#snap butterscotch

[tomaturtles]

Some crayon little guys :)

[lilybug-02]

Have I mentioned Chara is a terrible baker?

I swear you use poisonous ingredients ONCE and you’re forever remembered as the worst cook ever.

[yellowrabbitfurry]

y’allll I’m almost done with the oneshot I’m writing but. Y’all need to see this.

My aunt got me this the other day. It’s really nice, and I’m real happy to have it in my room buuutt

that art is definitely stolen, right? She got it offa temu I think 😭 someone get them outta here brooo

[illwilledomen]

At the Riverbank

Steve raised his axe high in the air, and with a swift, clean swing, one piece of wood became two. He chucked the two small pieces into his pile, which had grown to a considerable size as he had worked through the morning. Winter was coming soon. The Stonemason family’s eldest daughter had just had a little baby, and Steve wanted to make sure they stayed warm. 

The soft trickling of the nearby creek beckoned Steve over to take a break. He did just that, throwing his axe aside and plonking himself down into the soft riverside grass. He closed his eyes and listened to the water for a moment. 

It was time to practise.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue. I am something called a person. 

Steve opened his eyes again and frowned. Other villagers could say so much more in an introduction, but Steve knew very few things about himself. 

He tried again, gleaning his mind for any information that he was certain was true.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person, and I am a Man.

No, he wasn’t sure if he was a Man. He didn’t really know what those were, or how they were different from Women. 

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I have a horse named Butterscotch. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person–

A branch snapped, and Steve shook himself awake. He looked around for the source of the noise. 

For a split second, he saw a pale, freckled face watching him from behind a tree, before disappearing with a frightened gasp. 

The water trickled on, and Steve carefully averted his eyes from the tree.

The face peeked out again. Steve slowly looked back, and once again the blur of white and ginger ducked behind the tree trunk. He decided to fix his gaze on the riverbank below them.

Steve felt a little nervous, but not scared. He had seen them before. Not all too much of them, they were awfully timid, but he’d known they were there.

“Hello.” Steve tentatively called out. “It’s a nice morning.”

The face slowly peeked out. It was rounded and thin, framed with fiery red hair, with big green eyes and freckles. Their nostrils flared with nervous breaths as they clung to the tree. 

“Do you live here?” Steve asked. The face didn’t respond, they only stared, flinching a bit when he spoke. 

“Um… My name’s Steve. I live in– I live in a village, and my favourite horse– My fa– Um, I have a horse.” Steve cursed himself for messing up his carefully planned introduction. “Do… Do you know what a horse is?”

The face seemed to have relaxed a tad, and moved out further from behind the tree. Steve could now see their hair was long, tied into a braid. They also wore a stained green tunic. 

“...You can ride them. Horses.” Steve swallowed nervously. “I don’t live here. I live in a village. In case you forgot.”

The face and body was now a person, standing with only their hand on the tree. They watched Steve curiously, their fear ebbing away slowly but surely.

Steve slowly looked back up, and this time they didn’t flinch when their eyes met. 

“My papa is a cleric. He’s not really– He didn’t get married or nothing, but he found me. I’m not a cleric. My profession is doing things for people. I, um, I like to help. I can make… I can make things too.”

Steve rummaged around in his pockets, before procuring a little wooden statue of a villager. Steve held it out for the visitor to see. “You see it? I made it.”

The figure craned forward, before they crouched down for a better look. They looked back at Steve with a blank expression, though Steve sensed no displeasure. 

“I can make other things too. Like houses. I am real strong. I can make things without getting tired. I dunno why, I was born in a funny way. That’s why my nose is small, see.” Steve pressed a finger into his nose. The figure furrowed their brows in intrigue. They lifted a finger, and pressed it to their own.

“Hey!” Steve grinned. “You’re like me.”

The person’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, and they nodded ever so slightly. They glanced to the side, a hint of trepidation in their movement, before they sucked in a breath and pointed to their chest. Out came a toneless, croaky voice, wavering and whistling as if it had not been used for a very long time. “A–leks.”

Steve furrowed his brows. 

“A… Alex. Name is Alex.”

“Oh!” Steve paused, and nodded in understanding. “Hello, Alex.” 

Alex sniffed, nodding back, before pointing at Steve. “Stefe.” 

“Aye! That’s my name.” Steve beamed. “Are you a person?”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

“So am I. I didn’t know there was anyone else like me.” 

“Me as well.”

“Where’d you come from?” Steve bit back his questions though his mind was on fire. He wasn’t alone! He wasn’t alone!

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere? Me too. I was found.”

“By village?” Alex glanced to the side nervously.

“Yes. And they are very nice to me.”

“Hm.” Alex trailed off, hunching their shoulders. “Good.”

“Do you want to meet them?” Steve asked, sitting up at the idea. 

Alex shrank back a bit toward the tree. They glanced to the side reluctantly and shook their head. “No.”

“Oh.” Steve hung his head. “Are you sure?”

Alex nodded their head vigorously, their eyebrows knitted together in a fearful expression. “I can’t.”

“Can I still see you, Alex? Outside of the village?”

Alex thought for a moment, before nodding. “Yes. Here.”

Steve’s smile returned. “Okay. Here. I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

Alex nodded, smiling a bit themselves. “Tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Alex.”

“...Goodbye, Steve.”

The two departed, having arrived as halves and leaving as whole. They were not alone.

[eccentricallygothic]

Pairing: Daddy-Dom bf!Pedri | Tall brat gf!You. 

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, power imbalance, manhandling, stern Pedri, Daddy kink, spanking, humiliation, degradation, dumbification, nipple play, ddlg. Please do not read if this isn't your cup of tea. Do not repost my works in any way, or use my ideas without permission. Minors do not interact.  

-> Part I Here <- This continuation probably only exists because of @percysley

You are too greedy for your own good.

And though you will probably never admit it to your Daddy who always says that, when his hand comes down on your very naked poor little sorry butt again, you jump before letting out a whine. 

Your long legs dangle from where you're sprawled across Pedri's lap and curl against the ground. "Mmmmh!" You can't help but groan when he grips one of your arms and cups the curve of your nether regions to push your body up and adjust its position to expose it better to his wrath. "Daddy, please!" Your arms that he has folded and locked under the hand that's not busy bruising your ass struggle in their bind. 

You had chosen ice cream. 

But as the flavor of one of your favorite treats continued to fade on your tongue, you weren't sure if whining until he gave you the choice between a hefty cupful of yummy butterscotch ice cream or a spanking only for you to choose the former had been the right decision. 

Your Daddy had a rather deceiving physique.

Because while he did not look like the strongest guy ever, the guy could pull and land some weight pretty effortlessly. 

Pedri being the stern brat tamer that he was had turned a deaf ear to your begs and pleads -unless you were to use your safeword- as he continued to heat up your ass. 

"Daddy! I am sorryugh!" You almost snapped this time around, wincing as you tried to dodge his hits but all in vain. 

"Yeah?" You groaned when he squeezed one of your aching cheeks and pulled at it.

"Ugh, yes!" 

Your Daddy clicked his tongue. "I don't know, little one" as your cheek was allowed to move back into its place, his fingers dragged across your hot skin, tracing the linear dent between your buttcheeks. "Doesn't sound like it" your legs kicked when he suddenly pulled his palm back only to bring it colliding against your pitiable ass again. 

"Owie, Daddyyyy!" You bounced in all directions in a comical way. "I am! I do mean it- owwwwie fuuuu-"

"What was that?" Your eyes widened when you were pulled backwards and closer to him by your arms. 

Oh no! 

You nearly said a naughty word!

"Nothing, Daddy! OmaiGawd, nothing nothing!" You sputtered in an alarming way, hoping and praying that he didn't hear.

Pedri clicked his tongue in disapproval and you could just visualize him shaking his head. "What a shameful little thing this is" your thighs that you had brought together were smacked apart, the sound of skin colliding with skin nearly echoing off the walls. "Causing a scene in the bookstore like our Daddy hasn't taught us any manners" the blow that came down this time around made your pucker sting because of the distance he had created between your knees. 

"Owieeee!" He spoke over your pitiful cries. 

"Then arguing against rules–"

"I wasn't arguing– ouuuuch!" That earned you two more spanks, one on each cheek. 

"Arguing again" the sternness of his tone made you mum and you whimpered, lowering your head. He let you dwell in the humiliating silence for a couple seconds as he caressed your throbbing ass and sit spots before continuing. "Then bargaining with Daddy" another spank, "only to pretend like we didn't remember choosing spanking for ice cream!" The spanks he landed now were short, firm and calculated. "As if all that isn't pathetic enough, saying big naughty words that are absolutely forbidden for silly little baby sluts like yourself!"

"I am sorrryyyy!" Was all you could speak through your sorry snot. 

"And then…" A gasp left you when he harshly cupped the mound between your legs and squeezed it. "Making a mess all over Daddy's pants like it's playtime" your flushed face heated up even more as your speedy pulse began to riot, your heart thumping in your chest. "Tsk" the squelching of your wetness was loud in the otherwise quiet room as Pedri gathered some on his fingers before feeling it. "Just too silly to know anything, aren't we, baby?" Your holes clenched when he spread the cool juices over your seething cheeks. 

You moaned and whined, pushing your ass up against his hand for more, the pain in your lower half giving way to something more powerful. 

Pedri snickered under his breath and then you felt his hand curl around your thigh. "Such a dirty little slut I've here" a loud squeak escaped you when he suddenly flipped you over so now you were laying down on your back. "Her little mind is too small to know the difference between punishment and playtime, huh?" One of his hands pushed your shirt up to reveal the chest that he loved to play with, and the other one pushed your legs apart. "So whenever Daddy so much as even touches her, she's ready to go" his vile words were pricking at your face but you were too far gone to protest, whining and biting your lips in anticipation as his fingers twirled one of your nipples between them.

"Mmm~" your hands hung above your head. 

Pedri's eyes were dark as he shook his head at the way you moaned when his fingers brushed your sex. "Dirty, dirty baby" your eyes widened when his hand pulled back before landing on your pussy, causing your whole body to twist and jerk upwards. "What?" He spoke to you in a baby voice like you were nothing more. "Aw, bunny…" Your cruel Daddy clicked his tongue as he wound his hand back and brought it down on your folds again. "This isn't playtime!" A bile formed in your throat when he paused momentarily to spread your pussy lips to expose the flushed flesh underneath. "But of course, you're too much of an airhead to know that, aren't you?" The spank that thundered against your soaked pussy now was piercing in its quality. 

You had a long evening to go before you could hope for some mercy or chance at redemption. 

MASTERLIST

.

Pedri makes me feral. Unedited. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷

[rebelspykatie]

While you all wait for the anticipated first date, here’s an alternate ending that I wrote before deciding to take this story in a different direction. This is in reference to my Soulmate AU you can find here. 

Soulmate AU Alternate Ending

They dance around each other for the rest of the year, and Steve quietly graduates, still never having spoken a word to Eddie. That is, until Steve’s father forces him to get a job over the summer.  

When Eddie wanders into Scoops one slow evening, he comes to a halt in front of Steve, looking between him and Robin with wild eyes, like a deer staring down the barrel of a hunters gun.

Robin is watching them, fascinated and a little intrigued by the absolute silence that they seem to be trapped in.

“You gonna order something, Munson?”

Eddie barely looks like he heard her, not looking away from Steve, but he mumbles out an order for one vanilla cone. Robin works around Steve, who is unmoving from his spot leaning against the counter, scooping up vanilla into a cone and holding it out over the freezer.

Eddie finally snaps out of it and goes to pay, which makes Steve realize how he was frozen in place, just watching Eddie. Steve shoves Robin aside and moves to take Eddie’s money. When their hands meet, you can almost see the electricity that passes between them, both pulling their hands back like they’ve been shocked.

“Enjoy your ice cream,” Steve says, looking at Eddie from under thick lashes and fiddling with the cuff on his wrist covering up Eddie’s name. He’s never been close enough to see the dark red stain of Steve’s lips but now it’s all he can focus on.

He can’t work up the courage to say anything back, just nods and takes his cone to a corner booth. It’s conveniently placed where he can see Robin and Steve working, the later routinely glancing in Eddie’s direction while he licks away at the cone, cheeks a faint pink color Eddie’s pretty sure he’s imagining.

Eddie wandered into Scoops close to closing, the regular mass of people dwindling down to just a few stragglers and mall employees. So it’s easy to pick up on the whispered conversation Robin and Steve are having behind the register.

Steve’s cleaning the counters and Robin is refilling the dispensers of spoons and napkins, but they’re arguing. Something about giving it a shot and what harm can it do. Robin receives a lot of bitchy little sneers that almost make Eddie laugh from his vantage point.

He almost chokes on his tongue when they stop arguing and Robin shoves Steve out from behind the counter with a bottle of cleaning spray and a rag. Eddie watches Steve make the rounds, cleaning the few tables that sat between him and the register, before he hesitantly shuffles over to Eddie’s table.

Who knew that Harrington could rock a dumb sailor uniform this well. If Eddie didn’t already have his name on his wrist, he’d scratch out whoever was there and get Steve’s name tattooed in its place from this look alone. No one can ever find out how hot he finds this getup. He’d never live it down.

“Hey sailor,” Eddie says, immediately wanting to slam his forehead onto the table and concuss himself, or maybe crawl under it and die there.

Steve freezes. And now Eddie can see that he was right. The pink color of his cheeks was very real and even cuter up close.

“You and your first mate done arguing?”

“You heard all that?”

“It’s not that big of a store, captain.”

Steve rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry. She just thinks I’m being stupid.”

“About what? Is the USS Butterscotch sinking?”

A quiet huff of laughter escapes Steve. “You, actually.”

Eddie’s head whips back. “Me?”

Steve nods. He takes a step closer and gestures at the seat opposite Eddie, silently asking to sit. Eddie waves an inviting arm for him to join him.

Steve clears his throat, twisting the rag in his hand, looking down at the table. “She knows what’s on my arm. She’s the only person I’ve told. But she doesn’t understand why I haven’t talked to you, called me a dingus.”

“She brings up a good point. Why haven’t you talked to me?”

“I could ask you the same thing. You’ve known about this longer than I have. But I guess I was just scared,” Steve shrugs. “I’m no catch these days.”

Eddie reaches out and pushes a loose strand of hair out of Steve’s face, who finally looks up and locks eyes with Eddie. “Pretty sure the universe thinks you’re the exact right catch for me.”

They just stare at each other for a minute. Eddie’s never been good with silence, but he feels an odd sense of calm around Steve, like his presence is what Eddie was waiting for, and they barely even know each other.

“You would want that? To try being together?” Eddie nods. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“You’re practically Hawkins royalty, Steve. I thought I was unworthy of even being in your presence, let alone being your soulmate. Our names showing up on each other’s arms is the most shocking thing that’s ever happened to me. I guess I just needed some time to process it.”

“And now?” He says it with this hopeful, shiny look in his eyes, still a bit cautious.

“I think I’m done processing. I’ve totally gotten over the whole jock thing-“

“Hey!”

“I’ve moved on because I think I can really get into this whole vibe,” he tugs gently on the red ascot of Steve’s uniform. “Never would’ve thought sailors were my thing, but you’re really making this work for me.”

A cackle carries across the shop and they both startle as if they forgot anyone else was here. Robin’s laughing as she goes through the register to close it out for the night, eyeing them and shaking her head.

“No one needs to know about your weird kinks, Munson.”

He flips her off. “Leave me and my soulmate alone, Buckley.”

A sharp intake of breath draws his gaze back to Steve. That hopeful look has turned to one of pure adoration. “Your soulmate,” he whispers.

Eddie pulls Steve a little closer and whispers in confirmation, “My soulmate.”

[ragnarokhound]

trick or treat 👻 long time no ramble in your ao3 comments but ily

Happy Halloween!! Always happy to hear from you! <333

Please enjoy my final contribution this year, a merry spookmas to all, and to all a boop night:

Halloween night in Gotham always brings out the crazies. The light is still on at this house, one of many in a nice, quiet neighborhood close to the park. The doorbell rings in expectation. As the tradition is answered, the owner of this particular house is nearly shocked out of their skin by the costumed figures on their front stoop. Or rather, by one in particular. "Trick or treat," sniffles a young, wobbling voice. "Trick or treat," her imposing guardian echoes, a beat off. The old rote phrase takes on new meaning, spat out of that expressionless red helmet, threatening and mechanical. Red Hood is on the porch. With a teary-eyed fairy princess, clutching a half-full sack of candy in her small hands. It looks suspiciously like burlap, and it's stained in places, like it's already been used for kidnapping purposes. Best not to ask, probably. "O-oh! What wonderful--" a darting glance from the princess to the Hood, "--costumes. So creative. Not staying out too much longer, I hope? It's getting late." "Making up for lost time," Red Hood says. It answers about as many questions as it raises, but mostly it says back off and give up the goods. Nervously, "Oh, of course. Take as much as you like, dear-- we thought we'd seen our last trick-or-treaters already." The princess's eyes get big, and she looks up at Red Hood, double checking. When he nods, shrugging, as much as you want, they said, she scrambles for the candy bowl. Crisp plastic packaging crinkles by the handful as she practically cleans them out. "What do we say?" Red Hood says gruffly. "Thank you!" she says, beaming. Hood leans in close. "Warheads? Gummy lips?" The gun-toting vigilante says disdainfully. "Are you kidding me with this sh-- stuff? This is bottom shelf candy. This is the dregs from last year. We both know the average property values on this street. You can do better." "Hood!" A third, irritated voice calls from the short driveway. "Wrap it up, we're behind schedule as it is!" "We'll make time," growls the man behind the mask, not even turning to acknowledge-- Red Robin is in the driveway. The severe twist of his mouth is impatient, but softens when the fairy princess comes running towards him, near-full bag held up triumphantly and spilling at least half a dozen boxes of Dots on the grass. "Red Robin, Red Robin, look! Look, I have enough now! I wanna show Greg and Mommy, they'll never believe it--" "Good job, Jenny," Red Robin says brightly, helping her up in front of him on the seat of his motorcycle. He's got a child-sized helmet ready to go. "See? I told you we'd get your candy back. Hood!" he snaps. Red Hood points fingers at his eyes and then at the cheapskate home owner's, I'm watching you, before snatching the last butterscotch out of the bowl. "Keep your shorts on, princess, I'm coming," he complains, climbing up onto the seat behind him. It's a tight fit. "Ready to go home?" he asks Jenny. "Bad guys and trick or treating and magic spells. You've had a big night, kiddo." "Uh-huh," she says absently, seriously studying her candy stash. "Then hold on tight--" "You got her?" "What kind of question is that? Of course I've got her--" The rev of the engine drowns out the rest of their bickering, and then they're off, screaming down the street. Gone, like they were never here at all. Halloween always brings out the crazies.

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[acesartemis]

day three of @tommykinardweek -> supernatural creatures

for @dark-alice-lilith

“So, do you believe us now?” Tommy growls a bit after the question due to his current ... figure. He still can't hardly believe it and the fur is quite literally staring at him in the face. 

A whine follows the question from a butterscotch-colored furry figure next to him the size of an honest-to-God, come-to-life Direwolf. Tommy leans over to give Evan a reassuring kiss — lick? — to the side of his face.

A human, hysterical laugh bubbles up from Eddie. “This — somehow — y'all are somehow messing with me. I knew those clams weren't — it's got to be — what bruja did you piss off?”

Tommy doesn't even curb the instinct to bare his teeth at the man. He could easily eat him, if he wanted to. Thankfully he didn't—at least not in that way.  Instead, Tommy decides to head-butt Eddie so hard he falls over. “I knew we should have called Hen.”

Eddie rights himself, still snickering. He clicks his tongue and actually pets Tommy's head and when his hand moves just right by his left ear, Tommy wants to downright howl in pleasure. He's saved the embarrassment by another head forcibly knocking into his—Evan was never one to be left out.

The human of the trio laughs again, only this time it's fond. “Okay, okay. I can't forget about you, Buck.”

Evan positively beams as Eddie gives his ears a scratch, tongue lolling out and everything. It's absolutely adorable. “So, if we're stuck like this... What do we do now? We... don't really fit in a car.”

“Or a house,” Tommy chimes in. He resists the urge to scratch himself with his back... paw. He would not be caught dead doing something so… undignified, even if it were only in front of Evan and Eddie. Especially in front of Evan and Eddie.

“Wait, I got it,” Eddie says with a clap. “I wanted to surprise you both with a ski trip over the holidays, but this… whatever, is more important.” 

He pulls out his phone, typing away with his thumbs. “Okay, so Bobby knows we’ll be out for the weekend. Annnd I texted Lucy to let your Cap know.

“This is so weird; I can't believe I’m gonna suggest this, but… I’ll drive and you two just,” he gestures at their wolf forms, “follow… by running, I guess? ‘Cause I don't think even my truck bed will fit you both.”

“Might as well make the most of it if we’re stuck like this.” Evan nudges Tommy’s snout with his own. “Race ya?”

Tommy gives his boyfriend a playful nip. “You're on.”

🐺🐾🐺

Twin blurs of butterscotch and gray follows Eddie's truck for hours as asphalt and metal and glass give way to grand trees in a breathtaking kaleidoscope of yellows and oranges and reds as they enter the Sequoia National Park area.

Eddie pulls up to a grand private cabin. The land is secluded and, Eddie remembers with a snort, “pet-friendly”. Thankfully a former Army buddy of his pulled some strings so that they could crash for however long this event lasted.

The man follows the path behind the cabin on human legs, happy to find the quaint back area to sit. The sun would be setting soon, bringing with it the chill of the night.

As he watches his boyfriends lope back and forth, legs long and strong and sharp jaws playfully nipping at each other, Eddie is struck with envy. Sure, this was a fever dream incarnate and Eddie still couldn't quite believe the two beings—now howling as the moon and stars come out—were real, there was a part of him that yearned to be out there, wild and free, with them. But he wouldn't let himself dwell on the dark path that was bound to take him on and just relaxed, snapping photo and video proof if this wasn't all just in his head.

—It would be just like his head to think up a grand concept and just... leave him out of all the fun—

Stop that.

Enjoy.

🐺🐾🐺

It was no surprise to anyone that Tommy tired out first. Being an actual wolf matched Evan's nigh-insatiable energy to a tee.

As the younger of the two continued his mission of sniffing every tree about the place, Tommy trots over to their third, grinning a wolfish grin, and gives Eddie a large, slobber-filled lick-kiss. The man startles a bit, his eyes adorably droopy.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you.”  He sidles over to Eddie, laying out next to him. Eddie's fingers find their way into his fur, akin to his fingers scratching through his or Evan's curls when they're lucky enough to get a quiet night together.

“Buck still... wolfing around?”

“Duh.” 

They share a laugh. Tommy tilts his head at him, frowning at the sight of Eddie clutching his hoodie to his body. They hadn't planned for this impromptu trip, much less the weather. LA nights got chilly, but not like this. “Why don't you go inside?”

“And miss all the fun? 'M fine!”

A low whine rumbles in Tommy's throat and he nudges Eddie with his head. “We'll be fine out here, what with the fur and all. The last thing we need is an Eddie-sicle.”

Eddie huffs, “It's not that cold.”

“And you’re not in protective Army fatigues anymore, either,” Tommy counters. They both knew intimately what desert-cold was, and this was far from it. But now all Eddie was geared with was a hoodie. Tommy also knew Eddie had a stubborn streak that would rival a bull when he wanted.

“C’mere, then. I’ll keep you warm.” If Tommy still had his human brows they’d be waggling.

“Hell no!”

“C’mon, aren’t I soft?”

“Yes.”

“And oh so waaarm!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Evy, come heeeere,” Tommy calls, deciding to bring in back-up. “Eddie’s cold and won’t snuggle!”

Evan literally bounds over at the call, obedient as ever, tail wagging and tongue hanging lopsided out of his mouth. “Snuggles?!”

“Dammit, Buck, don't you dare!” Eddie warns but is blatantly ignored in favor of Evan (gently) body-slamming Eddie to the ground with his mass in a chaotic mess of kisses. Tommy gleefully joins in, wrapping his larger body around Eddie in equal parts protection from the elements and to ensure he doesn't escape. Eddie tries to wrestle Evan off of him to no avail.

“Okay, okay fine,” he relents with a fake pout, but Tommy is delighted to feel him snuggle back into his fur while Evan shifts to lay his head over Eddie’s body. They cocoon him thoroughly.

The trio are silent after that, taking in the breathtaking view of the clear starry night sky.

They are awoken by their shivering hours later, blessedly three humans again, only now two of them are naked. They high-tail it to the shower.

[echantedtoon]

Demonstober Day 30 Tengu

Tengu are a type of legendary creature found in Shinto belief. They are considered a type of yōkai or Shinto kami.

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @six-eyed-samurai @trancylovecraft @shadyd3ar @cherrysuzaku

@nousija @mspurpl3

Remember if you want to be added to the spooktober taglist lemme know

"Y/n-chaaaaan.~"

You heard the thunder bird Harpy boy before you saw him. You were just outside in the garden gathering up some delicious ripe tomatoes before you went off again to go and gather some more fruit from the wild fruit tree grove however you had gotten an unsuspecting surprised visitor. You first heard him from the loud flaps of his massive wings but also because you heard him call your name. 

It was a nice day. Quiet when you stepped out of your home with your basket in your hands and walked barefoot in the soft grass until you stopped by the garden and smiled at the shiny ripe tomatoes. Gently picking them off the long vines one after one until those loud wingbeats were heard.

"Y/N-CHAAANN!~"

You blinked before looking up-

CRASH!!

Before jumping as a loud crash next to you sounded out. You snapped around wide eyed in time to see a giant yellow blur skid across the ground before rolling head over heels over and over again before with a second crash noise the rolling mass collided with the side of your house and collapsed in a heap.

"Oh my goodness. Zenitsu!" Dropping everything you quickly ran over to the groaning mass of yellow and feathers. Pushing one giant yellow wing sticking up to the side before kneeling down to pat the boy's cheeks. "Zenitsu, are you alright?!"

Said boy shook his head before blinking up and then immediately gaining a love struck face. "Y/n-chan! Oh I knew you'd come see if I was alright!"

"Of course. You tore up some of my yard during your landing." You turned back to look at your poor yard and sighed seeing the misplaced lumps of grass torn up from his crash landing. "How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?"

"Of course! I wouldn't want my Y/n-chan to worry about me!"

"Let's just get you to stand up." You helped him stand back up with a grunt and a few flaps of his wings. A quick look over confirmed that he wasn't hurt but you helped pull the loose feathers from them anyways. "You kids NEED to be more careful. Humans will see you easily if you're not careful. That's the whole point of staying HIDDEN."

"*sigh* I know. I know."

"Then please be more careful next time. Now, what brings you all the way here?"

He turned to you with a smile. "Gramps heard about you giving Tanjiro some pies and wanted some too! You have any left?"

Oh! It's about the pies.

You smiled brightly at him and nodded. "Sure do. I thought you guys might want some so I saved you all a few butterscotch cinnamon and apple pie. I even have a peach cobbler just for Kaigaku. Come on. I'll get it for you."

Gently you grabbed him by the arm to lead him inside and again his face lit up a head. "I'm sure anything you made will taste heavenly cuz you're a real angel!~" 

"Let's just see if the others like it too."

[lavendercharm]

Linger, Chapter 2: Evil Woman

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

----

For as irate as she’d made you, you knew you owed credit where credit was due: Melissa was a phenomenal teacher. 

You’d watched her teach math after settling into your desk, masking her disdain toward you effortlessly as she started her lesson. Her passion and love for her work was undeniable. Even more, her kids seemed to adore her. Everyone has those teachers who stay with them as they grow up, and you had no doubt Melissa would be that teacher for quite a few of her kids. Sure, they were silly, rambunctious, and easily distracted, as are most eight and nine year olds. But there was a strong undercurrent of respect for their teacher. The fact that she managed all of this while teaching two grades was immensely impressive. 

You didn’t care if it was petty: the fact that she was just that good made you all the more irritated. 

You watched her with contempt and tried to ignore the budding admiration that was almost imperceptible beneath it all. ‘She’s had plenty of years to practice,’ you think to yourself grumpily, but despite your best efforts, you couldn’t put any real malice behind the words. You didn’t really care about how old she was. You were simply stewing in your feelings, the knowledge that she was apparently touchy about her age the only ammunition you had at the moment. Seeing as you couldn’t find much of anything to criticize when it came to her teaching abilities, you were grasping at straws. 

After her last biting comment, you managed to make it through the rest of the morning mostly unscathed. A few sharp glances had been thrown in your direction as you made your way around the room assisting the kids who asked for help, but you’d resolved to ignore them. You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her dirty looks.

The morning flew by in a flurry of math, reading, and science. You’d started to learn a bit about the kids in your temporary class. There was Jameela, a third grader who’s favorite color was yellow and who had a new kitten at home named Butterscotch; Kaden, a third grader who loved Minecraft and hated jelly beans; Antonia, a second grader who’d corrected you that she went by ‘Toni’ and who’d beamed when you told her she hadn’t made a single mistake on her math sheet; and Lawrence, a third grader who was terribly shy, yet wonderfully intuitive. You’d given him a giant grin as you helped him sound out a word he didn’t know. 

You could feel your sour mood gradually beginning to lift as you’d made your way through the room. Helping students reminded you why you were here. After the events of this morning, the only thing you really wanted to do was keep your head down, do your work, and make it through the end of the day without having another… disagreement with Melissa Schemmenti.

Turns out you wouldn’t make it to lunch. 

A few minutes before 12:30, Melissa gruffly mutters to you in passing that she has lunch duty today. Glancing at the schedule she’d petulantly tossed on your desk earlier, you saw her class had Art and Recess after lunch. As you open your mouth to ask if Melissa wants you to take the kids, she abruptly cuts you off, holding up a hand to silence you. Narrowing her eyes, she bitingly snaps, “I got it. I wanna make sure they get there on time."

The anger that had started to simmer down boils over, becoming white-hot, the suffocating feeling welling up inside of your chest. You’d hoped to move on from this morning, but it was becoming quickly apparent that Melissa Schemmenti knew how to hold a grudge. You clench your jaw, aiming for a low blow you knew would land. "Don't break a hip on the way there," you quietly sneer. You weren't proud of it, but you were pissed and giving into the urge to lash out.

There was an intense flash of animosity in her eyes. You know she heard you, and you're sure you'd be dead on the spot if it weren't for the kids in the room with you. The look in her eyes could peel the skin off of you. "What was that?" she practically growls, her tone low to avoid drawing attention to you both. 

You didn't think she’d go so far as to physically fight you in front of her students, but you noticed her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides, and suddenly you weren't so sure. You'd been in exactly one fight in your life, and you weren't all that convinced that punching a boy in the nose for making fun of you when you were eight even counted. A darker part of you wanted to see how far you could push the woman, but the last thing you needed was to lose your job by continuing to provoke a full-time faculty member.  

Instead of playing into the desire to take things further, you use the only protection you can think of: drawing the attention of the students. Raising your voice slightly above your normal speaking volume, you retort, "I said 'Suit yourself, Miss Schemmenti!’ What do you think I said?" Being unable to resist one final jab, you force a genial tone and add, "Maybe you should get your hearing checked!" 

A couple of students giggle, and you see a muscle in Melissa’s jaw jump out as she clenches her teeth together. She’s practically bursting at the seams to pounce on you and rip your head off. Her nostrils flair with the effort of holding herself together. You find yourself suddenly struck once more by how beautiful she is. There’s a dusting of color high on her cheeks and her eyes are alight with intensity. Her full lips are fighting the urge to pull apart and bare her teeth in a snarl. She was gorgeous. 

You couldn’t fucking stand it. 

She manages to bite out a very forced, “Of course. How silly of me.” She pries herself away from you and stiffly asks the class to stop what they’re doing to line up for lunch. She doesn’t look at you again, but an aura of hostility still hangs in the air around her. You get the impression you’re only safe for the time being.

A few minutes later, you’re alone in the classroom. You feel the weight of the confrontation starting to dissipate and you collapse back into your seat. Dropping your head into your hands, you berate yourself for your childish and unprofessional behavior. You’d never been so quick to anger as you were with Melissa Schemmenti. Replaying the events of the morning, you try to figure out why you both ended up at each other's throats so quickly. You start to think perhaps you’d been too sensitive about Melissa’s japes, but you stop yourself. You had been late, but it was an accident. She’d never met you before and it had felt totally uncalled for. Couldn’t she be bothered to give you the benefit of the doubt?

Her comments about the way you looked just added insult to injury. You realize in her mind she may have just been making a joke, but it had made you feel belittled, as if she didn’t respect your position as her equal. Just because you had less experience than her didn’t mean you should be treated like you were below her. You scowled to yourself, thinking about how she’d reacted when you fired back asking her how old she was. She could dish it, but apparently couldn’t take it.

This day had felt impossibly long, and it wasn’t even 1 PM yet. 

Glancing around the room, you absorb the state it was in. Trying to wrangle nearly thirty kids into a semblance of an orderly line to get to lunch on time meant school supplies were scattered haphazardly across desks and the floor. You didn’t have your lunch today, and though you considered leaving to buy something down the street, you really shouldn’t spend the money.

After a moment’s thought, you stand from your desk and begin tidying up the room. You collect colored pencils, paper scraps, and glue sticks, reuniting them with their caps in the process. If you weren’t going to eat lunch, you might as well keep yourself busy to make time pass a bit faster. And maybe coming back to a cleaner room would improve Melissa’s mood a bit, so you could both leave at the end of the day without having drawn blood. 

You toss the paper scraps into the recycling bin near the door and investigate the various drawers and cabinets to find the proper homes for everything you’d gathered. It’s not long before you discover the colored pencil bin in a cabinet, and frown when you notice the disorganization inside. A teacher as experienced as Melissa didn’t strike you as someone who couldn’t stay on top of her stuff - at least under normal circumstances. With two grades crammed into one room though, it made sense things would get away from her. Did her current aide even do anything?

You start removing things, finding items in the wrong bins as well as many unusable and ruined materials. Huffing to yourself, you manage to empty one container and designate it “The Graveyard”. Soon you’ve amassed a sizable pile of broken or unusable supplies. Deciding to organize the crayons and pencils by color group while you’re here, you’re suddenly interrupted by a quick knock on the doorframe and a voice speaking before you can even turn around.

“Hey Melissa, can I take a peek at your lesson for- oh?” 

You find yourself in the presence of a very small black woman with wide eyes and short curly hair. Her outfit is colorful - ‘Oh lord, the pattern on her skirt. Was her skirt literally made from a quilt?’  The surprise on her face is quickly replaced by the friendliest smile you’d seen today, which was really no competition. Regardless, it fills you with warmth. You silently ask the universe to please let you make one new friend today.

It seems you’ve earned a break. “Sorry, I thought Melissa would be in here, since she’s not in the lounge! She must have lunch duty. I wanted to look at her lesson plans for Social Studies to make sure my class isn’t falling behind. Or getting too far ahead. Probably that second one, my class loves social studies. I’m Miss Teagues- er, Janine!” You don’t even care about her info dump. You’re so relieved to have a normal, friendly introduction that you’d let her talk about almost anything. Janine was the first adult today who hadn’t either lied to your face, or seemed ready and more-than-willing to break it. 

You return the woman’s smile, greeting her and giving her your name. “I’m subbing for the aide while she’s out sick, so it looks like I’ll be around for the next few days,” you tell her. Speaking it out loud, you feel a bit demoralized. ‘If I even live that long.’ 

Janine beams at you. “Well, welcome to Abbott! It’s the best, I love it here. I bet you will too!” You expect her to leave, but an awkward silence follows in which Janine simply looks at you. After what feels like just a little too long, she pipes up.“I love reorganizing! And believe me, I totally get it when you’re in ‘the flow’,” she emphasizes with very cheesy air quotes, “but aren’t you going to eat lunch?”

“Oh, actually I’m okay-” you begin to reassure Janine, but the gurgling of your stomach rudely interrupts you and blows your cover.

You stand in another awkward silence for a moment, before Janine throws you a finger gun and cracks, “Sounds like someone’s hungry. Why don’t you stop for now and come join us in the teacher’s lounge? You can meet Jacob and Gregory!” You’re touched by the enthusiastic offer.

“That sounds really lovely Janine… but I woke up late this morning and left my lunch at home. At this point, I don’t really have time to run out. I’ll be okay, I promise,” you reassure the shorter woman. But you can tell by the look in her eyes she won’t accept your answer.

“At least let me bring you some of my lunch! You need to eat something today!” Before you can protest, Janine is out the door and down the hall. Her insistence on looking after you makes you slightly uncomfortable, seeing as you’d only just met three minutes ago, but you allow yourself to accept her kindness. It was the first overt act of compassion you’d received today, and you had a feeling that once Janine Teagues made up her mind about something, she did not give up easily.

When she returns, she’s holding a paper plate with the most incredible looking lasagna you’ve ever seen. It’s steaming, and as the scent reaches you, your mouth waters. She hands it to you with a grin and says, “Go ahead and dig in! This is the best lasagna ever.”

You take the plate and thank Janine profusely. You feel like you could cry from the kindness she’s shown you in light of how awful the day’s been. You pick up the plastic fork, and take a bite. Immediately your taste buds are flooded with flavor, the melted cheese and perfectly spiced tomato sauce actually bringing tears to your eyes. You didn’t realize until just now how hungry you really are, and you don’t even fully swallow your first bite before taking a second. Janine’s watching you intently, a smile plastered on her face as she witnesses the spiritual journey her lasagna is taking you on. 

After you swallow your third bite, you look at Janine and declare, “This… this might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted. You’re an incredible cook Janine.”

Immediately Janine looks sheepish, her smile unwavering as her eyes dart away from you. “Oh, thank you! But I didn’t make it. I had a bit of a rough week last week. I was in the lounge this morning, doing my prep, you know? And all of a sudden, a tupperware full of lasagna’s sitting in front of me. She didn’t say anything, but I know it was Melissa’s way of taking care of me.”

You come to a screeching halt mid-chew. The name unpleasantly rings in your ears like tinnitus after a loud concert. Through a mouthful of food, you utter, “Melissa?”

Janine’s eyebrows come together in confusion. As if it’s the most obvious fact in the world, she replies, “Yeah, Melissa. She’s the incredible cook.” 

Your appetite evaporates. The lasagna may as well have turned to ash in your mouth. You have to force it down, not wanting to spit it out into the trash in front of Janine. Despite the heavenly taste, this new knowledge makes it feel like your body’s trying to reject the food. You look down at the remaining lasagna on your plate and your stomach churns. After a final gulp, you turn away from Janine and grimace, abandoning the remainder of her lunch on your desk. You muster a weak, “Wow, that’s… wow!” 

‘Is there anything this damn woman can’t do!?” you think, your mood reaching its depths of the day. You take a moment to compose yourself before turning back around to Janine and shooting her a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you Janine. I should finish up what I started before the class gets back!” Janine assures you she’s happy to have helped, and after dallying a moment longer, she departs the room.

Your hands fly to your face, running down it in exasperation. You just couldn’t escape Melissa Schemmenti. Still, a niggling thought sticks in the back of your mind. It appears the woman was capable of being civil, and even showing acts of kindness. Although indirectly, it was because of her that you'd been able to eat today. You're sure she'd be furious about that.

You resolve yourself to try and patch things up with her. Taking stock of the progress you've made in organizing and decluttering her room, you think you might have a good start to doing just that.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 3

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.08k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up!

Past (iii) - You

[16 & 17] - THE CAPITOL

When you were six, Eleven had a bad year for crops. Of course, the ones who felt the brunt of it were the district citizens. Your parents had given you half of their rations plus your own, but that still wasn't much and you were starving. So you snuck into the woods in hopes of finding something to eat when you saw it. A coyote stuck on its side, legs too frail to lift itself. 

It looked gaunt, ribs protruding and spine on display. You knew hunger personally enough to recognize it anywhere. But even as weak as it was, it looked at you like you were prey—growling and snapping its teeth from where it laid on its side. 

You knew it could hurt you. No matter how weak it looked, it was still stronger than you and all it would take was one bite for you to get some kind of infection. With how weak your immune system was, something like that would have killed you almost instantly. So you left it there.

As you sit in front of President Snow, you can't help but be reminded of that coyote. 

He's paler in person, face thinner up close. That doesn't make him any less imposing. You fidget in your seat and glance at the door. You know there are four Peacekeepers stationed outside, guns full of ammo. They'll shoot you down without a second thought if Snow wills it, put a bullet in your skull at the snap of his fingers. 

There are dozens of white roses around you, tucked inside vases on any available surface. Almost innocent if not for their cloying scent. It gives you a headache. You’ve never seen so many roses outside of a funeral.

When you received the letter requesting your presence, you were at a loss. The next Victory Tour wasn't for a couple of months. What business do you have in the Capitol? 

You're so concentrated on your surroundings that it surprises you when he finally starts talking. 

"Forgive me, I never personally commended you for your games. I would have done so a year ago, of course, but there were complications." His gruff voice carries in the room. Your shoulders are stiff with tension. 

Is that it? He invited you to the Capitol—to his office— to what? To salute you? Your stylist didn't have you plucked and waxed just for a pat on the back. There must be more behind this, not that you would ever call him out on that. 

He opens a drawer on his right and pulls out an intricately designed, rectangular canister. He places it in front of you, takes off the lid, and picks up a gold-wrapped piece of candy. 

"Many people don't get to relish in the luxuries of the Capitol. For example, this candy. You didn't get to have many of these growing up in Eleven, did you," he chuckles when you shake your head. He knew the answer to that question before he asked it, "No, of course not. But you're a victor now, you should indulge. Butterscotch?" He offers and it feels like bait. 

You're not sure if you can work up the nerve to say no to him, even over something as trivial as a piece of candy. You nod and he raises his eyebrow. You clear your throat, "Yes, please." 

"Good girl." He mutters approvingly, gloved fingers brushing your palm as he hands the candy to you. You barely hold back a flinch. 

He watches you unwrap the candy and place it in your mouth. It's quiet. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth. 

"It's good, isn't it?" He asks rhetorically but doesn't continue speaking. He just stares. You can't tell if he wants you to answer or not. And when you finally open your mouth to say something, he cuts you off.

"There's something on your mind. Say it." 

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I—I just didn't think my games were impressive enough to garner your attention." You barely did anything worth a spectacle. Your games might have been entertaining, but you're no Finnick Odair. 

“Now, let's be honest with each other. You're thinking, ‘Surely, he didn't invite me here just to congratulate me’, yes?” He smiles with an encouraging nod, almost like a schoolteacher. Are you that easy to read? First Finnick, now him.

You nod, unsure if any noise that comes out of your mouth will be intelligible. 

"You're quite clever for someone of your background. That's why people love you so much. And it's that love that brings you here today. The people want more of you." 

"I didn't know I was so popular." You naively thought the hype surrounding you and your games would die off with the entrance of a new victor. Will you be interviewed by Caesar? Doing another photoshoot for Capitol Couture? 

“I want to explain something to you, my dear, in a way you’ll understand. Imagine a wolf wanders onto your farm—you know what a wolf is, yes? This wolf hasn’t killed any of your cattle, but it has the potential to. Now, you could always get rid of the wolf, kill it, but that’s only a temporary solution. There will always be other wolves.” He scolds you as if you were the one to suggest it and not him. “Why go through the effort of killing it, when you can tame it—give the wolf a bone, so to speak. You earn its loyalty and it protects the cattle from other predators.” You aren’t sure you really follow what he’s trying to say. Are you the wolf? The cattle? You certainly don’t own the farm.

"In the past, I’ve always resorted to getting rid of my wolves. But I’ve found it’s easier to domesticate them. I'll be completely transparent with you as I want no misunderstandings between us. I am in the business of making wolves happy. And something that'll make them very happy is you," your knees ache with how hard you're gripping them, "not even the most blue-blooded citizens can fight the allure of spending a night with a victor. Especially one as captivating as yourself." 

You stare at each other. Your eyes stunned, his apathetic. You’re able to decipher his needlessly complicated metaphor and you wish he was talking about actual wolves. You’d rather take your chances with the predators in the woods than the ones in the Capitol.

“I...I'm sorry, I don't understand. If this is a money thing—” 

"No, I don't do this for money. Although there is a substantial fee involved, the people who are pushing for this are my key endorsers. You provide this service for them and I ensure their loyalty. Wolf, meet bone." 

You shake your head, suddenly nauseous. "Why would I agree to that?" 

"Why? Do you not care about your mother? What of Seeder and her poor children," he asks, tsking at your confusion. "Eleven is our most populated district. It can stand to lose a few people." You hear the threat he's not saying and throwing up becomes a very, very real possibility. 

You say nothing, swallowing around fear and vomit. He leans back in his chair, probably sickly satisfied at how subdued he’s got you.

You've never hated anyone as much as you hate the man before you. Not the peacekeeper that executed your father, or the Crop Overseer that made it her mission to touch as many of the young farmhands as she could. He's going to whore you out to the highest bidder. No, he's giving your body away like a party favor. 

He steeples his fingers. "There's a party tonight. I can expect to see you there, hmm?" 

You nod slowly before remembering what he wants. "Yes, sir." 

"Good," he releases a puff of air from his nose that you can almost count as a laugh. He slides a key card across the desk. "You will be staying at the Marquis Hotel in room 2077. There are only two people with access to the door: you and the Avox in charge of cleaning it. Unless stated otherwise, you will hold all of your appointments in this room." He's given you the top floor, you note faintly. 

"You will receive your assignments from me personally," he sits a paper card face-down in front of you. "This is the name of your client and what time you can expect them to knock on your door. Along with your room number, in case it slips your mind." You pick both cards off the desk, almost expecting them to burn your fingers. But they're just objects. The only thing that can hurt you here is Snow. 

"You've been very compliant thus far. I hope it's a trait you continue to possess in the future." The sound of his leather gloves squeaking against each other draws your attention for a beat. It's a welcome distraction from the blood rushing in your ears. "Now, there's something important I must ask you." 

You look up at him, shaking where you sit. You know your face is twisted into a scowl and you dig your nails into your thighs. 

What more does he want from you? He’s practically squeezing a stone, expecting blood, but can’t he see you have nothing left for him to take? But there’s something Snow knows that you haven’t considered. If you squeeze a rock hard enough, you get diamonds. Finnick finds you with your back pressed to the wall like you’re the only thing keeping it up, scowling at anyone who tries to start up a conversation with you. 

"What's got you pouting, beautiful?" He teases, approaching you with a good-natured smile. 

He leans in next to you, close enough that your bare arm brushes his satin-covered chest with every breath. He's a drink or two in, you can tell by the slant of his eyes and the flush in his cheeks. 

You contemplate it for a second. Should you tell him? You need someone to talk to, or just to listen to you and he's the closest thing you've ever had to a friend in a very long time, especially in the Capitol. That certainly means something to you. You’re so far from your natural habitat and there’s safety in numbers. Though, you guess you’ve never really left the forest, have you? The same rules apply in the Capitol as they do in the wilderness: blend into your surroundings and if a predator spots you, pray to God they lose interest.

"Can I trust you, Finnick?" You ask in place of an answer, eyes locked on the crowd. Snow never said that you had to keep your arrangement to yourself, but it didn't hurt to be safe. You want to confide in him more than anything, but you need to be sure that Finnick won't trade your secret for another. 

He straightens, sobering at your sudden seriousness. "Yeah. Yeah, of course." 

You stare at him for a moment. You've talked to Finnick a handful of times and only had two meaningful conversations that didn't involve either of you flirting. By all means, you shouldn't trust him. 

But you do. You really do.

You take him by the hand and pull him behind you, dodging socialites left and right, to a narrow corridor that nobody frequents. There are too many ears out there and the only people that walk down this hall are Avoxes. And it's not like they can tell anyone what they hear. 

You stand across from each other, so close that your heels touch his boots when he leans against the wall. You open your mouth, hesitate, and close it. 

Finnick pushes off the wall to touch your shoulder, leaning down to try to catch your eye. "What happened?" 

You keep your gaze down; you don't know if you can stomach the look he'll give you when you tell him. 

“Snow…” You trail off, losing steam fast. Finnick stiffens, his grip on your shoulder as tight as a corpse’s.

“What did Snow do?”

You launch into your explanation, starting with the letter you received and ending with the last question Snow asked you. 

"And, when I agreed, he asked me if…if I was still a virgin. Apparently, there's a high demand for my first time." You pick at the skin around your nails, a habit your prep team admonished you for. Nothing pretty about bleeding, peeling fingers. 

You bite the bullet and look up. His sea-green eyes are rocky and there's a grimace on his face. An angry tilt to his mouth, but that's it. No shock, no disgust, none of the emotions that this kind of revelation warrants. You take in his stance. He's tense, but he's not surprised. Almost as if he expected this.

"Finnick, are you...?" Your voice peters out lamely, unable to put words to what Snow is making you do, what you suspect he's been making Finnick do. 

He rocks on his heels and lets out a slow puff of air from his nose. "Since I won my games." 

You shake your head. That can't be right. "You were only fourteen." 

"Only a select few in Snow's private circle could indulge in my services at first. But once I hit sixteen," he shrugs with a mean smile, "I was fair game." Of course. You had thought Finnick was handsome when he first won, in that passing way thirteen-year-olds often thought of others. Obviously, it was a shared consensus. 

And Snow had said that he planned on speaking to you sooner—when you were younger. Stupid of you to think that he was swayed by something as trivial as morals. 

"Who else is he forcing to do this?" 

"You, me, and any other attractive victor with something to lose." The sleeves of his white blouse rub together as he crosses his arms, a sneer stretched on his pretty face. You're quiet. You think of Seeder. You think of Chaff and Haymitch. Cashmere and Gloss. You think of fourteen-year-old Finnick. You think of them in the same chair you were in, guns at their back and faced with an impossible task. 

Were they as scared as you? 

"I had thought...I thought that he wouldn't ask you," he looks at you with a gleam in his eyes that you recognize. It's the same one he had during that first dance. But you can distinguish it now because you feel it; he looks haunted, "Usually, he'd spring it on you as soon as you win, but he didn't with you, so I thought—I hoped …" He cuts himself off, staring over your shoulder. He bites his lip so hard you know it has to hurt. 

You reach forward, using your thumb to pull his lip away from his teeth. He looks between your eyes for a second and you drop your hand. "Hoped what, Finnick?" 

He clenches and unclenches his jaw. "I hoped you were safe." That's...you don't know what that is. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it knocking against your ribcage. You lean your head back with a sigh. You close your eyes and resist the urge to rub at your chest. That's not supposed to happen. This isn't supposed to happen. 

"It almost sounds like you care about me." You joke, voice wavering. You can't do this right now. 

"I do," his arms drop beside him with another shrug, "I care about you." He says plainly, eyes locked on you. Evidently, he's not one to beat around the bush and, usually, you aren’t either. You don't say anything. Speechless is probably a better word for it. And then, he continues on like what he said isn't a revelation within itself. 

"Snow says it's to ensure loyalty, and maybe that's true, but it's not the only reason. His goal, above all else, is to further drive the wedge between victors and the Capitol," he says, an echo of your first conversation. "We're not human, not to them. He made sure of that." 

Neither of you talks, the silence heavy with the truth of that statement. You're well informed now, and you aren't alone in your imprisonment to Snow. You aren't sure what to do with that. It certainly doesn't make you feel better, and it doesn't change the fact that you only have two hours and forty minutes before your appointment. 

Finnick must be able to feel the anxiety wafting off you in waves because he grabs your hand and…pinches the skin between your thumb and forefinger? "What the hell are you doing?" You half-heartedly tug at his grip, more out of reflex than anything else, but he holds on tight. 

"It's a pressure point. You squeeze it when you're stressed or anxious—a trick I learned from Mags." He slides his thumb down to where the bone of your pointer finger meets your thumb and presses down. You both stand like that for at least ten seconds. 

"...It hurts." 

"It's supposed to," he laughs, soft lips pulled into a grin. "The pain, it's supposed to be distracting." It's definitely uncomfortable, but the only thing you're distracted by is his touch. You don't know if it's some kind of placebo effect or if this pressure point shit actually has some validity, but your heart doesn't feel like it'll beat through your ribs anymore. 

Or, the third option. It has nothing to do with the pressure point and everything to do with the man in front of you. This close, his scent engulfs you. Saltwater and something sweet buried under it, a smell you're sure will still be caught in your nose long after you go home. 

He digs in a pocket of his billowy pants and places a card in your hand. 

"Here," it's the same as the one Snow gave you. The only difference is the name, the time, and the room number. 2064, "It's one of my regulars, so I don't need it." He states in such a nonchalant manner, it almost sounds normal to you. 

"Regulars?" You frown before you can catch yourself. A seventeen-year-old shouldn't have regulars. 

"Don't make that face. I don't need your pity. We're in the same boat, remember?" He asks, but it's one of those rhetorical questions that only have one answer. 

"Right." At this point, the waves have capsized your boat. You're drowning, water filling your lungs, but at least you're drowning together. 

"Look, he puts us all on the same floor." He's still holding your hand with both of his. Like it's something delicate, something worth being gentle with. Like it hasn't taken lives. "If you need me, you know where to find me." He offers with a tender squeeze of your hand. And, despite yourself, you believe him. If you need him, Finnick will be there. 

A thought that's just as comforting as it is terrifying. He removes one of his hands from yours and thrusts it forward—correction, one of his pinkies forward in a gesture similar to the one you did months before. You only hesitate for a second before locking yours with his. 

A silent promise.

“Any advice?”

“Advice,” he laughs, short and brittle. “Yeah. Just…breathe and endure. It’s all any of us can really do.” His voice is angry, but his eyes are mournful. That’s definitely not the kind of advice you wanted to hear and you can tell it’s obviously not the kind he wants to give. But what were you expecting, some kind of miracle cure? That’s not the way this works. 

You could always just… disappear. If not physically, then mentally. A trick you picked up in Eleven when the grueling work days got especially long and—Finnick’s pinky is still locked with yours, you hadn’t even registered it. He doesn’t seem too nonplussed about the prolonged contact, quite the opposite, actually.

And, well, it's not like you're complaining.

Present (III) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - DISTRICT FOUR

The escort for District Four, Freesia Ashwind, stands before a rowdy crowd. Most, if not all, of the citizens, are excited to see who will represent them in the Games. 

It makes him sick. 

Finnick stares at the back of her magenta head and cracks his fingers behind him. 

When Finnick was younger, he hated her. Out of all the names she could have picked, all the lives she could have ruined, she picked his. She inadvertently had a hand in the years of suffering he endured. And when he was fourteen, alone and hurting, blaming Snow wasn't enough. 

It's different now. He's older and wiser, and he does still hate her, but no more than he hates every other Capitol. He tunes her out and tries to remember if he's had sex with her. 

After preaching the same spiel she's said every year, she finally says something of substance. 

"Now, normally, it's ladies first. However, since it's such a special occasion, how about we switch it up a bit?" The crowd roars, exhilarated, hanging on to her every word. He's sure she could recite the entire history of Panem and they'd cheer. District Four doesn't suck from the teat of the Capitol like One and Two do, but it's still a wealthy, Career district. 

She approaches the bowl on her right instead of her left. 

He stands alone as the sole male victor. There used to be three others, but they either drowned in their liquor or overdosed on their Morphling. Despite that, she makes a show of it. Swirling her hand around the empty bowl until she plucks the only paper out with a gasp, exaggerated in nature as most people of the Capitol are. 

"Finnick Odair!” He doesn’t know what he was expecting. There—there was no other outcome. Still, he goes cold, heart growing heavy with reality sinking into it. 

Finnick is a good actor. Maybe not the best, but he's certainly up there. Not many people could see through his veneer. It's fragile, cracks and instability on display to anyone who truly knows him—and even then, that's only three people. 

Two of them stand beside him now, waiting to see where the sword will fall. And the other…

Finnick waves to the cheering crowd with a closed-mouth smile. 

The other is lost to him. 

He plays up his enthusiasm, winking and waving. He dons the mask they chose for him: Golden boy of the Capitol, a born killer. Why wouldn't he be excited to get back in the ring? A couple more thoughts like that and maybe he'll start believing it. 

"Ladies next!" A hush settles over the crowd. No one is excited to see this. He glances to his left. Annie is shaking as Mags holds onto her. 

It's so quiet, Finnick can hear the tape tearing off the paper. 

"Annie Cres—” Annie is screaming before Freesia even finishes. He faces forward, biting his cheeks to shit. 

"Oh, it seems we have a volunteer!" He almost breaks his neck from turning so fast. Mags has her hand held high, gesturing to herself. 

The crowd cheers, but this time they cheer for Mags's bravery. Finnick feels like crying. 

As the cameras zoom in on them, he breaks protocol and goes to comfort her. He holds Mags close and kisses the top of her head. He's known her for most of his life and he's still surprised by her selflessness. She must know how high the deck is stacked against her. That, even with him beside her, the odds aren't in her favor. And she still volunteered. There's a reason you and her got along so well. 

He looks at Annie. Her hands are over her ears and she stares back mournfully, more lucid than she's been in years. She makes to come towards them before she's intercepted and ushered off the stage like a sheep. 

Finnick wonders who will take care of her with both of them gone. Annie may not be going into the arena, but this is just as much a death sentence for her as it is for them. 

Right about now, the reaping for Eleven should be taking place. 

Finnick knows Snow well, more than he'd ever admit. He knows, without a doubt, that he put Seeder's name in twice. 

But there's a chance that he doesn't know you as well as he thinks he does. Two years is plenty of time for a person to change. God, he hopes he's wrong about you. He hopes you've grown mean and callous, and you wouldn't even think about trading your life for someone else's. 

He hopes you're safe. 

Peacekeepers approach. Far more cordial than they'd be with the lower districts, but still gripping their guns tight. "Right this way, Mr. Odair." One of them says. He and Mags follow after him, like pampered pigs to the slaughter. 

Present (III) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN  

You don't remember the walk to the stage. You've been out of it since the Quarter Quell was announced. You remember specific instances of Chaff forcing you and Seeder to train, your mother following you around like a shadow—and when you come to, it's to a sea of despondent faces. Every District Eleven resident, young and old, stands before you. 

Argon Wellway is the same announcer Eleven has had for the past five years. His neon purple hair remains stiff despite the breeze. You've always loved purple. It's an odd dichotomy to see something you love on something you hate. 

He steps to the mic, enthusiastic and jaunty despite the dour reception he receives from his audience.

"Hello, District Eleven! Are we excited for the Quarter Quell," he pauses with a wide smile, every tooth on display. The crowd stays silent, "Well, I certainly am. And so is everyone in the Capitol!" 

He steps back, attitude impervious to everyone around him. "Now, for the men!" 

You pity Chaff. He stands by himself on the left, bearing the weight of being the only male victor of Eleven. He never had a chance. 

Argon approaches the bowl on the left like a magician, showy with big movements. He pulls the card out and stands by the mic. "Chaff Mitchell!" 

Chaff doesn't move from where he stands, there's no point. 

Seeder takes your hand and you squeeze back with numb fingers. You don't know where her kids are, the mass of people too big to pick out three children, but you look for them nonetheless. You wonder what they're feeling. You wonder what you’re feeling.

"On to the female victors. This one is especially exciting, a fifty-fifty chance!" There's not a wrinkle on his face as he smiles, skin too tight with Botox. It makes him look inhuman, fitting. 

"Which one, which one," his fingers dance between the two cards inside the bowl, going back and forth like it was a guessing game and not someone's life on the line. He goes on like that longer than needed before deciding, "Aha! This one." 

He steps back to the mic, tearing the tape off the back of the paper before announcing, "Seeder Howell!"

She is quiet, face twisted in an attempt to keep back tears. Her grip is crushing as if she's scared they will drag her away. And you move without putting much thought into the decision. 

You raise your free hand and say, "I volunteer." You don't yell it, you don't need to. 

Your mother lets out a shrill, throat-shredding scream, her voice only elevated by the silence surrounding it. This will be the last thing you hear from her.

Seeder holds on to your hand as you step forward, grip tight. There are tears in her eyes, lips trembling around words she doesn't have the strength to say. 

"I know," And you do. As a mother, she's grateful, but as your mentor—well, "Let me do this for you." You say, but it isn't a request. You're going back into the arena whether she gives you her blessing or not. You can admit your reasons for volunteering aren't entirely selfless. You're going up against seasoned fighters, all prepared to do what it takes to survive. 

But—you don't have to win. No one expects you to win and that...that thought is relieving. You aren't planning on rolling over in the arena and letting someone get a free kill, but this is something Snow won't be able to work around. No matter how hard he tries, he can't manipulate the outcome of the games. And he'll have no one to blame but himself, no one to punish. It's cowardice, in a way, but you're tired. And you think you've been tired for a long time now. You'd be stupid not to take this ticket out. 

Most eyes pity you. You're essentially volunteering yourself to put your head under the executioner's sword. However, some eyes envy you. You're leaving Eleven. For good. For many of the citizens, death is a small price to pay for freedom. But there’s something else, something everyone in the crowd shares. There’s anger, a righteous fury in every face you see. 

Is this the view your dad had? Are these the faces he saw before he was lynched?

You spot your mom a few rows back, someone holding her up. She's inconsolable. You take a moment to look at her for the last time. After you die, they'll make her move out of your house, but you know without asking that Seeder will take care of her. 

"This is certainly a surprise! Very exciting," Argon grabs the stump of Chaff's right arm and the wrist of your left, lifting them into the air, "We have our tributes!" 

No one claps. You don't expect them to. 

Things move pretty quickly after that. You're given no time to say goodbye. No time to try and run. 

Peacekeepers approach and the hands that grab you are rough with their treatment, dragging you and Chaff in the direction of the train. 

There'll be many victors facing the guillotine, many of your friends forced into a death march.

You look to the sky, a quick glance before you're ushered to the train. It's a sunny day with plump white clouds on a baby blue backdrop. It might be the last time you see the real sky as a free woman. Calm and beautiful despite the carnage happening under it. 

You close your eyes for a moment and think. For the first time in almost two years, you'll see Finnick.

[tomaturtles]

Boys + a Yarrowcore shirt

[bubbleguppyyy]

Encapsulated in Time

Bucky x Fem! reader

>Here's some angst :)<

Story Synopsis: Bucky knew something was missing from his memories. Something important, something special. He had tried everything to try and recover what it was, but he never could grasp anything. However, he never expected to find those missing memories in a file and an old box of videotapes

Bucky wasn't quite sure how much he enjoyed the life of the Avengers.

Steve was always there for him of course and he continuously checked on Bucky even after he would say he was perfectly fine.

They both knew he wasn't.

Bucky didn't like missions as much as Natasha or Tony did but he still went on them to try and be a part of the team, or something like that.

Steve always told him that he didn't have to. He had a choice now. He could say no, but Bucky still wasn't sure how to do that. How did he make decisions on his own?

Bucky slowly started making friends with everyone (Sam was taking some time). He bonded with Natasha over knives and even with Bruce over yoga classes to soothe anger.

But, he couldn't help but feel something very big was missing from his memory. Bucky remembered a lot of his missions and times when he happened to snap out of the soldier. There were these feelings he couldn't quite place. Longing? Anguish? Why was he feeling these emotions? And why did they come along with the scent of Rosemary?

When the Avengers decided to take a day off, they were hoping not to hear from Fury. Of course, they knew that the man would probably call later tonight with a mission but they certainly did not expect him to walk into the compound with an old box and a file.

"Barnes, I thought I would deliver these myself. Be thankful because my team almost threw them away." Fury set the box on the coffee table in the middle of the common room and gave the file to Bucky.

He held the file, dumbfounded. Bucky had no idea what Fury was talking about. They almost threw what away?

"I can tell you have no idea what I'm talking about. Good thing I saved these. Anyway, as we know, you disappeared from Hydra roughly around 1973 to 1978."

Bucky gave a look to Steve, silently asking if he knew what this was about. Steve shrugged, also looking very confused.

"Fury, why don't you just get to the point?" Natasha asks, trying to seem nonchalant but by the way she's twirling that knife, she's also intrigued.

"I agree with the Widow, Fury. We're all dying to know what's in the box."

Tony is leaning on the armrest of the couch, sipping on a glass of his expensive whiskey. He's grinning at Fury's annoyed look at all of them.

Fury sighs, "I had some agents looking into some things in Greece and they happened to find the box in an old apartment building. The owner said that she remembered you and that she always kept your stuff, hoping you'd come back by to get it."

A flash of a small, middle-aged woman that smelled of butterscotch and had a smile like the sun goes through Bucky's head. He can almost feel the breeze coming from the open windows, the sheer curtains flowing with it.

"I think you should just look in the box yourself, Barnes. Let the memories come back slowly."

With that, Fury quickly left, mumbling about how he needs to find someone to work on patience with the Avengers.

Bucky blankly stared at the file in his hands. He was almost afraid of what he would find. A feeling of dread runs through him and he wants to throw up. He can't remember anything but it's almost like his body knows that whatever is in this file and box, it's going to ruin him.

Steve sits next to Bucky, watching his reaction.

"You don't have to open it right now Buck. You can take some time to process if you'd like. We can leave the room." Steve looked at everyone, hoping they would get the hint, but none of them did. They were too curious.

Bucky just shook his head and swallowed the bile in his throat. He would rather have his friends there. He wasn't sure how he was about to handle this.

Bucky grabbed the edge of the file, preparing to open it. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. This would explain so much to Bucky.

He took and deep breath and opened it.

The first thing he saw was a picture of you, smiling as you rested your head on your palm. The sound of your laugh rang in Bucky's ears, the scent of Rosemary filling his nose. Your name was next, he remembered saying it over and over again, just because he liked the sound of it. Your birthday was next and then-

Status: Deceased. Executed by The Winter Soldier.

>Should I make a part 2?<

[mysteriousbp]

Second Chance AU Masterpost 2

Canon posts

Original posts:

Toriel outfit designs

ASKS:

Reacting to the comebacks

Kanako reacting to Clover driking acid

Flowey after UTY geno reset

Welcome to the Golden Justice Outpost

Feeling stuff as a spirit

Life in the void and Chujin snapping

Visiting the underground

Geno Lila and Geno Clover

Chujin's reaction to Geno Clover

Flowey and the souls after UT Flawed Pacifist

Clover forgets he has fur

Toriel reuniting with Clover

Dalv and Papyrus reaction of being called dad

Clover and Kanako’s reactions to Zenith Martlet

Asriel first panic attack

Chara's opinion on Frisk

Uty geno, cliff talk with the souls

Melody dancing

Human souls. Butterscotch or Cinnamon?

Hope and Sunny's journeys

Frisk's reaction to Clover going missing

Frisk reation to the items

Second Chance AU fallen human timeline

Clover entering the limbo void

Melody's judgement

Martlet life on the surface

Chujin trying to give Axis the ability to use exclamation points

Clover gender confusion

Melody and Asgore

Melody and Dalv dacing

Geno Clover design explain

Melody and Tom's lovelife. Tom x Bunbun confirm

Melody dancing with the others

Fusion voice control

Melody's death

Children ages

Tom and Hope's interests.

Owning a gun.

Who was traumatized the most?

How accepting were the humans?

Indecisive Hope.

Political discussion about the children.

Lila's royal clothes.

Asriel describing the souls feelings.

Kanako/Clover voice.

How many monsters did Lila killed.

Melody in the Ruins.

Kanako dreaming Clover's farm days.

Lila meeting Muffet.

Orphanage food and Sunny finding the cookbook.

[oh-stars]

Tally Marks

Assumption

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 851 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

Eddie waits at the edge of the Rom-Com aisle as Steve finishes ringing up Mrs. Jenkins. 

“These are due next Friday,” Steve reminds her as he slides over the tapes, “so you’ll have to come back and see me.” 

Mrs. Jenkins takes the tapes and smiles, looking a little flustered as she bats her eyes at him. She’s old enough to be Steve’s great grandmother, but it’s kind of sweet his boyfriend has this power over people. He should probably hate Steve’s instinctive need to flirt with the customers (and everyone else he meets) but he knows Steve doesn’t know any different. To him, he’s just being polite and working his charm (snaps and all) to make someone’s day, even though everyone else can clearly see he’s being a flirt. 

Eddie’s fine with it. For the most part. 

Robin pushes her cart behind the counter and walks around to the computer, pushing Steve out the way. “Are you setting up a hot date with Mrs. Jenkins in our place of work, Steven?” 

Steve shrugs, tossing Mrs. Jenkins a wink. “What can I say? I can’t help myself around beautiful women, you know that.” 

Mrs. Jenkins waves him off. “You’re too much, Steve,” she says, cheeks rosy. 

“Let me help you to your car,” Steve says as he quickly rounds the counter to take her arm in his. “A pretty lady like you shouldn’t have to open the doors for herself.” 

“Robin, dear,” Mrs. Jenkins says as she and Steve start to take small steps toward the door. “You keep an eye on this one. He’s a keeper and you’re mighty lucky to call him yours.” 

Steve’s eyes find Eddie’s, lips pressed together in a smirk. “Now who’s being too much?” 

Mrs. Jenkins laughs and together, they walk to the door, where Steve holds it open for her. 

As the door shuts behind them, Eddie steps out from the aisle to watch Steve help her into her car and make sure she’s settled. “Does he do that a lot?” he asks.

Robin’s busy pulling something out from under the counter. “Flirt? Eddie, you’ve met him–” 

“No, no,” Eddie says as he takes his rightful place against the counter. “The whole walking her to the car song and dance.” 

“Only with our more senior customers,” Robin says as she uncaps a marker, a whiteboard now lying on the counter in front of her. “And the ones who give him candy for his trouble.” 

She’s marking a tally among a long line of them across the top of the board when Steve walks back in. 

“Butterscotch?” he asks, offering the handful of them he’s holding. Something clinks against his teeth – Eddie tracks the movement to see Steve playing with one already in his mouth. This man has no right making hard candies attractive at ten o’clock in the morning. 

Eddie plucks one out of his hand as Steve sets the rest against the computer’s base. “What’s with the tallies?” 

Steve peers over the counter to see Robin’s board, which she is counting the tallies repeatedly and comparing it to the two numbers at the bottom of the board. “Only two more days, right?” 

“Yup,” she says, “and so far, I'm the closest.” 

“That’s so not fair.” 

“How? There’s no skill in guessing a number–” 

“You’ve got a freaky third sense–”

“Sixth sense,” Eddie and Robin say at the same time. “

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not losing.”

Robin sucks in a breath through her teeth. “I hate to break it to you, Steve, but I think you are.” 

“What are you losing?” Eddie asks. 

Steve sighs and presses their shoulders together. “We have a bet going to see who can get closer to the number of people that assume Robbie and I are dating.” 

“And so far, I’m only three off and Steve’s five.” 

“That’s so close!” 

“But no cigar,” Robin says with a grin as she puts the board and marker away. 

“Two days is a lot of time,” Steve says. “I think I can get five people to assume we’re dating.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a snort, “like you two have any problems in that department.” 

Steve smirks. “And then,” he says with a little trill to his voice, “Rob will have to buy me lunch for once.” 

“In your dreams, Harrington.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the smile that threatens to break anyway. God, he loves these idiots. 

Robin turns to him, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a shift to get to?” 

He glances down at his watch and– “Shit. I’ll see you later.” Eddie chances a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek and tosses a wave over his shoulder as he heads out of Family Video, starting the mighty long journey of walking next door to the Arcade for his shift. What he wouldn’t give to have coworkers half as fun as the two of them, but alas, it’s just Eddie during the day shifts at the Arcade, so he’ll have to have his own fun. Or hope Steve comes to bother him on his break. Whichever comes first. 

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[talulajones-stories]

For Now

She turns the knobs to the shower, steam immediately gathering in the clawfoot tub. And she slips the thin straps off her shoulders, peeling the dress downward over her lace bra, commencing to rolling it over her curves when her phone dings, pulling her focus.

‘Punta Cana?’

She bites down on her lip, but the smile finds its way through. Damon is nothing if not persistent.

She thumbs back, ‘Close.’

Damon has been texting her daily, taking shots as to where she might have run off to.

“How am I supposed to stay out of trouble with you gone.”

“Try your best.” She texts back, though she is not attached how he behaves anymore, not like how she used to in the past, the encouragement is rote. 

She watches the text bubble appear and then disappear, and then reappear with his response. “Are you saying I’m on my own?”

She then wonders if he’s okay, if home is okay, biting at her nails, instead of making any effort to ask him that.

He double texts, probably just as nervous of her response and she was to answer it. “Send me a pic. I’m beginning to forget what you look like.”

She swishes her mouth to the side, staring at his request.

The last time they saw each other was at that biker bar, when he found her after her running into his brother.  There are holes in her memory of what all happened between them, some of them lost to that bottle of Jack Daniels they finished, and some she does remember, but doesn’t know what to make of them.

Like the way she felt when he straddled the stool next to her, his legs open, blocking her in, letting everyone in the bar know she was with him. He had leaned into her, drinking from her glass, placing his mouth on the imprint of her lip gloss, his eyes locked on hers. She had asked him why he was there, frustrated that he had tracked her down, only for him to simply smile and say, “Haven’t you heard the saying, Bonnie? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

She swipes at the steam on the bathroom mirror, leaving a clear streak for her to see herself and approve.  She thinks she will send him something to throw him off. Send him a selfie, with the angle just right, undoing her braids and tousling her dark strands, letting the light shine on her bare shoulders, giving the semblance of not only being naked, but that wherever she is, that he doesn’t know about, she’s having a lot of fun.

She snaps the pic and lowers the phone, finger poised over the button, wishing she could be a fly on the wall to see his reaction—when it hits her. The rest of the fragments of that night. Hearing herself, distant, arguing with him in the gravel lot outside the bar, him holding her keys out of reach, and her shoving him. “You treated Enzo like he stole something from you the entire time we were together.” And then him grabbing her, the keys digging into her skin so deeply she can feel it now, his mouth so close to hers as he spat, “Because he did.”

With a decisive flick, she locks the screen, the image unsent, and finishes undressing to take her shower.

+++

Bonnie scrubs her skin raw with the loofah, butterscotch skin smarting red and irritated as she is as she stands under the hot spray of water.

She wasn’t even angry with Damon anymore. She had been, at first—violently so. But she’d had years to get through that. Enzo helped. And she’d come to accept the fact that Damon was always going to be, well, Damon.

He had gone on and on about how she should have read his letter when they were being civil in the bar, when she was actually happy he had found her. He said if she had read it then it would have changed everything. She told him she didn’t want to hear another fucking word about that damn letter.

She still has it, though. The letter. It’s packed up with the rest of the things she hid in boxes out in her Gram’s garage.

She pulls down the shower head, sets it to massage, and angles it between her legs, trying to find release. Closing her eyes, she pictures a stranger, maybe that biker, maybe someone else with dark hair.

Her mind drifts, uncooperative. It clings to Damon and his apologies. “I shouldn’t have said that about Enzo,” he’d said, blocking her from leaving him alone in that parking lot. Gravel had crunched beneath their feet, her vision blurred with hot tears as his leather jacket had blocked her view of the car. He had lifted her braid over her shoulder, tucking it behind her so he could cradle the side of her neck, holding her still to get her to hear him out, his voice a broken whisper when he said, “Don’t go, Bon.”

She focuses on the water pressure and the pounding sensation, longing for it to bring her to the present moment. But it doesn’t. Her body refuses to respond.

Her phone dings again. Of course, it does.

She slams the shower head into place, and reaches for a towel.

There was a time when Damon was who she wanted—like when her life was tethered and traded away in a spell that put her best friend into a coma, or when a militarized faction of hunters was trying to track her down to use her in their twisted experiments. But he made a choice, and he left her to sleep in box.

She ends her conversation with Damon, texting back that he didn’t have to keep checking up on her; she was good.