up being a good dad. Whacky as shit, but a good dad.

Javi Gutierrez: Obsessed with them. He has already been thrilled by your pregnancy and having a baby, but now that there will be three? Completely in love with the idea of built in best friends. The decorating of the nursery is now tripled and Javi just completely throws himself into it and treats you like a queen the entire time. Waits on you hand and foot and marvels over your changing body. Gets you one of those belly harnesses to make sure that you are as comfortable as you can be.

Tim Rockford: Have you ever seen the scene of a man pacing back and forth and running his hands through his hair? That's Tim. Like seriously concerned with how he is going to pay for three babies. On a detective's salary. There's going to be a lot of overtime in this man's future.

Joel Miller: What the hell can he do? Not like he can go back and unring that bell. He's panicking, his heart racing and his entire body feeling weak but he hides that from you. Does you no good and he won't have you worrying. He's fucking worried. Because this is a shit world you live in and there's a very real possibility that he will lose you and the babies. Rest assured that he will BURN THE WORLD DOWN to keep you and them safe.

🎉🎉Congratulation Anon!!! I hope that you have a smooth rest of your pregnancy and birth! Fingers crossed and good vibes being send your way!!!

[tibbycaps]

what is kyle like.how does he respond to Situations. iam so curious

kyle is so. i love kyle. so i cant yap about his backstory yet as the party has not gotten to this point but basically this is a man that is very obsessed with what is happening in the Woods. something Freaky is happening in the Woods and he needs to get to the bottom of it. no one seems to believe him and its Pissing him Off.

hes super edgy scene emo punk kid looking but i honestly think hes a pretty chill and laid-back guy, type of guy that kinda knows people from lots of friend groups and such. goes to lots of parties and shit. going to the local junkyard and smashing glass shit for fun. he isnt afraid to approach people esp if hes ambitious/driven by something. which is funny considering he actually has a -1 Charm, but my reasoning for this isn't because of his personality but because of how he looks. very distrustful of local authority though, and will be an asshole to them. but is the type of guy that doesnt mind helping you out as long as youre not an asshole, in his eyes. kinda has a big heart/protective side

a good example of this is kyle sees bax's character edie go to their home, a trailer in the woods, which is a Newer and Strange thing he hasn't noticed before. instead of like, investigating a la peeking through the windows or something kyle just straight up walks up to the door and knocks and lies about being an intern with the local police dept to interview edie briefly about if he's seen anything weird in the woods lately & i got a mixed success so it worked LOL.

im playing him a bit recklessly because this is a guy that's kind of desperate for information and is willing to do things that he maybe normally wouldnt. but hes standing there with his grin and his notebook and hes like yooo hey sorry to bother you haha oh hey you like pokemon me too thats so cool so hey did you hear anything in the woods last night smile. and edies like i can tell this guy isnt a cop but i dont rlly care so imma just tell him what i heard. i love roleplay game

[zhng96]

TONGUE TIED! ― han yujin.

↳ in which no words can touch the feelings you have inside your heart that long for your childhood friend and classmate.

↳ req: could you maybe write about yujin from zb1? smth inspired by baby i by ariana grande (kinda like him or reader trying to confess but getting all shy and not knowing how to say it)

↳ pairing: childhood friend + classmate!han yujin x gn!reader

↳ warnings: swearing,, this is so bad im so sorry 💔

perm taglist: @tzuberry @hrtattcker @yueriots @neohyxn @avocarua @dwcljh @uyujns @knrejj @taeraemisu

being friends with han yujin as kids- despite still being kids- you figure that just because you grew up together didn't mean that you'd also grow old together.

after middle school, the two of you just kind of... fell out of touch. but, as the distance between you two grew, so did new feelings and perspectives on each other.

yujin was never one for expressing his feelings through his words- you on the other hand, consider yourself contemptly well-spoken.

but, with yujin- you found yourself scrambling to find the right words. when you pull out a journal, writing the feelings for the boys, you consider, is harder than writing a two page research paper on the most half-assed prompt given to you.

despite the falling out you two faced, you two were still just as patient, kind and willing to talk just as much as the other person.

this being said- with the embarrassing amount of times you've managed to get him alone to confess, you mess it up- whether you stutter, you are mid sentence and get all shy so you change the topic, or you lose your confidence before you even start your sentence and end up telling him a silly fun fact- yujin was always so patient. so patient, that you figured he already knew of your feelings.

(more below the cut!)

you quickly scratched that thought, surely yujin isn't the type to just sit around and let people walk all over him like that- he'd tell you if he was uncomfortable, surely, if he liked you back, he would've saved you your ego as well- so what did he know about your feelings?

let's just say, he knew a lot more than you thought.

even if yujin wasn't the best with words- hell was he good at reading people. he sees it all; the way you blush, you suddenly stumbling uncharacteristically over your words, and your obvious flustered state, all only occurring when you managed to get him alone.

not to worry though, he found your failed attempts at showcasing your affections very endearing. he figures that's what lead him to obnoxiously making it known to his friends that he'll stay behind to finish his report in the library once they are dismissed, hoping you'd hear his schedule for the hours after-school.

"dude, we haven't hung out in like forever... what are you planning to do afterschool anyways?" his friend scoffs sulkingly, raising his hands up in an effort to show his great distress.

"sorry... my mom's been seeing my grades drop so i think i'll head to the library after school today."

in his peripheral vision, yujin swears he sees you perk up- he takes this as a sign that he's succeeded in luring you out to talk to him again.

of course, yujin didn't mean to leave you in the dust like this because he wanted to- it was just... he wanted to see you, he wanted to talk to you, and most of all- he kind of enjoyed the blush on your face whenever you caught him alone and tried to talk to him. yujin knows you’re an intelligent person in many ways, he wants to hear you say the three words that tingle on the tip of your tongue.

it's been almost 15 minutes now since yujin has sat in his place in the library- a textbook open and his notebook on the side. it was all for show of course- but since the 15 minutes felt like a century, he decided to take up some real studying.

the silence of the library combined with the long words painted in the textbook- yujin feels his head drop. at the snap of his neck, he quickly composes himself again and shakes it off.

before he can go back to reading, a hand quickly snatches his wrist and forcibly drags him outside. hearing the library door close with a click behind him, yujin watches the back of your head. it was as if he could feel the steam rising from it.

you were mad.

coming to an abrupt stop, you tug at his wrist again, making him look straight into your eyes.

if he couldn't tell you were angry before, he sure could now. the fire in your eyes was a dead given.

"you know what's going on don't you? you've known this whole time?!"

yujin parts his lips in surprise, "what do you mean?" despite it coming out as a genuine question, he was certain he knew what you were trying to get at.

you immediately blush, regretting your bold action and instantly let go of his wrist.

"ah..." he smirks, watching your face light up in discomfort.

you meet his eyes to find a smug look etched across his face, "am i wrong?" you scoff, finding yourself unable to maintain eyecontact for longer than a second at a time.

you could almost feel how his smile got bigger at your remark, "sorry... i just wanted to hear it come out of your mouth."

your eyes widen at his implication. he wanted... to hear it. does that mean- "so instead you make me embarrass myself if front of you repeatedly?! you're the worst han yujin..."

"ouch... c'mon don't hurt my feelings now... you still have to confess~”

"oh you little!"

navi. mlist.

[deardolli3]

your blog is so cool! could you maybe do some erwin romantic or dadwin headcanons? thank you! 💫

erwin smith relationship hcs

a/n: hi lovie!! im sooo late to this but ofc!! thank you for requesting and ill be more active, i promise, so please request 🩵

• erwin is literally perfect when it comes to having a poker face, like lady gaga wrote the song cause she saw this man😭 you can never tell what he’s feeling but he can read you like a book, just by the way you spoke to him, or the way your eyes shine a different way.

• hes good at reading emotions but bad at comforting you (sorry but!!) and you could be like crying and hes just like

”there there…” 😟😕🙁 while rubbing your back and sighing deeply.

• he strikes me as one of those always on vacation to tropical ass countries guy. like with those hawaiian print shirts unbuttoned and swim pants on, he is so ready to sit on a beach chair while you do god knows what.

• never the type to get drunk and be flirty but he does get tipsy and tries to find you immediately because he wants to talk to you and maybe even dance a little

• take him to family events, THIS MAN GETS DOWNN!! all your aunties and family members can be on him and hes just like “why thank you, yes yes i know. oh wow is that for me?” 😁 and yes he can work them hips

• he doesn’t talk around people alot but with you its a straight yappathon with whatever the hell is on his mind and the topic changes within like two sentences😭

• he tans so easily its INSANE. like okay white boy my culture is not ur costume!!😣

• always always always remembers details about you, “why are you hanging out with her tonight i thought WE hated her?” and you gotta give him the new lore cause he not so secretively loves gossip. like okay boy what else you lurking around for😢

• omg he is so fucking funny when hes not trying to be😭 like shit goes down and he says something stupid and everyone’s laughing while hes sighing deeply wondering why they never laugh when he’s trying to be funny.

• sleeps like a rock, like a literal rock next to you, and he won’t ever budge. but if he hears any sudden movement or you hug him he jolts up and looks you dead in the eye like he just got shot😣 fucking dramatic ass LMAOA.

• if you have any kids best believe they’re very well mannered. OMG he goes hunting or fishing or whatever with them and he looks so fine like phewww…

• ladies… this man is not kinky please😭😭 vanilla sex or just no freakiness at all unless you initiate it.

• dates will always be dinner dates, and always so well though out and planned well. he either takes you shopping with all them carrrds or feeds you pasta and lobster. OR he takes you to run errands with him or go fishing/hunting/to a shooting range.

• in terms of pda, he always has a hand around your waist, but the most he can do is kiss you on the forehead to say goodbye or wrap a arm around your shoulder as you walk. and YES, he knows the sidewalk rule so you best be on the right damn side away from the cars.

• this man can bbq but not cook… he was literally trained to be a father/husband😭 you guys definitely have those backyard/patio bbqs.

• never ever wants you to overwork yourself, HELL YOU DONT EVEN NEEDD A JOB WHILE YOURE WITH HIM!! he just needs you to sit at home and look pretty for him when he comes back at night.

• definitely a business man in the modern day world, i would say a sergeant but maybe he retired from that position.

• he would want around three kids!! but whatever you want of course. he loves his kids endlessly and will literally kill for them. they have to learn how to protect themselves, they have to learn how to haggle with people, they have to learn to not be taken advantage of or treated as stupid, and they will pull the “do you know who my father is?” card when someone threatens them😭

• if you ever watched the notebook!! he would literally renovate a whole house for you or build you one and grow old together <33 he would build it however you want it, with a balcony, with a marble kitchen, etc, anything his love wants.

• and yes, he loves unconditionally even if he doesn’t show it so much through words, he will do it through his actions. he’ll get you anything you need even if you don’t ask, from a cup of water to a fucking car. HE WOULD EVEN BUILDDD A CAR FOR YOU??

• he loves you so so so much, and he literally cannot lose you😣 he would die for you, kill for you. he would bathe you in stars and swirl you onto the moon if you wanted, anything that’s possible? he’ll do for you.

HE LOVES YOU!!

— aaaa i hope you liked this!! 🩵