#i made this post and placed it in my drafts just a lil before sleeping so i don't forget :]

[astrxealis]

i have a granblue fantasy sideblog (kinda inactive), a final fantasy xiv blog (still a wip) ... maybe i should make a milgram sideblog. and a drakenier sideblog

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚ #mostly milgram tbh! not really for drakenier (might change my mind when i finish the games) #tbh idk aaa. i like putting em ere so my mutuals and followers can also see my beloved blorbos but ??? #i like to keep things organized and i kinda really hate how messy my blog is... idk which posts i've reblogged already #and i want to make it organized T___T i have almost 5k posts i think. and i have 1k+ drafts and around a years worth in queue so #i'll fix my blog more soon! also hi good morning #i made this post and placed it in my drafts just a lil before sleeping so i don't forget :] #fun fact currently i am listening to milgram songs on repeat again (what a surprise! /s) #tbh i think it might be best to make a milgram sideblog bcs i have way too much stuff i want to reblog lmfao #+ some stuff are... yeah...... might be triggering so might be best to limit only to people who actually know milgram #tbh this is also so i can interact w communities more and uh. also make more of my own fandom-specific posts with spoilers #ffxiv is the only one that i'm making another whole blog (w a diff email) for bcs i am not revealing my age there for reasons

[joelsgreys]

baby, i’m yours

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You remind Joel that you’re his.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION however she does wear Joel’s t-shirt and he semi lifts her onto a counter? sorta but not really? UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (Joel is in his 50’s but reader’s specific age is not mentioned). established relationship, sort of. consumption of food (if you are allergic to peanuts, i so sorry). angst, Joel and Ellie’s strained relationship is lightly implied, Joel is insecure, it’s implied reader did some horrible things in her past, reassurance, brief smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, consider it a quickie idk. apologies if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this short lil thing has been sitting in my drafts forever. i finished it while i was in ireland and finally had the chance to sit down and do a quick edit and when i say it was quick, i flew through it so i could hop onto my next wip so please excuse any errors! here’s a spotify link to the song if anyone’s curious, it’s an oldie but a goodie although it may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

main masterlist l fic notifs

Joel rolls over in bed, his arm outstretched and seeking the warmth of your soft, naked body.

“Mmph,” a small, sleepy groan falls from his lips as his long, thick fingers feel around on your side of the bed—of his bed. Of course, you have your very own bedroom in the house you all had been placed in when you first arrived in Jackson. Your very own bed to sleep in is just down the hallway, but lately, you’ve been waking up beside him a lot more often than not, especially now that Ellie’s a bit older and she’s gone and made herself her own space out in the garage behind the house. Being under the same roof as Joel did those two more harm than it did good, and while you missed having her around, it was for the best.

“She’ll come around, Joel,” you’d assured him. “I know she will. She just needs a bit of time is all.”

“Hope you’re right, darlin’,” he had murmured sadly in response.

Still lost somewhere in between sleep and full consciousness, Joel continues feeling around for you, but all he finds are the wrinkled sheets, cold and abandoned. Confused, his eyes finally flutter open and with a painful protest from his sore, stiff back, he sits up, blinking furiously as he looks around the darkness of his bedroom. The door’s been left cracked open ever so slightly, and as his vision adjusts now that he’s fully awake, he notices the dim glow of the hallway light that’s peeking through into the room.

He turns and glances over at the old digital alarm clock perched on his nightstand, the obnoxious, bright red numbers practically screaming at him that it’s a quarter past midnight. With a small, tired grunt, Joel switches on the lamp beside the clock and swings his legs over the side of the mattress, goosebumps erupting across his flesh the instant that his bare feet meet the cold, hardwood floor. He stands and fumbles around for his clothes, which he’d tossed carelessly somewhere over his shoulder hours earlier when he’d been lost in the heat of the moment with you. He finds his faded, navy blue sweatpants strewn across a chair next to the door and pulls them on over his naked lower body before searching for his t-shirt. When he doesn’t immediately see it, he doesn’t bother, figuring that it’s just going to come back off when he climbs back into bed with you.

Padding out of his bedroom, he makes his way down the hallway, heading towards the staircase. As he draws closer, he hears it—the soft music that’s coming from downstairs.

Baby, I'm yours

and I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky

yours until the rivers all run dry

in other words, until I die

He’s led towards the kitchen and that’s where he finds you.

Joel wants to be annoyed. 

Fuck, he tries to be annoyed. But he can’t help the way that the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards when his eyes take in the sight before him.

You’re standing at the center island slowly swaying your hips from side to side along to the beat of the song that’s playing from the record player perched next to the instant coffee maker on the counter behind you. He’d nearly wrung your neck when he found out what all you had traded just to get your hands on it, but you loved that thing more than life itself it seemed, so he couldn’t stay mad for very long. You’re making yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—the peanut butter you’d learned how to make yourself with the old food processor he found deep in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the strawberry preserves you had picked up from the market earlier that week. Clad in nothing but his t-shirt, you’re singing along quietly to the lyrics as you finish making your late night snack.

Baby, I’m yours

and I’ll be yours until the sun no longer shines

yours until the poets run out of rhyme

in other words, until the end of time

Joel leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he watches you carefully lick the remnants of peanut butter off of the knife you’re using before setting it down on the counter. You then pick up the two pieces of bread and slap them together—you’d also learned how to bake homemade bread using some old nineties cookbook you had found in the commune’s library. Your sourdough is the reason he had to go up a notch in his belt.

Sandwich in hand, you do a little spin, humming happily as you take your first bite.

Joel loudly clears his throat from the doorway.

Startled, you whirl around and freeze, your eyes wide.

“Enjoyin’ yourself there, darlin’?” He asks amusedly as he approaches you.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me, Joel!” You hiss at him. You then realize what time of night it is and a look of guilt crosses your features. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I honestly thought that I had the volume down low enough in here—”

Frowning, you turn around and reach towards the record player to turn the music off, but much to your surprise, Joel stops you. “No, s’okay. I woke up on my own,” he assures you. “I reached over for you and you were gone.” The admission slips before he can even think to stop it. He notices how taken aback you are by what he’d just said and quickly asks, “What’cha doin’ up so late, anyway?”

“I was hungry,” you tell him, sheepishly holding up your food. You always have one hell of an appetite after Joel was through fucking you senseless. You take another bite and offer it to him. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He accepts and takes a corner of the sandwich before handing it back to you. His fingers brush against yours and his face burns at the contact.

Fucking Christ. 

You’re standing there in nothing but his fucking t-shirt after he had, yet again, made you his in his own fucking bed, and that’s what gets him?

Truth be told, the only time he holds your hand is when he’s inside of you—his fingers lace with your own as he comforts you and praises you for being such a good girl for taking his cock the way you do.

For being so, so fucking good for him.

He’s thought about taking your hand in front of others. Particularly when he notices the way some of the men in town stare at you. Joel wants to make it known that you’re already spoken for. Only, you’re not spoken for, not really. 

You’re his, but you’re not really his. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take the leap and acknowledge the two of you are far more than just patrol partners, far more than just two people who fought like fucking hell to get some smart assed teenager—and the world’s only hope for a cure—across the country.

He feels undeserving of it. Of you and your heart.

Several seasons had come and gone since you’d both arrived in Jackson with Ellie in tow, and somehow, Joel still can’t fathom what you’re doing by his side. She’s out of the house now and there’s nothing tying you to him, so why are you still here?

He’s so much older. Closer and closer to being on his way out, while you still had your entire life left ahead of you. He’s worn down, hardened from the post outbreak world. And you, you hadn’t lost any of your softness, your sweetness. Not even after the things you’d been forced to do to survive because of him.

You could meet someone younger, someone closer to your own age. You could marry, even start a family. You could be with someone who could give you a good life, the life you deserve.

The life that he’s too fucking broken to give you.

“Joel?” Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. M’fine.” He gestures to the record player with a nod of his head. “Y’know, this song’s older than me. By a few years. Came out in the early sixties.”

Joel half expects you to make some wisecrack joke and tease him over his age like you have done in the past—especially when the kid would get you going. Instead, he watches you set what’s left of your sandwich down and brush the crumbs from your hands before holding one of them out to him.

Confused, he stares at it for a moment before his dark eyes meet yours. “What are you doin’?”

“Dance with me,” you say, smiling at him.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” When he realizes you’re being serious, he shakes his head. “Y’know I don’t—I can’t dance.”

Dropping your hand back down to your side, you turn around and flip the record, starting the song over again before whirling back around and taking Joel’s hands in yours.

“Just follow my lead,” you tell him as you place them on your waist. Your own hands settle themselves on his broad shoulders, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel grumbles underneath his breath, however he finds himself moving along with you without further protest. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer against him as the two of you slowly sway from side to side along to the beat of the music. He chuckles, “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

“And your point is?” You rest your head on his shoulder and exhale a soft, contended sigh.

Joel’s lips threaten to pull down once more.

Could it be that you’re actually content with him?

Head still on his shoulder, you sing along softly with Barbara Lewis. 

“I’m gonna stay right here by your side

do my best to keep you satisfied

nothing in this world can drive me away

‘cause every day you'll hear me say…”

It quickly becomes too much for him. Joel’s hands leave your waist. Taking your wrists, he tugs your arms from around his neck and gently pushes you away from him. “Why?” he finally asks the question that’s been hanging off the tip of his tongue for the better part of the last three years. “Why me?”

You stare at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Why me?” he repeats himself. “Why me when you can have anyone else—”

Your reply is prompt and you say it so simply.

“Because I don’t want anyone else.”

“You deserve better.”

You peer at him curiously. “I deserve better?”

“You do. Ain’t got no business being with someone like me. After all the terrible shit I’ve done—”

“I did the same exact shit, Joel. Sometimes I did even fucking worse.” Somehow, softness laces your tone. You have never been angry with him and you weren’t about to start now. “What makes my hands any cleaner than yours?”

Joel begins to sputter. “M’older than you. Much older. Should’a been a lot more careful. Should’a done more so you didn’t have to do those things.”

His hands still curled around your wrists, you reach up and gingerly cradle the sides of his face. He winces, but then quickly melts into your touch, the very same touch that could heal his wounds, if only he would allow it.

“I made my own choices,” you remind him, quietly. Neither of you realize the music has stopped. “Quit acting like blood doesn’t stain my hands too because it does.”

His lips press into a tight line. “Blood stains your hands ‘cause of me. S’my fault. I was responsible for you. I was s’pposed to take care of you. I didn’t protect you the way I should’ve.”

You sigh.

“When are you going to stop blaming yourself, Joel?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as it clenches. He averts his gaze, his eyes falling to the floor. He doesn’t answer.

You stroke the scruff of his beard lightly with your thumbs. “When are you going to stop thinking you’re not good enough for me? What’s it going to take for me to prove to you that you are all I could ever need and want?”

“You’re just wastin’ your fuckin’ life on me, darlin’. S’the truth and you fuckin’ know it as well as I do.”

Pulling your wrists out of his hands, you pivot on your heel and suck in a sharp breath, stubbornly blinking back the tears stinging your eyes. You’re frustrated.

It cuts you to your very core to know the man you’ve grown to love more than anything and anyone else on what’s left of this fucking planet can’t see that he’s enough. He’s more than enough.

Joel bites back his own frustrated sigh. He knows he can’t rely on you to tell him, rely on the reassurance—he needs to do his part and believe it. If he keeps trying to push you away, he just may very well succeed one day. He will lose you.

After a moment, he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, his lips lightly brushing your neck. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, his own voice thickening as a lump forms in the back of his throat. He’s quick to swallow it down. “Jus’ have a hard time believin’ you’re mine. S’almost like my mind is lookin’ to prove me wrong.”

“But I am yours, Joel. I’m yours, I’m fucking yours.”

It’s more than just reassurance. It’s an oath, one you’ll honor for the rest of your life.

He holds you tighter. “Yeah?” He nips at the delicate spot right below your ear, his teeth scraping along tender flesh. “S’that right, baby? You’re all mine?”

“All yours,” you confirm breathlessly as his hands slowly begin trailing down the length of your sides, his fingers skimming the hem of his t-shirt.

Joel swiftly turns you around in his arms and slips his hand between your thighs. The next thing you know, he has you backed up against the counter and he’s shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his hard, thick cock. With one of your legs hooked around his waist, he buries himself into the warmth of your cunt and begins to deliver smooth, languid strokes.

“Say it again, baby,” he rasps into your neck. He coaxes your other leg up and around his waist and his large hands curl securely underneath your thighs as he bucks up into you. He’d deal with the back pain later. He pants, “Need—need to hear you say it, my sweet girl.”

You hold onto the countertop behind you as he fucks you, your fingernails digging into the laminated wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” you moan into his shoulder. “I’m all yours, Joel. Oh fuck—”

You say it over and over again and he believes it.

He finally fucking believes it.

Sweet nothings fall from his lips with each thrust.

“S’lucky you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Gonna keep you for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

When he spills into you, there’s no regret on his part nor yours. You’d always wanted to feel him come inside of you—secretly, so did he. Joel’s deep, guttural groans bounce off of the kitchen walls as your pussy fills with him, with all of him, taking as much as it can before he begins leaking out of you and down the insides of your thighs.

“Jesus,” he exhales. He dips his head for a kiss. “You’re all messy now, baby,” he mumbles against your lips. “How’s about we go upstairs and get back into bed so I can clean you up?”

Giggling, you mimic him and remind him of what he’d said earlier. “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

Joel grins. “And your point is?”

You laugh again as he leads you out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom—to yours and his bedroom.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller drabble #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel fic

[amidstnamjin-and-binchanlix]

i don't wanna look at anything else (now that i saw you)

Warnings: Uhhh. Not much. Just some v v light angst, and Jackjack being a teeny tiny bit of a dumbass lil shit. Mentions of alcohol and getting drunk fuk yeah no don't do too much alcohol, kids. body and image insecurities, too.

Pairings: Jackson Wang/Reader

Plot: In another lifetime, another universe, your happy ending has always been in front of you all along.

Genre: light angst, eventual happy ending

And I can still see it all (In my mind)

All of you, all of me (Intertwined)

I once believed love would be (Black and white)

But it's golden (Golden)

And I can still see it all (In my head)

Back and forth from New York (Sneaking in your bed)

I once believed love would be (Burning red)

But it's golden

Like daylight, like daylight

Like daylight, daylight

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

(I can never look away)

I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

(Things will never be the same)

I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night

(Now I'm wide awake)

mixtape: all i have left to give - part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - ending 1

Oooooooohhhhweeeeeee

This is crazy

So much has happened since I last posted.

i got psychiatric help so guess who's on meds now? yay (not)

i mentioned here before that when I write the mixtape series, it's not necessarily in chronological order. I already have a rough draft in my mind of how it would go, and I am already planning to write the prequel to the first part, but it won't necessarily mean that it will come first. I also have an idea of what will happen for the ending(s?), but I have yet to muster the energy to write continuously right now bc so much has happened irl

With that being said, my next part will be a glimpse of one of the "what-if" endings. If it irks you that my writings are all over the place, I'm so sorry but I rly cant force my brain to write at one linear pace. As I always say, I hope I don't disappoint, and I'm so sorry if I do.

Thank you so much for loving my babies and for giving them the time of the day. Every time I get a notification of likes/reblogs/kudos/bookmarks, it warms my heart bc wtf it is more than I ever hoped for

thank you so much once again! this part is for those who are rooting for my babie jackjack because hey, he's a fuckin sweetheart and i love him to bits

just a little trigger warning for some insecurities because this is kinda self-projecting, i'm so sorry T_T

🌅

Soft morning light greets you when you open your eyes.

You've always relished in these times—the seconds or minutes of blank bliss and silence in between waking up and lucidity. These are times of peace before facing the storm of the day.

You stare at the ceiling of the room, the cream-colored walls, then the photos that line up your drawers.

So much has happened these past few months. Sometimes, you still can't believe that you've survived through it, that you powered through it. You genuinely thought it would end up killing you, and that you'd die hurting inside out.

But you lived, and you're happy now.

You turn your head to the side to find him, still slumbering. You take a deep breath and dig your fingers into your palm, afraid that this will all be a dream, and that you'll wake up with sweat on your forehead and blood on your lips and sheets.

You honestly would never have made it without him.

The one and only constant in your life, your ride-or-die.

Jackson.

He had been there through everything—the treatments, the hospitalizations, the relapses, and the recovery. He was there to see you fall apart at 3 a.m., see you struggle with breathing at random times of the day, there to see you bleed out from the love you had (have) for the other men who were supposed to love you back unconditionally.

He was there through everything, and he never once let go of your hand.

Sometimes, you think how it would be if you ended up with them; what would happen? Would you be happier? How would it be different from how it is right now?

But then, you think, they never loved you the way you wished to, the way they should've until you were on the brink of death. There would be too much resentment, too much guilt, too much pain. You would never be truly happy.

You feel guilty thinking about these things. You are genuinely happy— happier even—than you've ever been. Jackson never made you feel like you have to be someone else, like you have to live up to someone's high expectations. You never have to cry again, except when he goes on tour and you miss him, or when you're so happy with him that tears just can't help but make confetti in your eyes.

But then, you and Jackson both know that it is inevitable, that the love for the seven men who were once the center of your soul would never really go away. And he's okay with it, you're both okay with it. You've both made peace that they will always be a part of your life. All that matters is Jackson is your home now, that he's the one that you'll come home to. He's the one that you will make a space for in your heart, and the only one that will occupy it and stay for good.

Jackson is home, and he always will be.

You reach out and carefully brush Jackson's hair away from his still-closed eyes. Moments like this you miss the most when he's away on tour and you can't go with him. It gets lonely, but his coming home with the biggest and proudest smile on his face makes everything worth it.

He is worth it, and he always will be.

You scoot closer to his sleeping figure, wrapping your arm around his waist. Februaries are always cold, so his body warmth is heaven-sent. It is also one of the things you miss during times apart. You grew up in a non-affectionate household, touch-starved to the point that you became touch- repulsed. But after getting to know how Jackson feels like home, you can never get enough of his touch. You can never go for too long without it, and you can say you almost reverted to being touch-starved.

You shift to wrap yourself around him, slinging your leg lightly over his. You hear him groan as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, trying not to miss him already. You still have two weeks left before he leaves again for his next tour, but you can already feel the creeping sadness and pit in your stomach.

You're getting separation anxiety again. Maybe it's time to talk to your therapist.

Your fingers find themselves curled on his arms lightly, tracing shapes and absently doodling on his skin. 

"You're up early," comes Jackson's sleep-laden voice, his arms wrapping around your shoulders.

"'m not up yet," you grumble, subtly inhaling the scent of his skin. "And it's already seven AM; not early."

Jackson chuckles. "Okay, okay. No need to get pouty."

You huff. "I'm not pouty," an irony as you can actually feel yourself pout more when he says that. "It's really just not early."

It is early, you actually know it. But you want to spend more time with him before he sets off to wow the whole world again while you stay behind and wait for him to come home, so no, it's not really early.

You feel him kiss your hair. "Ah. I'm still here, but you already miss me." He laughs lightly. "What would you do without me?"

You know it's a joke, but your abandonment issues have been seriously acting up for a while now. You have to swallow before answering.

"I'd die without you," you blink rapidly to stop yourself from crying, trying to keep your tone light. "Terribly, so."

"Hey," Jackson tries to push your shoulder gently to look at your face, but you don't want him to see your crumpled expression.

"Hey, don't cry. It's too early for you to cry." You sniff, not wanting to let go of him. "I'm joking. You can never get rid of me at this point."

"But you can get rid of me," you fail to not sound miserable. "You can find someone else and settle down with them, someone whole."

A pause.

"Someone not broken."

"No." This time, Jackson's tone is firm, almost angry. "I don't like you talking about yourself like this, and I won't get rid of you. Is that what you think of me?"

"No, but you—"

"'But I ' nothing '," he says. He sits you both up and he puts his hands on your shoulders. "I fought nail and tooth just so I can have my happy ending with you. I fought with the law, I fought your soulmates, and I will fight all over again just so I can have this until we grow old and wrinkly. Why would I get rid of someone I've wanted my whole life? That's fucking stupid."

Your lips curl in a slight pout, trembling with all the tears that want to escape. You absently touch your chest, used to the phantom pain that came with the soul-scraping before. It's gone now, but all the things you used to do, used to go through, as well as the painful memories are still here.

"I..." You start, voice hoarse. "Sorry, I just don't want a repeat of that, you know?"

"I know."

"And I know you're not like them, but there are so many reasons things don't work out. And not to be dramatic or what—erm—," you clear your throat, "but I won't survive the next time I go through that again." Not if everything goes into plan, that next step you are planning with him. "It'll kill me."

You won't survive another soul-scraping, you just won't.

"You won't. I won't leave, I promise." Jackson presses a tender kiss on your lips, running his thumb on your cheek as he cradles it gently. "As I said, we'll grow old and wrinkly. We'll be that meme on Facebook where we grow old together and play bump cars with wheelchairs."

You snort softly. "If you damage my rhetorical wheelchair, I'm using yours. You crawl on the ground."

He grins, a lovely sight on his pretty face. "I'll always crawl my way back to you," he croons.

Jackson leans in and captures your lips in a gentle kiss. His hand finds its way inside your top and you flinch unintentionally. He tenses, then pulls away.

"I'm sorry," you hurriedly say.

"Hey," he says, eyes searching your face. "No need to apologize. I'm sorry. We don't need to do anything you don't want to."

"No, no. I want to." You pause, biting your lip. "It's just... my scar." You absently trace your myectomy scar. He looks at you, willing you to go on. "It's ugly." Among all other things.

"You will never be ugly." You open your mouth to retort but he silences you with a serious look. "I love you, scars and all. But as I said, we don't have to do anything. I just want to spend my time with you, and I'm good."

God, you think, I really think I'll marry you.

You surge up with a fierce kiss to his lips, taking your top off before you can change your mind.

"Wait, wait." Jackson puts his hand on yours, stopping you from taking your shirt off. "No."

"No?" You swallow thickly.

"No, not like that," he says hurriedly, seeing your mood shift. "Is it a good day?"

You know what he means, and it is not.

"No," you agree in a small voice. "It isn't."

You've gotten far from your insecurities, but they sometimes come back sneakily, like they did yesterday and today, of all days.

"We can keep your shirt on if you'd like?" he offers.

You take one look at him. Yup, you'll definitely marry him.

"Please?" You implore with your eyes.

He smiles softly. "Then we keep your shirt on."

His smile turns wicked.

"Won't stop me from eating you out from under it, though."

---

"Mark!"

"No," Mark says flatly. "You're not backing out of this."

"But—"

"Do you love him?" he asks.

"Yes!"

"Do you want to marry his ugly face?"

"He's not ugly, but yes!"

"Do you want to spend your lifetime kissing his ugly face?"

"Again, my Jackson is not ugly, but yes, I do!"

"Did you change your mind then?"

"Y—no, I did not!"

"Then why are you backing out?!"

"Because what if he doesn't want to?" [Name] bursts out to which Mark snorts impatiently. "What if doesn't want that for life? That's a lifetime of commitment, Mark. I can't undo that shit."

"You think he would want to?" Mark asks, almost angry, his patience growing thin. He rolls his eyes to heaven when he sees you in near tears.

"He wants to marry your equally ugly face," to which you splutter a 'hey!', "he talks, breathes, and sleeps nothing but [Name], [Name], [Name]." He sighs.

"Do you really think he would let go of you now?"

You know at this point that your fear is redundant and irrational, but you can't help it. Not when your own (ex-)soulmates didn't want you. It took you almost dying, and choosing your dignity and self-respect before they turned around. And even then, it was too late. Your soul is having none of it.

Mark softens at your silence. "Did you talk to your therapist about this?"

You nod. "Yeah. He said that I should start forgiving myself and moving forward and that I should believe that not everyone is like them. Not everyone will leave me."

"He's right. We won't leave you. We're stuck with you, just like how you're stuck with us. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay, good. Now, give me my hug because I just got from a long tiring flight because someone didn't want me to ride her private jet." He glares at you.

You laugh. "I told you, I need to fly here earlier than you since you can't cancel your meeting."

"You could've—I don't know—waited for me, maybe?" He pulls you in a tight hug.

Before you two can pull away, however, you both hear the sounds of Jackson's voice and the door opening.

Oh, shit.

You two freeze on your hug. You don't understand why you did but you just feel guilty, like being caught with your hand down your pants. You and Mark pull away from each other quickly.

"What's this? Hugging without me, huh?" Jackson jokes, but you can hear the slight insinuation in his voice, one that Mark does as well.

"Yeah, I'm stealing your girlfriend, Wang. Watch out." Mark smirks lightheartedly.

This bitch!

Jackson's eyebrow twitches. "You wish." They embrace in a brief hug before he turns to you with a soft smile on his pretty face.

Wow. Years in and you still can't get your heart to shut up over his smile.

"Hey," he says softly. "This is a very nice surprise."

"I missed you and the bed was cold," you pout slightly. "So here I am."

"Ah, I knew it. You just want a bed warmer." In the background, you can hear Mark fake gag, and Jackson gives him the finger.

"No, I want my Jackson not an electric blankie, smartass."

"Your Jackson, huh?" Mark fake gags again, and you smile at Jackson's 'fuck off, Tuan'.

"This is not what I signed up for, so I'm leaving you lovebirds to it."

"About time." This time, it's Jackson who grumbles, and you and Mark both laugh. "Shut up."

---

The next few days of the tour see Jackson busier than ever, and so are you. With the tour coming to its end, you scramble to get the last steps of your surprise into place. After all, Jackson deserves the best, and you don't want to give him any less.

This also means that you both get to see less of each other. You miss him and it sucks, and Jackson sometimes gets to receive the burnt of it, unfortunately.

"Hey. It's okay, everything's going to be okay," he says. You are so close to bursting and just saying fuck it, but you can't, so you let out a frustrated growl.

"It is not, stop saying that again and again." It is not. The local producer and local venue producer are being tough nuts to crack for some unknown reason, and are uncooperative. They are the only remaining people you need in on the plan, so it is taking too much time and effort on your part. Not that Jackson is not worth it, but the headache is just a bitch to deal with. "It really isn't so I ask you to kindly fuck off, Jackson. I don't need you patronizing me right now."

"Hey," he says firmly, his jaw heavy set. "I'm not doing anything, so don't take your shit out on me."

Ah, shit.

"Jacks—"

"Is it because I'm taking much of your time?"

"What?"

"Is it because I'm taking your time away to be with Mark?"

Your jaw drops. "Excuse me?"

"You think I don't see how you spend your time with him? How close you two seem to be nowadays?"

Aw, hell no.

"Jackson, no. What the fuck?"

"No, no. It's okay. You don't need to explain, you know? If you want to be with Mark-hyung, it's fine. I'm not gonna stand in the way."

"What are you talking about? Are you saying I'm cheating on you?" you ask in disbelief.

Jackson shakes his head. "I'm saying that if you want to be with him, you don't need to start picking fights just so we can break up." His eyes turn sad. "I'll let you go, you just have to ask."

Your chest hurts at that, stirring up old feelings you thought you'd never be able to feel again. "And you're gonna let me go, just like that?"

Silence.

You laugh humorlessly. "Wow. And you think of me that way, too."

"[Name]—"

"No." You thank whatever fuck there is that you had the foresight to book a separate room to plan your surprise (not that you sleep in it, with you opting to always sleep beside Jackson since arriving) and take your bag from the chair by the window of the suite.

"Thank you for clearing that shit up. At least I know now where I stand."

Jackson grasps your wrist delicately. "Sweetheart—"

You pull your wrist away from him. "Don't 'sweetheart' me, Jackson." He stops at the sight of the brimming tears in your eyes, the hurt painted in it.

"I trusted you with shit, you knew how I abhor those things you accuse me of. You knew how I hated my mom because of the things she did, and yet you dared think I am like her."

"I didn't—"

"Yes, you did, Jackson. Because if you only knew how full I am of you since the day I let those bastards go from my life." You sniff. "It's only and always been you, you, and you. Everyone knew that; everyone knows that."

"I don't—"

"Yeah, you don't. So I'll spare you the time and just leave you be. I never plan to force myself into something or someone, and I don't plan to start now."

Jackson tries to refute that it isn't the case, but you slam the door shut in his face behind you before he can even get a word in.

[ah, these kids. what do i do with you two?]

Jackson looks at the door you just slammed shut in his face, then to the dresser in his suite that you never opened. You two had always been intertwined, but you always gave him his space and privacy. He walks towards it, opens it, and takes the velvet box with the sparkling ring in it.

All I can say is you two are idiots, and everyone will agree with me.

---

"You what?!"

You grumble, shielding your bottle away from Mark. "Please don't shout at me, I'm already having a hard time as it is." You try to pull off your pitiful face, but Mark only makes his own face at you.

To be fair, Mark finds you pitiful, but not in that way. And he kind of wants to punch Jackson in the face right now too because seriously, you and Mark? It's like him and his sisters, what the actual fuck?

He can't blame the man, however. Everyone in the circle knows how Jackson has been wounded by the relationships he was in before, so it's easier for him to switch to defense mode. Jackson has always been prone to leave before he gets left when he feels like the other party is slowly losing interest.

But the dumbass has always been prone to the dumbest dumbassery in the group. And this? This takes the cake, Mark could roll his eyes to heaven.

"And you didn't bother to, I don't know, explain shit to him?" he asks with the patience of a saint.

You pout. You had the audacity to pout and Mark feels the patience slowly slipping away from him. "No. It's not gonna be a surprise anymore if I do."

Holy fuck.

"Are you shitting my dick right now?" he mutters. You only snort and Mark pulls away the bottle from you.

"Hey!"

"Listen to me. It's not gonna be a surprise anymore if you two break up because there'll be no one to surprise. You know he is a dumbass and you decided to be a dumbass too?"

"Hey! He accused me first! I didn't accuse him anything when he shot that sexy ass shoot with the ashes and stuff—"

"—Cruel." Mark supplies helpfully.

"Yes, that. I didn't do that with the main dancer when they've been cute and friendly and shit off cam, and yet he accuses me with you." You belch and gag, and Mark steps away slightly from you to avoid any impending projectile vomiting. "Like 'ew'."

"I agree with you, but how dare you, bitch? Are you saying I'm 'ew'?"

You level him with a look as much as you can with your drunk face, and Mark has never had the urge to headlock a woman before.

"Anyway," you say forlornly, "at least I know where we stand now." You sniff, and Mark feels bad for you (a little).

"No, you really don't. I thought that by now, you would know how he is."

"You weren't there when he said it!" You burst out angrily. "He means it! Do you know how it feels standing there and being practically told that he knows I'll leave him for other people, and that he'll let me?" You burp loudly again. "Me, of all people? When he knew how I detest that shit. With all the things I went through?"

And then you burst into ugly sobs.

[ah, jackson. you really are one dumbass.]

"Hey, hey, no," Mark says, wrapping his arms around you. "Don't cry. You're not allowed to cry. Doctor Im told you you're still healing; you're not even allowed to drink."

"Yet here I am," you say with a shaky laugh that morphs into another sob. "Again."

You're not sure if you're just talking about drinking or the fact that you're on the brink of losing yourself again over lost relationships. It's tiring, really. But it is what it is, as they say.

"Can you—can you please get my bag?" you ask Mark. "By the door, tossed it earlier," you slur.

You've never really shown Mark the ring you want to propose to Jackson with. Mark assumed that it is flashy, and you're never one for flashy things, so you're embarrassed about it.

That's not it, however. Completely the opposite, actually. The engagement ring is totally simple, a silver band encrusted with small diamonds on top. The only flashy thing about it is the bigger diamond heart in the center and the smaller gems that surround it on both sides.

The smaller gems are the highlights, you think. You took them from the necklace with both the birthstones that were gifted by Jackson to you during your first year anniversary and had them cut delicately to fit the ring you had in mind. On the right heart side are your birthstones, while on the left are Jackson's. You know some might find it too feminine, and Jackson might not be able to wear it that much in his line of work, but the ring is the most beautiful thing you have ever created in your life.

And now, Jackson won't be able to see it. That thought brings you to a fresh round of tears.

"Too girly, isn't it?" You ask Mark, who is silent. "And it should be the other way around—he should be the one asking me to marry him. I still would've asked him to marry me with this, Mark. That's how I don't give a shit. I just wanna marry his ugly face, but now I can't."

"You wanna marry me?" Comes a soft voice behind you and Mark. You jerk away, and Mark gently unwraps his arms around you as Jackson steps forward.

"I'll let you lovebirds talk," Mark says as he pulls away, but your wide eyes (as wide as bloodshot eyes can be) are only trained on Jackson. Mark pats Jackson's shoulder with a low 'we'll talk later', and Jackson only nods. It is silent until Mark closes the door behind him.

"You wanna marry me?" Jackson asks again. "You're gonna ask to marry me, [Name]?"

You can only nod, your eyes shut as your tears don't stop falling.

"Stay here," he only says. It's not like you're going anywhere, so you stay put. However, when five minutes turn to fifteen, then to twenty, you start to think that Jackson has either gone to sleep or gone off to god knows where. Before you can even think about getting up and running after him, the door to your suite opens.

"Come here, stand up." Jackson takes your hand and helps you stand up. He wipes your face with his hand, then with the cold cloth that someone hands him (whom you recognize is one of his staff). Other staff start to fuss over you as someone turns on the overhead lights.

"Wait, what?" you ask as someone starts to powder your face. "What's happening?"

You turn to Jackson, who's being ushered into a suit. You are ushered yourself by the few staff he had roped into helping into the other room to change into a tulle sweetheart dress.

"We're getting married."

---

"So, Jackson..." You hear the host through the speakers start his next question as you wait backstage with Mark. Even with the elopement, you're still going through with your plan.

That other plan.

"No," Mark says flatly. "You're not backing out of this."

Here we go again, but this time, Mark is a little less pissed and more exhausted with your shenanigans.

"No, I'm just saying. Maybe I should do this in private instead? This is the equivalent of putting a girl on the spot with marriage proposals, which, for the record, I absolutely detest because fuck having choice and not cornering them into whatever they want, right?"

"While I do agree with you, he'll pee his pants and probably hump you if you do this than to be put off, trust me," Mark says. "And besides, everything is ready. All it needs is the execution."

Mark has a point.

Before you can wimp out again, you hear your name being called to an uproar of cheers. You're lucky Jackson's fanbase is mostly supportive of your relationship since you two came out a few years ago, though it is not without some minor hiccups and a few outrage from the unsupportive ones. What matters however is you lucked out, and you can never be more grateful.

"[Name] [Last Name], ladies and gentlemen!" You hear the host say as you see Jackson's blinding grin when you step out from the backstage.

Oh, you swoon. My smitten darling [Name].

Steady, girl.

"So, Miss [Last Name]—"

"It's Mrs. Wang, actually." You hear gasps from the audience, and Jackson's blinding grin turns lovelier and wider. "We actually got married in secret, and you forgot this at home." You hand him his ring as you grin mischievously.

"Okay, Peeta Mellark." Jackson rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he slips on his ring. "What a way to break it to them."

"My, my." The host fans himself with a wide smile. "Is this what you meant when you told me you'll be getting me a high rating?"

"I hope so," you say sheepishly. "If it doesn't, then no worries. I still have another trick in my hat. Don't you worry."

You look at Jackson and can't help but laugh inwardly at his clueless smile.

Oh, dear.

The interview goes without a hitch, with it mostly centered on your married life. You were originally nervous about how it would turn out, but it had been so far so good. Nobody threw shoes, and all that happened was a little 'booooo' when asked if you had had your honeymoon yet (which not yet, because you were both busy for a while after his tour).

"So, [Name]," the host asks again with a little waggle of his eyebrows. "What is this other trick of yours you mentioned earlier?"

Ah, shit. Here we go.

"Ah." Your smile turns a little serene, and you see Jackson sit up straighter in his seat. Nobody would notice it if they are not in tune with him, but he practically owns your whole soul, and you'd like to think that you do his, too, so you notice it.

"Have I told you my story about my soulmates?"

The host shakes his head. "Pray, do tell."

"Well, not everyone gets lucky with theirs. Everyone knows that." You smile sadly, the audience turning quiet.

"Yes, of course. A very sad fact that everyone is very well acquainted with." The host smiles sympathetically at you.

"I used to think it was the end of the world when mine didn't want anything to do with me. I kept thinking that something was wrong with me, that maybe I was really not worth their time. That maybe I was meant to suffer and die hurting."

You pause, then you look at Jackson. "But then I realize, I have you," you say softly.

You look back at the host.

"What more can I ask for when I have him?"

Your smile turns happier as the audience lets out a quiet 'aww'.

"I really like doing things unconventional and my way so..."

You bite your lower lip as you look once again at Jackson, who has his eyes trained on you and hanging on to every word you say.

"Would you give me the honor of being my forever soulmate, Jackson?"

It was like a time warp. The moment he said yes, cheers erupted, and everything blurred and warped in your ears. All your fears, all the hurt and pain? It was gone.

This is your happy ending, you deserve it, my dear [Name].

Go live it.

---

Meanwhile, somewhere a thousand miles away, a group of young men smile sadly at what could have been, and what was lost. Their chests perpetually ache with the loss of a piece of a soul they can never get back.

#soul bonds #mixtape: all i have left to give #jackson wang/reader #jackson wang fics #miscommunication #got7 fics #got7 jackson

[romanianseba]

To Cherish Her Essence

(Part 1: Blue Eyes and Greasy Hair)

Can be read separately, but this is part two to Blue Eyes and Greasy Hair and follows right after that cheesy, lovesick, interrupted call with Bucky bear.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: stupid fluff

Word count: 1.3k

A/N [aka me ranting]: OVER two years ago, a very nice reader asked for a second part when I first posted what I intended on keeping as an only part and I finally felt in the right place and inspired to write it! I promise I would think about your request often, @barbar126, I hope you’re still interested lol I am the absolute worst ever and you have all the right to hate me for this. But it’s finally here and I hope you enjoy it so much!!!!! (after you’re done cursing me)<3 … It’s totally okay if you’re not into it no more tho, really ;)

Much love everybody and thanks for sticking around if you initially followed me for the writings, thanks for your patience and always being so kind to me. Love all ur lil pretty faces. Have a nice happy day!

*walks away in shame* (another one that was on my drafts for moooonths.. so it's been longer than two years now)

—

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

Bucky can tell by the sound of it that he got his attention just in time, right before his friend fell into full sleep unconsciousness. A huge grin takes over his face.

"Let me see my girl again."

Steve frowns, opens his eyes in the dark, crickets chirp outside as he hesitates to reply, not sure if Bucky's actually awake or just talking in his sleep. "What?"

"My girl. I wanna see her face."

Steve chuckles lightly, he can hear the smile in Bucky's voice, a clear indicator of his affection. Seeing how absolute smitten his best friend is with you always brings a smile to his face. Having witnessed the big changes Bucky made in the way he sees and carries himself since you started loving him.

"I can imagine, Buck." He offers tenderly. "Been so long, huh?"

"Yeah," The biggest smile never wavering from his lips, and again, "Can I see here, please?"

Steve frowns deeper, but he can't help laughing. "Well, I don't have magic powers. She's miles away, can't help you there, pal."

"Punk, your phone," Bucky says exasperatedly, "Let me see her in your phone." Though he's still smiling, and Steve goes silent on his side of the room.

"When she called, I saw her in the contact photo thing." He explains, to which Steve hums, expecting his friend to continue. Bucky rolls his eyes after a few seconds, and then, "I wanna see that again, Steve! Please, stop being silly."

"Why didn't you just ask for the phone, jeez." With a tint of amusement to his voice, Steve shakes his head, blindly palming for the device across his bed.

It's past eleven when the idea pops in Bucky's mind, being unable to sleep as he rather recalls the conversation he just had with you. Conversation that was rudely interrupted by Tony Stark, Bucky grows internally at the memory. Although being honest he isn't half as mad for the interruption, because Tony just informed them that they'll be able to fly back in two days. Two more days and he'll finally hear your voice, present right next to him. Experience your laugh again in full definition.

Right now, however, hearing your voice on the phone after so many weeks was on top of the best things that had ever happened to him. All tiredness and frustration from a failed mission gone as soon as he picked up the phone. Even more so, as soon as he saw your name accompanied by a circular shaped photo of your face on Steve's phone screen. Which is why he needs his friend's phone so badly right now.

Before his own phone died, Bucky would spend hours looking at pictures of you and him, mostly you. He loved taking candid pictures of you, many of which you didn't know of their existence.

You leaning over the sink in your shared bathroom, caught mid rant as you told Bucky about the newest additions to the pimple's family over your chin.

You licking a chocolate chip ice cream as you sit cross legged next to a pool, listening intently to whatever Wanda is saying next to you. The next, you leaning over Wanda's lap, laughing so hard he could tell there were tears in your eyes.

You slapping Sam's shoulder as you argue with him about Bucky's right to not be actively present in social media.

You sound asleep next to him, your head resting on his arm as you both laid in a picnic blanket outside in the vast compound fields, a little wildflower he had placed in your ear adorning your beautiful face.

He loved capturing simple moments. The ones you seem to treasure the most, he learned early on. You're a huge life enthusiast. Always cherishing the things others take for granted, the messy, the ordinary.

You cooking his favorite meal on a lazy Saturday afternoon, the sun peaking through the window lighting your face beautifully. You opening the latest gift he gave you. You lovingly watering your dear house plants. You standing barefoot on grass.

And then there was this one you did knew about; you laying naked on his bed, your pretty eyes looking directly at the camera, a blanket covering your intimate parts and leaving out just enough to make his head spin ever time he even so much as thought about the photo. You–

Something hitting his stomach stops his mind from revisiting more memories with you through photos he's taken. "You know my code."

"Thanks, pal."

His metal hand reaches for the small iPhone. His fingers pricking with anticipation, he goes straight to camera roll to see what other pictures he can find with you in it. Most of them are group photos with the team. Some of them, he notices with a smile, are candids of you and Bucky. Steve has never shown these to either of you. He smiles at a particular one at the beach, as he remembers that day as the day he started to teach you how to swim.

And as Bucky scrolls down further, he discovers his friend has an interest he didn't knew about. Tons of great candid photos of every member of the team, and brilliant takes of landscapes and nature.

"Hey, Buck?"

Bucky hums in response.

"I couldn't be happier, you know, you and her," He makes a pause and Bucky can tell he's smiling, "I'm so happy you got someone like her. I love you guys and what you've created together. I'll always be there for you two, whatever it is." He finish in his usual serious tone.

Bucky feels his smile tugging his lips wider across his cheeks. After everything, sometimes he can't believe he still has Steve by his side, his heart swells with affection every time he thinks about what a great person he befriended that many years ago.

"Thanks, Steve. I really appreciate it. I love you. We love you."

"Sleep well, Buck." He says, turning on his side on the mattress, "If you feel like doing something weird, just lock yourself in the bathroom."

"Shut up." Bucky laughs.

"And leave my phone here."

"Punk."

"Jerk."

–

"Oh my God!"

Nat drops the popcorn she was throwing into her mouth, Wanda stops in the air, mid-sitting next to you, her drink on the brink of spilling. Steve stops dead in his tracks, stands still next to Bucky –the only person that seems to not get startled by the high pitched scream you just let out.

"Bucky!" Comes next, another yell.

"My love!" Comes out of his mouth, right before catching you.

Steve having to step aside when your bodies crash right next to him, a small chuckle bubbling out of his mouth as he moves further into the common area, greeting the girls then disappearing towards the kitchen.

Wanda shakes her head in amusement, getting comfortable in the couch you just abandoned. "Jeez, they're loud."

Your blanket and bowl of snacks was thrown hastily into the coffee table as soon as you faced the direction heavy footsteps were coming from and made eye contact with what you've been longing for for four long weeks, your favorite sight in the universe.

Bucky.

"It's over, Wan. Lovesick people is back in town." Nat declares with a smirk of her own, her body sprawled in the big chaise lounge, pressing play to start the movie because it was naive to believe you would join back.

"Bucky, you're here!" You babble, wrap your arms around him as if to not let go for a long time, dig your nose in his neck, breathe in his scent. "Tony said one more week at least!"

Bucky grumbles, rolling his eyes as he holds you flush against him. "Tony is a jerk, he knew we were coming back today."

"Hey! What's wrong with surprises?" Tony demanded through a granola bar trapped between his teeth as he comes out of the kitchen just in time to hear what you said to each other.

Though he's completely ignored as he walks past the two of you, plugging a screwdriver into a broken gadget between his hands.

"Baby!" You practically squeal and Bucky can't help smiling lovingly, "Are you okay? My God, I missed you so much."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagina #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #i am a clown

[speenach]

life update: wellbutrin (aka bupropion) will lower your seizure threshold, all right!

🎶 'cause karma is my boyfriend! karma is a god, karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend karma's a relaxing thought ...

What is karma?

according to ideapod.com, "Karma is a Sanskrit word meaning 'action.' It refers to a cycle of cause-and-effect that is an important concept in many Eastern Religions, particularly Hinduism and Buddhism. ... it means that the steps of your life, your spiritual development, and your personality are directly molded by your thoughts and actions. Present you affects future you." i hope i'm not too far off, but this lil article does remind me of the way that i think my friend with the relevant knowledge explained it to me sometime in the past decade. unsurprisingly, the song "Karma" might simplify this a little; but even if it doesn't really, 100% accurately represent what karma is, spiritually, it's my favorite Taylor Swift song of the moment. arguably the best on Midnights.

spider boy, king of thieves weave your little webs of opacity my panties* made your crown. trick me once, trick me twice don't you know that cash ain't the only price? it's coming back, around.

*it's actually "pennies," but -- excuse me? 👑 listen to this song and try to tell me you don't hear "panties." or just try to tell me it doesn't make the better lyric. try to tell me that it doesn't fit Taylor's chest voice. try to ignore the harmonies in, "i keep my side of the street clee-ean. you wouldn't know what i mean." tell me this isn't one of the best songs to cat-walk in the airport to. try to keep it out of my karaoke-ing mouth this summer. i dare you.

speaking of airports and causes and effects and summer -- eek! i was supposed to visit Ireland and the UK this past week (only Northern Ireland is part of the UK, fun fact!?). my boyfriend (my actual one, Ben, not the concept) was taking me overseas for his college roommate's wedding. it was going to be very cute! and maybe even nudged me to think more seriously about marriage -- an institution i've resisted since growing up with its politicization, a thing that could maybe actually be practical if i wasn't so worried about the aesthetics of my own fucking personal life being twisted into talking points for the right. fuck them, fuck JK Rowling, fuck bisexual erasure, fuck transphobia, fuck off.

if this sounds disorganized, it's because it is! it's because i want to convey something about the state that my brain apparently reached for me to have my first seizure on thurs, may 11, DURING A LAYOVER IN VIRGINIA, HOORAY!

sorry, the rest of this post might be upsetting for various reasons. content warning for:

expanding on aforementioned seizure & another the next day

psychosis

medical bills from the ER(s) lol

babbling — this isn't really a warning as much as it is a qualification: since i do have some (small) degree of control over who can find me on instagram, and this is likely too long to go viral organically — if you're reading this, it’s prob because i posted it or sent it to you, or it was shared by someone whom i trust with the decision to share. something happened to me last week, and, if this tumblr blog is going to be what i wanted it to be when i wrote my inaugural post in january, it's the place for me to explain what happened from my perspective. i want the people in my life to know. i also, just, can't imagine calling people up just to be like... "hey i had a medical emergency but i'm okay." idk, i want to have my whole-ass say on it. you gotta read the taylor swift lyrics first.

all right, so, right before we left for the airport, i had a meeting with my dissertation advisor about the chapter i've been struggling with for the whole school year. i was so anxious i hadn't slept the night before, even after staying up all of monday night, too, revising the most recent draft. i also smoke a lot of weed, but it couldn't help me sleep this time. instead -- and i say this with some degree of expertise/professionalism -- i must have had something like a psychotic break. i had sent my advisor about twice as many pages as he was expecting, and i literally could not believe it when he told me that what he'd read so far sounded good. i told him i felt like a delusion of grandeur was coming true. and, after that, there was a moment where i literally thought he was reading my mind or speaking to me in code or something. it was weird. i was weird.

for the rest of my waking hours, until my first seizure, i thought i'd unlocked some secret of the universe. overwhelmed by the body language of hundreds of traveling strangers around us, i seriously thought i could read people's minds, too, or at least Ben's. normal airport stuff happened, our flight kept getting pushed back, waiting was miserable; in addition to convincing myself i was reading Ben's mind, i concluded that the only logical explanation for everything was that the internet must be down, like, universally, and/or everyone's collective consciousness was going through something like Opposite Day. ... again, i was weird. but, at this point, it seemed like i just badly needed some sleep. i also kept randomly singing the chorus to “anti-hero.”

sweet like honey, karma is a cat purring in my lap, 'cause it loves me

our flight got pushed back so late that our airline put us up in a "quality inn" for thursday night. my grand mal happened during the lyft ride there, which royally freaked out our driver and pushed Ben over a mental cliff from "my girlfriend's acting weird" to "my girlfriend might die." after sleeping through a $4000 ER visit that i don't remember, that my family and i have to figure out how to pay $2000 for lol, i passed all the psych tests to be discharged. we had a short connecting flight just for me to have the same delusions and another seizure during our layover in new jersey, right around the time our Ireland flight was finally canceled. don't ask me how much the second ER visit was because i don't know yet! friday night, i slept in a hospital bed in a hallway, before i remember getting some scrubs and an actual room for the rest of the weekend. no pillow, though -- just two sheets. i was pretty confused and upset after the first couple times i woke up there and still couldn't pass the psych checks until sunday. but obviously i eventually did, Ben came to get me, and we finally flew home monday.

it's actually kind of funny. it's okay, my home doctor laughed at me, too, when i saw her on wednesday; i am a clinical vignette. like, classic psych case. girl with depression and anxiety misses too much sleep, smokes too much weed, has seizure risk factors, and seizes. (i also wasn’t eating enough, surprise). among other things, i'm on prozac and wellbutrin but am better about the latter, because i associate the former with heartburn, and i get the impression that i can actually feel when the latter works. doc and i decided to halve my wellbutrin dose, at least until i see my therapist and psychiatrist on tuesday, and i'm on a THC/tolerance break. i'm tired from over/writing this, but that's what happened!

karma is the thunder rattling your ground karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter karma's gonna track you down, step by step from town to town. sweet like justice, karma is a queen...

[eight-years-revolution]

Anniversary snippet - Berhane

Hello everyone! It’s going to be the demo’s first anniversary on the 20th of this month, so I decided to write a lil something for each RO to celebrate both that and reaching 1100 followers on tumblr! I’ll post one every day until the 20th. For the theme, I went with a continuation of the touch prompts I did this summer, because I really liked those. I’m going to post them in a different order than my usual, to shake things up a bit!

As a little warning, I dropped a couple of hints and things about the characters, so if you want to go in the story completely blind, maybe you’ll want to avoid reading those. On the other hand, those things could change as the story evolves, so take them with a little grain of salt. Also, I suppose it’d be good to say that those snippets are mostly romance-heavy, lol.

Here’s Berhane’s snippet to start things! For this one I actually made my own prompt because I couldn’t find something that really inspired me, lol.

It was midday and the Sarnean sun could be as relentless as the Baladian one. It was one of those days and its blinding heat was beating down the tent as you worked on a low table with Berhane, drafting the treatise that would give Sarnah its sovereignty back. It was not quite as simple as making one promise. You had to detail everything it entailed and the work was giving you a headache, adding to the pressure of the heat. You had been at it for hours and had no doubt you looked as frayed as you felt. Sweat had started pearling on your forehead and you did not want to think about how soaked the fabric of your shirt was on your back. You had to undo the ties at your throat to not suffocate and no doubt your hair was an utter mess for how many times you had run your fingers through it.

It was with a breath of relief that you put down the dip pen on the table after finally finishing the first draft of the treatise. Your eyes glanced up from the paper to meet Berhane’s. The way they were staring at you made your legs suddenly feel like cotton. There was not many signs of how the heat was affecting them beside a similar sheen to their forehead as yours. They looked composed, their robes immaculate and the light filtering through the tent’s fabric giving them a warm glow. Or was it your vision, turning blurry from the heat? The only thing out of place was their eyes, burning your soul more surely than the Sarnean sun was your body.

You stayed unmoving, pinned to the cushion you were sitting on when their hand rose to reach out to you. They only hesitated a moment, eyes searching yours, before their fingers brushed the skin of your throat when you instinctively leaned forward, seeking the touch. They traced the curve of your neck as you swallowed, the contact so light you could have missed it if your nerves were not fired up with anticipation. Their fingers peeled the fabric of your shirt just slightly away to reveal the silver chain of your pendant. Then they traced down the glimmering thread, rough pads brushing the skin of your chest until they reached the carved stone intricately set into its metal frame. Berhane took the pendant in their palm, holding it lightly while their knuckles rested on your skin. You had a hard time breathing.

The Sarnean resistance leader stared intently at the piece of jewelry that was passed down to you after your parents’ passing. Nothing in their expression indicated they knew what effect they had on you. But surely they had to know.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if your parents never died?” Their voice broke the dense silence and it felt like you finally could breathe.

You closed your eyes, inhaled deeply, trying to clear your mind to be able to give a coherent answer and not embarrass yourself.

“Sometimes,” you admitted, reopening your eyes. “… Often, even.”

The temptation was always there, but it had been more present since you had met again with Berhane. Every night, as you laid on your cot, waiting for sleep to finally take you, you could not help but think about it. Longing for things that could never be was unadvisable but you could not stop relishing both the comfort and the pain it gave you.

Berhane’s eyes trailed back up to meet yours. “I used to never think about it. Only about what had happened. It gave me a drive. But I have started thinking about it lately… And I am afraid it is going to make me lose my edge.”

You did not know what to say, you did not know what could bring them comfort. You never had much of an edge, to begin with. Their eyes roamed your face, then the rest of your figure, before coming back to lock gaze with you.

“If we have something in common, that would be it… I hoped… You had some insight that could help.”

You were so taken aback by hearing them asking for your help that you stayed stunned. And maybe you would have been able to find something intelligent to say, if only they stopped looking at you that way, their knuckles still brushing your chest distractingly. You closed your eyes, praying all the celestial gods to give you strength and not melt right here and then.

Clearing your throat, your eyelids flickered open and you tried to keep your gaze steady. “I am not sure of how much help I can be, but… Instead of thinking of what has happened or what could have happened… Maybe we could try to think about what could still happen? Something to strive for.”

Berhane stared at you silently, leaving you to wonder if you said the right thing or not. They released your pendant, tucking it back in the folds of your shirt, their fingers skimming your collarbone one last time as they adjusted your collar. They leaned away from you.

“That is something to consider. Thank you.”

You watched them gathering and organizing the papers on the low table as if nothing in particular had happened.

#interactive fiction #8 years revolution #snippet #Berhane Kahsu Tihun #anniversary

[essaysbyciara]

It’s Been A Long Time | Nebraska Williams x Black!PlusSize Reader [Part 1/?]

Warnings: language, smut thoughts (my ministry!)

So this has been in my drafts for a *HOT MINUTE* but that photo of Trevante in high school triggered a release. If people dig where it could be going, I will add it to my list of stuff to finish and open up a taglist. I’ll try my best to do so, I promise! lol

“God, I played this album out…” Lil’ Wayne’s seminal album, The Carter, didn’t age at all. Back in 2004, Wayne was a secret about to bubble over to superstardom, just years shy of lollipops and Static Major (rest in peace). Wayne represented the teenage angst of your time, even though you toiled in the suburbs while he wrestled with the streets. But as “On My Own” damn near explodes your factory speakers, a high pitch ping from your phone pauses your trip down memory lane. 

Message from Sheena: Let’s catch up before the babies wake up. 

You hit the call button on your dash once you stop at a red light. 

“Girl, hey. You on your way to work?”

“Ain’t I always, Shi Shi? Damn near almost overslept. Thought I missed my flight.” 

Sheena, or Shi Shi, is the epitome of a best-friend-forever. You two met in Ms. Grayson’s civics class, 11th grade. On the first day of school, you rolled into third period wearing a Scream Tour II t-shirt and if you were to describe Sheena in that moment, jealous wasn’t even the word.  She stanned hard for Lil’ Bow Wow but her mom wouldn’t let her go to the concert because she got caught with a boy in her room. That boy is now the husband half-way responsible for the twin girls she’s hoping will give her some grace by sleeping a little bit longer. 

“Damn. You wanna gift some of that sleep to these twins, God mommy?”

“Only if you gift me some of those post-pregnancy boobs, Mommy Dearest,”

“Can’t do that. Jarell been having too much fun with those!” 

“Girl, eww. I don’t need to know all that.”

You kinda did. Sheena’s stories were always live, wild and uncut. And the only fireworks you’ve been adjacent to in months since you broke up with that lame stockbroker, Keith. You curve around the airport parking lot as Sheena starts digging deep into her latest soft-core episode with her husband since the six weeks ain’t up yet. In between interjections of how nasty Jarrell could be and watching planes taxi in the distance, you cruise through Instagram to take inventory of what your day might be like. 

Managing social media for the biggest sports publication in the country was not the fulfillment of a dream after high school because, shit,  social media didn’t exist when you were in high school. But it’s what has you just hours away from a flight to the NFL Combine in Indianapolis, sitting in a parking lot, listening to your BFF’s slow burn sexcapades. You break up the audio immersion experience once your timeline displays something else to ruminate over.

“Sheena! Shi -- shut up! I can’t believe - you remember Lisa from high school? She got married ...and it ain’t to Brasco.” 

“Whaaaa… you can finally stop making u-turns in the hallway and snag your man!”

You didn’t appreciate the lowly dig from your friend about Nebraska “Brasco” Williams, star running back, track champion and boy so fine he made both Omarion and J-Boog look like ogres. Your high school crush had you shook to your pubescent core; pretty teeth, deep skin tone and two tattoos before the age of eighteen. You’d see him in the student parking lot with the rest of the football team and you’d rush to your car as if it would go home without you. He was too hot to handle. You were beyond envious that Lisa could. 

“Lisa ain’t do too bad. Her man is crazy fine. I mean, not Brasco fine but still…” 

“Man,  he had high school going crazy. I wonder what happened to him after that fight? I should stalk him on Facebook while I pump.” You laugh so hard, the couple walking past your car stops their argument to stare at you. 

Your laughs break once you realize you might actually miss that flight. You relegate Shi Shi to kiss the twins for you and to send his Facebook profile if she can actually find it. You tried years ago and failed. 

“Aight, fave. I will.  Love you. Text me when you touch down in Indy.” 

As you weave through the terminal, your mind thinks back to the days at New Birth High School. While it brought you joy in a forever friend and the launching point for your forever career in sports journalism, it did bring you one of the most hurtful days of your life that took years to shake. 

It was the summer going into your senior year. Lisa’s sweet sixteen pool party. No way in Hell you thought you’d be there but your Mom and Lisa’s stepmom sat on the same deacon board at church and somehow thought you two were friends; Lisa paid you dust in those hallways. You fretted over every part of your outfit, especially the swim shoes you didn’t want but your Dad picked up at Sports Authority. But you were fretting the most over your swimsuit, a red one-piece with a deep open back. It was sexy for a 16-year-old, to be honest, but you secretly tried it on at the mall and fell in love with it -- especially how it made you feel. 

You fell in deep love with your body that day. The way the swimsuit clenched your waist, giving your almost-pear shape some definition you’d never seen before. Your hips sat wide, your breast placed taunt, just peeking through the sides, showing off a crescent shaped birthmark right below your collarbone. It was Jet Beauty of the Week-esque and it made you feel on top of the world. Something that society kept telling you a plus-size teenage girl was not to feel. You used the last of your paper route money to buy it and hid your secret weapon in the back of your closet until the day arrived. You were hoping to get some boy’s attention -- especially Brasco. But you’d take anybody’s glare if you could get it. 

You were in the clear once your Mom dropped you and Sheena both off at Lisa’s back gate. As you walked into the party, the sounds of the local hip-hop and R&B radio station blasted throughout her huge backyard. So much fun was had -- so much splash and dash -- that the faint sounds of “Knuck If You Buck” failed to erupt a party full of teenagers it was made for. The pool seemed tempting in 90-plus heat but most of the temptation came from the jacuzzi next to it. There inside sat Brasco, his lanky on-field wide receiver sidekick Kenny and Jarell, Sheena’s partner-in-bedroom-bust crime looking delicious in their highlighter-color swim trunks. You were still figuring out your body and the reactions conjured up from the sight of water droplets chasing down their backs confused you even more. But the heat of the sun -- and the heat from your body -- got too much to bear. That pool called your name. 

You stripped off your t-shirt and denim shorts, leaving your swim shoes back by the picnic table. They clashed. Your nerves splashed together like the water you couldn’t wait to feel, battering against your heart. Were you ready for all this attention? Amongst the rest of the classmates, you disappeared. You weren’t popular. People knew of you but didn’t know you, only associating you with Sheena by proxy of Jarell. “My Goodies” came on the radio, providing you a soundtrack and a sign from God. Before you could answer the call, Sheena jumped into the pool. You tossed your glasses on top of your clothes and did the same. 

The water felt golden. Sheena smacked your face with sheets of chlorinated goodness. Too much fun was had by all, even Lisa joined in the fun. Suddenly the entire football team did too except Brasco and Jarell, languishing on the edge of the jacuzzi because like most boys from their side of town, they didn’t know how to swim. Lisa saw her boo in isolation and tapped Sheena on the shoulder. 

“Hey, Shi Shi. Let’s get in the jacuzzi.” Sheena grabbed your hand to guide you out of the pool. You weren’t expecting to see your Mom at the other end. Sheena didn’t grab you to join her in the warm bubbles, she got you out at the angry-faced-behest of your mother. You both were going home. The party silenced and stares followed as everyone watched your walk-of-shame to grab your clothes. You got what you wanted in the worst way possible. 

Your unholy exodus commenced when Lisa’s mom called yours to report what she saw: this red bathing suit too revealing for a little girl to wear. It wasn’t the green ruffled mess-of-a-bathing-suit from last year. She claimed to witness stares and whispers and “boobs hanging out, butt all out.” Your mom got over there quicker than a church shout. She waited to scold you after she dropped off Sheena. 

It was a Sunday School scolding like no other. Tears pooled deep like the one you were just having fun in. You tossed the bathing suit into the trash bin. You were never going to see it again. 

The announcement of your flight breaks you out of your day nightmare. Grabbing the handle on your suitcase, you see a text with an attachment from Sheena. 

Girllllllllllll. I found Brasco and babyyyyyyyyyyy… 

You gasp. Time did a wonder on him in all the right ways. He packed on even more muscle, chiseling out the navy thermal dressing his upper body. Teeth still bright, Moonlight-bright. His Omarion-Pandemonium-era braids were gone, now donning a clean fade with perfect waves. His stance meant business, a lot of it risky. You bite your lower lip to mask the “damn!” urging a release from you, staring at his picture so intensely that you damn near walk into the stewardess checking your boarding pass. 

You couldn’t wait to get to your first-class seat. You needed a safe space to drown in your own splash waterfalls. You beg Sheena to send you his profile, looking to make some more of that mess and she obliges. Scrolling through his Facebook, you see nothing. You needed him to match your uncleanliness. Another text from Sheena breaks you out of your spell. 

Ain’t shit on here though. I can’t find an Instagram or anything. That’s where the dirt is at lol 

You put your social media skills to work. Ain’t an Instagram profile that you can’t find. Nebraska Williams brings up nothing. Such a unique name and nothing to show for it. 

Maybe Jarell can follow him, Shi. 

Jarell ain’t on this thing. He hates all this stuff. You want me to follow him? 

Girl, yes! I need more pictures! I’m trying to find his ‘gram and no diceeeeeee. Ughhhh. 

Damn the “no cell phone until after lift off” announcement. You then try “Brasco”, too many names -- rappers, really--  and a dog company to boot. “Brasco Williams” yields no results. You couldn’t wait what could be hours, days,  weeks, maybe never, for a response from Brasco to Sheena’s friend request. 

You pull up Google as a last ditch effort. The results bring up what only seems to be archives from your now-defunct city newspaper covering one of Nebraska’s record-setting games from 2005. You know to quit while you’re ahead until you see a Youtube video: “Nebraska Williams (RB) New Birth High School (MD). uploaded by Donyell Williams. You remember Donyell as this boy who played too damn much in Geometry class but right now, he’s Brasco’s cousin who's Instagram profile came up on the first search. Thank God his profile wasn’t private. You scroll back far enough to hit the jackpot. 

I found it! @donniebrascowill is his Instagram. 

Sheena was right about the dirt. His posts were bare but his stories carried enough. Enough shirtless, weightlifting, fresh-out-the-barbershop-got-to-show-you-the-fade dirt. You hit the follow button before the stewardess asked for your drink selection. 

End of Part I

#trevante rhodes x reader #trevante rhodes x fanfiction #nebraska williams

[sunkaashi]

solo carol  — oikawa toru x reader

genre: angst with a fluff twist.

warnings: none.

word count: 1.6k

synopsis: sometimes, the holidays can bring out the best and the worst feelings in ourselves. being away from home during this time of year just makes it specially harder. oikawa toru always knew exactly what he wanted in life, but he never thought achieving his dreams would cost him so much.

tris' note: this was inspired by the song “only the brave” by louis tomlinson, but i'd say I added a lil of a twist to it. if you want, you can listen to it to help you get into the narrative. reblogs are always deeply appreciated and help me tons! ♡

a special thanks to @tetsunation for reading the first draft to this, and to @hcn421​ for helping me with my block ♡

© sunkaashi — 2020.  all rights reserved. do not repost, plagiarise it, translate it nor reproduce this post as your own.

Shades of red and yellow illuminated the street cobblestones, the gleaming Christmas lights guiding his way to a yet unknown destination. As he walked down the avenue, Oikawa let his eyes wander all over his surroundings, his gaze running almost as fast as his mind did. Despite that, Toru paced slowly along the sidewalk, soaking in the scenery before him. It really was a beautiful view.

But it wasn’t about the garlands wrapped around the streetlights, nor the shiny golden ornaments that delicately hanged from them. Even the decorated trees didn’t quite catch his attention that night. It was something else that fought for his heart instead. Something that he hadn’t had a taste of for a while now.

And tonight, his undying desire felt like being parched while standing in front of the sea.

Cheerful laughs echoed through the air as little children sprinted past him, unaware of the man’s presence. Yet, he didn’t mind, his sheepish giggle joining theirs. Downtown street bars buzzed with loud chatter, smiles painted on unfamiliar faces as a natural halo appeared to involve every single one of them. The warmth Oikawa felt rushing through his core had nothing to do with the sultry weather, rather, it emanated from that sight before his eyes.

Still, he seemed to lack a light of his own, and basking in other people’s glow, as joyful as it may be, comes with a price. Toru was left alone, only his shadow accompanying him through the night.

Staring at his silhouette reflecting onto the ground, the man moved his hand out of the pocket and to his nape, carefully watching his own contour mirroring him in every move. And even with every step taken that assured him a bond between himself and the dark figure, he still felt like something was out of place.

Oikawa could feel his slouched shoulders pushing him down. For a man who always stood with his head held high, there was only so much he could take. As he dragged his feet through the curb, he asked himself when it all changed so fast.

A quiver took over his body as if he refused to admit to that idea. He had it all, didn’t he? He sneered, lightly shaking his head. If he acted tough enough, maybe his thoughts would catch up to his actions, right? At least that’s what he wanted to believe.

Cracking his neck, he looked up to the clear summer sky, determined to push those thoughts away as if doing so would make it all magically fall back into place. As his eyes met the silver shimmer from the stars, which were shining a little brighter than they usually did, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the beauty of it. Most of all, he was struck by what it reminded him of. He thought back to Miyagi. To Japan. To home.

“Oji-san!” His nephew came running down in his direction, almost knocking him over with all the strength in his little body. “You’ll never believe what Santa got me for Christmas! Guess it, guess it!”

“Wow, calm down, kiddo!” Toru laughed as he held the 6-year-old into his arms. “Hm, let me think…” He said looking up to the ceiling and softly clasping his chin. “Legos?”

“Better than that!” The little guy answered while squinting in joy, eyes twinkling in a way his uncle had never seen before.

“Hm, a bike?” He asked calmly, messing with the kid, knowing that was the present he’d gotten last Christmas. The teenager tried to hold back a giggle, but mocking his nephew was just too much fun. 

“No, oji-san! It’s the coolest gift ever! Try again!”

“Is it a rocketship?” Toru said, widening his stare like even himself would be excited if that was the case. But the child sighed, rolling his eyes. Hiding a smirk, the older boy decided to stop playing around, finally giving in to the youngster’s wishes. “I give up! I have no idea! What is it!?"

“A volleyball! Just like yours!”

Oikawa smiled at the reminiscences lingering in the air, the memories immersing his senses back to the time and place he never wanted to leave. Closing his eyes, he could still feel the ghost of his nephew’s embrace, a tight and cozy grasp around his neck, saying more than words ever could. But his daydream didn’t last long enough to suppress the void hoovering his heart. As soon as he opened his lids, he was taken back to reality.

And then, just when he thought there was nothing else that could haunt him that night, a sore sight caught his attention, putting out the last flicker of flame that rested in his almond eyes.

It was just a glimpse, just some little specks of sand running down the hourglass of his life. Those few seconds usually would barely mean anything in the long run, but tonight that was enough to wash away his beam. Slightly furrowing his brows into a hurtful look, he tried to fight back the tears threatening to fall down his face.

An innocent couple running across the street, hands intertwined in a knot while brief chuckles scaped now and then, an exchange of accomplice looks giving out their most clandestine thoughts. It was at that moment, when unforgiving loneliness meets undeniable happiness, that Toru fell apart.

Slowly, he made his way to the building next to him, leaning his back onto the brick walls of the construction. He stood there, swallowing down the feelings that begged him to be screamed out.

He always knew he’d have to make sacrifices for his dreams. But all out of all the things he missed, there was only one that he would never forgive himself for letting go. And as he watched love surrounding him from every corner, it was impossible not to think of it. Not to think of you.

Raindrops cascaded down the windows of the apartment as the man dove himself further under the covers. Shrinking his body between the sheets, Oikawa felt a too familiar touch enveloping his torso, comforting him with a warmth that even sunlight could not compete with.

“Couldn’t you just stay like this all day?” Toru groaned as his fingers found their way to your locks, gently caressing your hair. 

“Mhm?” You hummed in response, too disoriented by your lack of sleep to even process what he was saying. Leisurely, you opened one of your eyes to peek at your boyfriend, lips instantly curling up into a smirk. 

“Nothing, love” He chortled. Oikawa didn't need to ask you again, he’d found his answer in the way you looked at him.

"Someone woke up in a good mood." You said, trying to tease the boy. "Santa must've gotten you a very special gift." 

"I'm looking at it right now." 

Brushing against your skin, his other hand played with the buttons of your shirt, the one you were too tired to take off the night before.

“I’m going to miss this. Miss you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere. Not now, at least”

“But soon you will” You paused, a heavy silence filling the room. “Toru…" Before you could finish your sentence, he delicately pushed you away, placing one of his hands onto your chin, obliging you to look into his eyes. 

"Please… Let’s not think about that now.” Pulling you closer to his body, he held you tighter and tighter by the minute, afraid that if he ever let go, you’d slip away.

And you did.  

Looking back at it, he regretted everything. All the words left unsaid, all the things he should've done so that he’d have you in his arms right now. But you couldn't leave it all behind just to follow him to the other side of the world. Even if you wanted to, he would've never had the heart to ask you such a thing. 

So you both decided to break it off.

Yet, it had been two years and there wasn’t a single day when you didn’t cross his mind. And right now, when the pounding sound of bells resonated throughout the air, bringing him back to earth, Oikawa believed it must’ve been some kind of sign that you were the person he was thinking about. It was only then that Toru realized he was standing at a church. 

Step by step, he moved away from the wall, drawn by the chimes warning him that it was already midnight. Christmas time. Walking towards the olden gates of the holy ground, he contemplated the image in front of him, being hit by one final blow.

Families gathered all around the church, the words "Merry Christmas" being repeated over and over again as everyone exchanged smiles and caring hugs. Even if he wasn't necessarily a religious person himself, let alone christian, Toru still felt inspired by the passion radiating from them.

As the mass finally started, the loud buzzing of the crowd quieting down, he closed his eyes, his mind transporting him to the place he wanted to be.

So he decided to pray. Pray for his loved ones. Pray for you.

He asked for your health, for your well-being, for your happiness and, as much as it hurt him, for you to find love too. The loneliness he felt was something he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemies, and you just happened to be one of his favorite people in the world.

Oikawa didn't even know whom he was praying to. Even so, his wishes were so pure that someone must've heard him because it was in the moment he said his last prayers that his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. A call coming in.

When he saw the name that popped on the screen, Toru thought his eyes were probably deceiving him. That's just what his heart wanted to see.

But as soon as he picked up the phone, your unmistakable voice woke him in a rush. 

Maybe there was something magical about the holidays after all.

#oikawa angst #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #hq oikawa #oikawa toru #toru oikawa x you #toru oikawa x reader #oikawa toru angst #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu angst #seijoh angst #toru oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x y/n #constellations ✨

[katnissmellarkkk]

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

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

Chapter One :

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

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

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

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

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

Almost never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peeta Mellark.

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

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Primrose Everdeen!"

#everlark #everlark fic #thg #the hunger games #thg fic #everlark fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #everlark fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #writing #fic #fics #au #aus

[tutubola-moved-on]

Hi I like music and I kind of go wayyy too deep into the TPN soundtrack and I think it's about time I start throwing my thoughts out there before they spiral too much

Disclaimer!!! This is not a complete analysis at all, just a few thoughts on each of the songs. I'll probably revisit some of them in future parts if I ever do those aha anyways enjoy

(Part 1/?): 63194, Emma's Sorrow, Emma's Determination, 22194, Norman's Lament, The Promise Between Humans and Demons, Jailbreak and Isabella's Lullaby.

(manga spoilers)

I've done a lil smth smth on Main Theme 2 already and its my favourite song like ever aha this is a cry for help

here you go people

but now anyways fr

63194 (Season 1)

Wouldn't have started with this one cuz I'm still figuring it out but it was the first one that came up when I pressed shuffle

Let's just go straight to the point so we can move on. The first time we hear 63194 is in episode 2, when Norman is talking to Ray about their plan in the forest (or, as I like to call it, "boat scene"). It reaches its climax when Norman starts talking about how he'll use himself to ensure the escape plan will work.

And then it's only used again in episode 8, if I'm not mistaken, after Isabella tells them about Norman's shipment, thus foreshadowing him refusing to escape and using his "death" as a tool to help the others escape.

But alsooo the song is Emma's theme, so there's definitely some sort of meaning other than foreshadowing Norman's shipment. That's for later though cuz I'll have to think more. The beginning does sound a lot like Strauss' Metamorphosen, a piece symbolising how German culture was destroyed during WW2. Not sure what to do with that info for now.

If you'd like a little extra stuff, I also tried connecting the pieces to the Doctrine of Affections, a... thing some Baroque composers wrote that connected music keys to feelings. (I found many sources but I used this one).

63194 is in C Minor, which is described as "innocently sad" (although another source said "sweet but sad") and "lovesick." I think innocence really describes Emma, Ray, and Norman in general, as kids who never did anything wrong but were thrown into the wrong world. Innocently sad would be their conversations in boat scene. They're talking about life or death, it's not something kids should have to deal with.

But again, it's hopeful. Norman wants to create a boat made out of mud---he wants to save everyone---and he really believes it'll work. So although sad, it's also sweet. It's a light at the end of the tunnel, and also just an act of kindness. As for "lovesick," that would just describe Ray and Emma's inevitable longing for Norman after he was gone. Which brings us to...

Emma's Sorrow (エマの悲しみ) (Season 1)

The two times I remember Emma's Sorrow played was 1) When they first talked to Don and Gilda about the house and 2) During the infirmary flashback scene.

The Doctrine of Affections describes E Minor as "grief and longing." In the infirmary flashback scene that obviously not only shows how Norman longs for that time when they didn't know anything and everything was light and happy but also, once again, foreshadows Emma eventually having to grieve him.

Especially because they don't play the staccato part (short quick notes) that's in the original version. Instead, the strings are always present. In staccato, the music gets pretty,,, lowkey? because the instruments can't exactly "show off," whereas the legato (long/connected notes) really shows the true importance and impact each individual instrument has on the song. Considering how the strings (specifically the violins) in the soundtrack could symbolise Norman, it's showing how Norman is not just another guy who's in their group and planning the escape, but an actual friend they'll lose and who'll leave a significant emptiness behind. Not only brain power wise, but just.. you know he's a human being and it's gonna hurt either way.

Not only that, but the harmonies itself in Emma's Sorrow once the strings really do come in are really incomplete. Like, the piano part seems to be all over the place, but it comes together because of the strings. Norman was the one who brought Emma and Ray together, in a way, and isn't Emma and Ray clashing exactly what Shirai wanted when he sent Norman away? Yea...

And Emma's Sorrow is, of course, parallel to:

Emma's Determination (エマの決定) (Season 1)

Yea no I'm still gathering thoughts on that one. The ascending bass contrasting the descending bass in Emma's Sorrow is pretty cool, though. It plays when Don is going off about how he wants to be strong after punching Ray and Norman and it's in F# Minor, so "passionate resentment." Connect both and Don really is ready to change the world. He got slapped with this very very bad reality and naturally he's angry and he's sad and he wants to do anything in his power to save people.

But back to Norman.

(hi future me here. oh my god why am i only talking about norman this was not the route this was originally going to take im so sorry i swear there's more to this post than just norman brain rot 22194 is the last norman one)

22194 (Season 1) and Norman's Lament (ノーマンの嘆き) (Season 2)

22194 is in B Minor, so "patience" and "walking towards fate." That's pretty self explanatory considering how he, and I quote, "chose death." Yea. G Minor would be "uneasiness of the future," and once again, pretty self explanatory (The whole Lambda seizures thing and I'm The Only One Who Can Save The Humans Syndrome. Normy worries too much :/)

Comparing both is pretty fun, too. It's the same melody but in different keys and instruments and thus just give off different feelings. While 22194 is full of instruments and harmonies and is clearly structured, Norman's Lament is just. Empty. It's like it's trying to stay true to 22194, so the Norman from before, but at the end of every musical sentence it just drifts off. You can see parts of 22194 in there, but it's not the same. At all.

There's also no harmony. He wants to do everything himself, and discards all his bonds and friends for that. So sad. Stop him.

All that while 22194 is rich and beautiful and oh my god i love that song so much and it's just showing how Norman was a lot more lively and layered and human when he allowed people to come into his life (the harmonies) and listened to those people instead of just locking himself up and doing everything himself.

So in conclusion cuz I ramble a lot, 22194 is about GF Norman, who hadn't gone through all those things that turned him "evil," who trusted his friends and believed everything had a good, ethic solution. Norman's Lament is about Lambda/post-Lambda Norman, who had gone through a whole lot, and was now in a downwards spiral and had left everything behind to become God or whatever, but was also in denial that he had changed in the first place.

does this make sense no idea i'm typing this while sleep deprived and high on bread and i failed english this quarter

but that aside

The Promise Between Humans and Demons (人間と鬼の約束)(Season 2)

I love this song!!!!!! So much!!!!!!!!! I love the percussion, it's used so well. And I love the way the song builds up and adds more and more instruments until it eventually reaches a climax, like the growing tension between the humans and the demons during the war that snowballed and snowballed and eventually caused both sides to resort to the Promise.

And when the song comes down you can hear a very short "first draft" ish version of Isabella's Lullaby.

It's as if yes, all this mess went down and the demons and humans made this huge promise that completely changed the world and affected an entire society but then far far away from the Seven Walls and the Promise and oblivious of the Ratri Clan and the demons were these two tiny tiny children just singing a song and living happily. And those children---and that song---were the foundation for the entire revolution that ended with the Promise. Wow.

And it's in D Major, D Major is "Triumphant." The song itself sounds triumphant, and yes the Promise was gross but it was a nice little hello kitty band aid over the mess that was the world before it.

What was truly triumphant, though, was the kids' escape, which happened to the same melodic theme, albeit in a different key. Which leads me to...

Prison Break (脱獄) (Season 1)

Oh my God. I love this song.

It symbolises the kids breaking ties with Isabella and how many obstacles were in the way (not only was she their mom; their only mom who had cared for them for their entire lives, but she was also their enemy and did everything she could to prevent them from escaping). The second the brass comes in with the theme (around 0:53) it sounds like it's struggling to play it fully. In this case, Isabella, once the singing parts, would have lost her voice after being outwitted by the children (keep in mind the song starts playing after they've already reached the wall). After all, the song starts with a voice that seems to get more and more desperate before it's overrun by instruments, thus losing its power.

So she's trying to control them and get them back, but they won't let her. They're going to break free. So you have the melodic theme playing with significant breaks, until eventually it all goes silent. Why? Because they escaped. Isabella completely lost contact with them, they're free. And then you get the same melodic theme in The Promise Between Humans and Demons.

But the theme isn't played full. It's not played to the extent that they play it in TPBDAH, instead there's a lot of just "blank space" with no melody above it: that's where the children will write their melody---their story; a story independent from the Promise that shaped their lives thus far.

AGH.

I need a break but I'll be back

Isabella's Lullaby (イサベラの唄)

OK OK Continuing on Isabella I love how Sarah Alainn sings like she's crying. I really recommend this if you want to go deep on Isabella's Lullaby, they pretty much said everything I had to say. I don't go on youtube like ever and that might as well be one of my favourite videos LOL anyways

I also really recommend listening to the no vocal/piano solo version, the harmonies are so beautiful. And the more you listen to it the more you hear, there's always something new. The violins especially oh I love the way Takahiro Obata uses violins. Honourable mention to Nat King Ballade (ナットキングバラード) and Each Thought (それぞれの想い) (idk if thats the english name for it,,,, i've seen it as "Their Own Thoughts" too)

WELL THEN. What a ride. I'll go to sleep now. If anything is incoherent or u just wanna talk then send me askies or a dm smth idk aha i like music but i hate grammar :P

#adding this to the queue cuz posting it rn would be so weird #tpn manga spoilers #thoughts #long post #tpn music #63194 #emma's sorrow #emma's determination #isabella's lullaby #prison break #tpbhad #norman's lament

[givemestories-givemelife]

Roommates - A Naru/Hina  One Shot <3

A/N: HAHAhehe eeeeh So I wrote this like over a year ago and just left it in my drafts for whatever the heck reason?  So yeah I’m sorry anon who probably unfollowed me... please enjoy this little fluffy NaruHina oneshot maybe leave a heart on it or smth if you have the energy for it. I also have this itch to write so if any of you have a prompt for me I’d love to attempt to fill it. ( I will list all pairings and fandoms I’m willing to write about below the lil fic.)

                     ___________________________

Hinata wearily glanced over at Naruto, resisting the rare urge to roll her eyes.

Hinata could almost always drift asleep into a peaceful slumber in the architecture of Naruto’s strong arms. 

Unfortunately tonight that wasn’t the case. 

The initial wonder over their whole ‘sleepover’ arrangement the couple had scheduled into their weekly routines when they weren’t on missions was beginning to fade.

Hinata sighed and nestled her head into the groove of Naruto’s neck and he subconsciously tightened his grip around Hinata making her smile at how he could do something so sweet while he was in a deep sleep. 

Hinata oddly took comfort in Naruto’s light snoring, his rhythmic breaths an indication of life consistently made her feel safe.

It was the rest of the noise from Naruto’s apartment and the lack of sleep that made her restless. 

The deep hum of the fridge, the never ending leak going ‘drip drip drop’ from the bathroom sink and the odd electrical buzzing sounds that seemed to be emanating from the walls. These omnipresent sounds are becoming impossible to ignore, especially in these little hours of the night.

How can he sleep through it? 

As if on queue an impossibly loud sound of glass shattering could be heard smashing into the opposite side of the wall. Hinata’s eyes widened and Naruto jolted awake jumping out of bed taking on a defensive pose as he looked around his darkened room searching for a threat.

“I HATE YOU!” A muffled shrill voice raged on next door.

Naruto’s expression immediately turned into annoyance, he banged on the wall. “CAN YOU GUYS SHUT UP OVER THERE WE’RE TRYING TO SLEEP!” The fight began to quiet down at Naruto’s command, he shook his head, sighed then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before his gaze fell on Hinata looking up at him. “I’m no expert but I think they need a divorce.” Gesturing next door, “did they wake you up too?”

Hinata’s brow furrowed averting her gaze to her fumbling fingers.

Naruto frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I-I just...”

“What?” Naruto sleepily sat back down on the bed one leg propped beneath him and the other dangling off the sheeted mattress. “Were you having trouble sleeping?”

Hinata instinctively scooted closer to lessen the distance between them, “Yes.”

Naruto looked concerned. “Why?”

“I just...” Hinata struggled to find the right words. 

“Oh common you’re killing me here.” Suddenly the refrigerator in the room over made a jarring sputtering sound. He glanced in that direction, then back at Hinata who looked at him wearily, he then stared at the wall where light arguing could still be heard on the other side. He chuckled lightly. “Oh.” Over the years the annoying idiosyncrasies of his apartment had turned into a comfortable white noise that had become invisible to him. 

Hinata remained silent.

“Hinata.” Naruto sighed. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

“Well.” He looked around his room and swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while and just haven’t really found the right time to ask but... Maybe it’s time I move outta this place and you move out of your place and we move in together?”

Hinata’s eyes widened, “Really?”

“I mean yeah,” He grinned, then paused uncertain, “if you want to.”

In a burst of energy Hinata jumped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her roommate to be. “There’s nothing I want more than to sleep in your arms every night Naruto.” She flushed feeling embarrassed at her sudden outburst and retreated back slightly, “but only if you want to.”

Naruto kept his grip firm around her waist to keep her from moving away “This place is starting to feel too small y’know.” He nudged her nose with his, “for the amount of love I have for you.”

Hinata leaned forward brushing her lips against his, softly breathing her next words against his mouth, “you mean for the amount of love we have for each other.”

“Exactly.” He hummed in a trance, his mood shifting gears “You know.” He trailed off suggestively inching forward silently leading the Hyuga to rest on her back.

“Naruto?”

“I’m awake, you’re awake... We’re both in bed.” He spontaneously left a cluster of quick kisses along her neck and face making her giggle. He moved his head to rest his forehead on hers.

“Unless you’re too tired?” Genuine concern interrupted their intimate moment.

Lavender eyes silently conversed with azure orbs that had Naruto slowly grinning.

Hinata giggled making a bold move to remove the orange shirt Naruto was wearing.

Hinata had never felt so liberated as she did in these comfortable moments with her one true love.

                         _________________________

A/n I have a half written Part 2 of this prompt where they actually find the home that they move into... I hope to post at some point... It’s cute and domestic af.

Naruto: NaruHina / SasuHina / Hinata and anyone really? / SasuSaku / NaruSaku  / KakaSaku / ShikaNeji / SasuNaru (Yes I’ll do slash) Throw em at me I’m pretty familiar with Naruto characters...

BNHA: BakuDeku / TodoDeku / BakugouXUraraka

HXH: Just KilluaXGon

SNK: Ereri or EreMika

Haikyuu: KageHina

ALSO, if you want to throw a pairing at me and recommend a song, I will take that as a prompt and write a one shot inspired by the song and those characters! 

Smutty prompts are welcome as well I’m not shy.

well i am but i’m not yknow

#naruhina #narutofanfiction #naruhina one shot #naruhina fanfiction #oneshot prompts #naruhina prompts #naruto prompts #naruto #naruhina fluff #naruto x hinata #naruto oneshot #naruhina oneshot #hinata #hinata hyuga #ihm #OneShots #mystuff

[imnotwolverine]

The marriage pact - Birthday present

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 24 | Part 25 Birthday present | Part 26 >

Disclaimer: Just cute fluff

Author’s note: I couldn’t make myself finish this story on a Monday, of all days, so I did write an epilogue that will be posted tomorrow. ❤️

Word count: 1.632

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

Time flies when you’re having fun, and I’m bursting with joy right now. Quite literally actually, my belly so large that baking a birthday cake for my partner in crime was almost impossible. Almost. I managed. It is today the 5th of May and as he is out to the gym for his morning workout, I am working out to slap this house into a state of celebration. Cake, balloons, garlands, everything. The golden 40 should not go uncelebrated! Now, as time is running short since everything is taking a million times longer than I had initially anticipated, I will be off again now.

Your ever loving, MOM-TO-BE,

Ali

Breathe in, puff - puff - puffff out. Folded over on a kitchen chair, my hands wrapping nervously around my belly I tried to calm my breathing, the ghost of a contraction taking longer than it probably should. Was this it? Was this..

The front door opened and I heard an all familiar tipple tap of dog paws on the tile floor of the hallway, followed by squeaking sneakers as the front door was closed again. ‘Honey, I’m home!’ Henry called out, making me groan in silent frustration as the pain was just too bad to get up - or speak for that matter.

It took a minute or so before Henry finally found me, still on my chair in the kitchen, brows furrowed and face focused as I tried to steady my breathing. I wanted to cheer him a happy birthday, but all I could manage was a broken whine. Henry widened his eyes and quickly squatted down before me, his hands also folding over my belly in concern.

‘Hey..shh..it’s okay. Are..are you okay? Do I have to..? I can..’ The big bear of a man started to babble a string of words I could barely follow - that is what happens after months of poor sleep, nausea and aches everywhere. Blinking at him I nodded at a small puddle on the kitchen floor beneath the sink. ‘I think..pffff pfff pfff …I think my water broke.’ I swallowed. ‘Not sure though..I mean..I was..pfff..doing the dishes..and..’ I gave him an exasperated look - he had told me to just take it easy, sleep in a little if I could manage.

But of course I had been stubborn, simply refusing to let his birthday go uncelebrated.

Henry started to laugh, shaking his head. ‘Ali..’ He looked into my eyes. ‘..you..’ His smile reached both ears. ‘Me.’ I nodded, pouting. Slowly his eyes lowered down to my belly again, a careful thumb brushing over the cotton of my t-shirt. He was quiet for a moment, just brushing his thumb over my belly, my breath back to a calm, steady rhythm now. I could see those big wondering blues study every fibre of my shirt, of the way the babe in my belly responded ever so slightly to his touch.

It was a feisty baby bear, for sure.

And then his eyes started to sparkle. With tears, his lip shivering ever so slightly as he quickly looked back up at me. ‘Oh don’t cry please.’ I muttered, cupping his cheek. ‘Then you make me cry.’ I sniffled, already feeling the tears starting to roll down my cheek. We both sniffled back some tears, just sitting there in the kitchen, Kal hogging down some food after his large morning walk in the corner. The dishwasher buzzing.

This was it. This was it! Pack your bags everyone, we’re going on an adventure!

—

Exactly a minute to midnight it happened. FINALLY. I wasn’t even sure what to do with myself anymore. Nothing was comfortable, everything was frustrating and painful and I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even scold the heaven’s up above anymore, all sounds coming from my throat being animalistic growls. But it was all so very worth it, I swear. Because there’s only a few moments in life that truly etch themselves in the fibre of your being for eternity.

One of them being Henry bawling his eyes out as he held his newborn baby boy in his arms for the first time. The large papa bear looking all kinds of disheveled and exhausted, I couldn’t help but think it was his best look yet. His smile so wide it nearly tore his face in half, his watery eyes sparkling with true joy, his large hand tracing the features of a very small, but already very bubbly boy.

Sam.

Because everyone needs a Sam. Sams are the best friends, the most loyal of all, and this little Sam sure would make for a great protagonist, already tugging at his fathers hand with strong little fingers.

Henry laughed, another tear dripping down his face, his index finger being clutched by mighty baby paws.

‘He’s already as strong as you.’ I smiled, looking at the two from the sweaty mess of my hospital bed. Not that I cared. Not that anything mattered. This was perfect. Henry looked up and smiled at me. ‘No, he is as strong as his mother.’ He corrected.

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Meaning..?’ Henry chuckled and leaned in, carefully laying the babe back on my chest, my whole body firing up with happy little sparks. ‘He’s already MUCH stronger than I could ever be.’ Henry pressed a careful kiss on my forehead as I looked down at the small human laying there. My little human. Perfect, just per-fect, in every way.

—

‘I wonder what he’s dreaming of.’ I said quietly, leaning into Henry’s chest, the tv playing some movie but neither one of us truly paying attention. We both just couldn’t stop gawking at the little human that was safely snuggled away on my chest, sleeping. Henry pressed a kiss on my temple and hummed. ‘You, most probably.’ He sniffled and I poked him gently in his rib. ‘Hennn..’ I shookmy head in disagreement. ‘What? I don’t blame him.’ He chuckled. ‘Ugh..you’re such a sap.’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Please allow me.’ He murmured, pressing another kiss, this time on my cheek. ‘Very well then.’ I laughed, turning my head to kiss him on the lips. It was a sweet, tender kiss. Almost a bit too careful on his side. But that was Henry, the new dad. Everything was done with utmost care and tenderness. Too soon he broke away from the kiss again, his eyes locking deep with mine. ‘There’s one more thing..’

I raised my eyebrows, seeing him slip off the couch, his hands reaching for my free left hand as he settled on one knee, a tiny velvet box being conjured from his sweater pocket.

Oh. OH!  

I watched him wide-eyed as the following words slipped with a smile of his tongue; ‘Would you please, please allow me to marry you now, Ali? Dearest, dearest..’ - I started to laugh aloud, making Henry frown slightly, his words dying on his tongue and little Sam muttering some quiet protest as I jumbled him with my laughter.

I quickly calmed down and took a settling deep breath, before managing: ‘Oh..sorry. I mean..uh..gosh..I got you a present actually. Could you..could you fetch it? It’s in my bedside table.’ Henry frowned even more, then looked at the door to the hallway. ‘Please..’ I begged him, biting my lip with mirth.

‘Now?’ 

‘Now, Henry.’ 

Giving me another suspicious look, Henry quickly moved to fetch the present from my bedside table, his face having turned to equal mirth when he returned downstairs.

Another velvet box in his hand. My ring to him.

We both started chuckling.

‘Sorry..it didn’t go quite as planned.’ I giggled, making him shake his head in disbelief, his feet carrying him back to his initial spot before me on the couch. And once again he settled down on one knee, reaching for my left hand, which I gladly offered.

‘Ali. For real though this time.’ He raised a teasing eyebrow. I giggled. ‘Third time’s a charm.’ - ‘Would you please, finally, marry me?’

Smiling giddily I nodded, muttering a barely discernible yes from my laughing lips. ‘Yes..yes.. yes!’

Henry smiled, then carefully placed the ring on my finger - not entirely easy as I was still sporting quite sausagy fingers from my pregnancy. Both giggling, he finally managed to squeeze it onto my finger, after which I picked up my box, reaching out for his left hand and taking it in my left hand as my right hand was still occupied with a sweetly sleeping baby.

‘Dear Henry. Did you know that after we drafted that darn Marriage Pact, I made a copy? Just to make sure I wouldn’t accidentally lose you if we lost that pact?’ I clicked open the box and a folded sheet of paper was in there. Henry blinked and unfolded it. And indeed, it was a perfect greyed-out, slightly faded copy of the pact.

Our pact.

Beneath it a ring. He huffed with amusement and I continued: ’I didn’t want to lose you then. But I most DEFINITELY don’t want to lose you now.’ I reached out to cup his cheek, his beard hair growing out after a few days of not shaving, his eyes looking back into mine. ‘Dearest, sweetest, bestest of friends. My Henry. Would YOU marry me, please?’

Henry’s eyes glittered as he looked up at me, his lips quivering ever so slightly as he started to nod. ‘Ye-yes. Yes please. Yes finally. Oh gods.’ He quickly sat back onto the couch and pulled me in a not-so-careful hug, his lips pressing a number of kisses on my face.

‘YES for the love of God!’ He exclaimed, then finalized our promise by pressing one proper, solid kiss on my lips.

And thus, the Pact was consumed, gratified. He was mine..and I was his.

--

General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @mary-ann84​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69​ @madbaddic7ed​ @luclittlepond​

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Want to be added to or removed from the tag list? Shoot me a message!

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x author #fluff #the marriage pact #baby #pregnancy #birthday #birthday present #romcom #longfic

[bangtan-sinnamons]

An Angel’s Demise (1/3)

Part 2

⤞ Paring: Angel!Jimin x Human!reader

⤞ Summary: The angel who visits every night won’t be able to resist the temptation of seeing his soulmate. In which he will sneak a kiss or something more...

⤞ Genre: angst, fluff, romance, humor, soulmate, reincarnation (future smut)

⤞Warning: slightly possessive, KISSING

⤞ Word count: 834

Posted: March 16, 2020

Thanks to @multikook for giving me the push to write again. Finally letting this lil guy out of my drafts :))

You were going to confront him once and for all. This time you came prepared. As you leaned against the headboard of your bed with a book in your hand to keep you from drifting asleep, your mind wanders back to the unknown man you had seen. You were only able to catch a glimpse of the beautiful creature who bestowed himself at the tick of midnight. This time you will make your presence known to him.

11:59 PM

You shuffled toward the night stand to turn of the dim light shining from your lamp and quickly snuggled into the covers. Your eyelids flutter shut as you await for him to come give you your daily night kiss.

Moments later, a flash of light illuminated the dark apartment and a soft reshuffling of wings echoed in your room. Your heart started pounding. A creek of the bed was soon heard as he leaned into the pillow adorning the prettiest face he could ever imagined. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and was taken back when you flinched. You couldn’t see his expression as your eyes were still closed tight, but a smile was plastered on his face at your cute reaction.

Your soothing breathing made his heart clench and he gave into his desire, but only this time he kissed you on the lips.

You were confused with his loving gestures. Hesitantly you opened your eyes, only to discover an angel to be by your side.

An Angel? IT WAS A GOD DAMM ANGEL ALL THIS TIME?

The angel was shocked at your sudden awakening and slowly backed away. “Of course you couldn’t see him” he thought. So he only watched you from a distance before he realized your pupils were staring directly at him.

His face flushed bright pink and his hand caressed his neck. Your puffy face and ruffled hair was so adorable he didn’t know what to do. Should he leave now or should he watch you a while longer?

“Hey? You know I can see you right? Stop looking at me like I’m a goddess cause compared to you I’m legit a potato sack!” You nagged at the glowing angel as you sat up from the bed. Instead of being surprised he flew closer to you and hugged you tightly.

“Y/n!!! You can see me?! Do you know how much I missed you! I have been so lonely. You are so pretty what could you possibly be rambling about!” He giggled as he pushed you into his chest.

“Mr. Angel...uh this is a bit awkward, but I don’t know you??” You questioned looking up from his tight hug. Your puppy eyes made him kiss you gently on your forehead once more.

“It’s okay...we can start all over again. I’m Jimin and you are my soulmate. Whatever form you take I will always find you,” a weak, but joyous grin came from the so called Jimin.

For some reason he felt so familiar that seeing the slightest sadness adorned his face made you want to confront the angel. The words you never thought you would say to a random person you just met came out in a small whisper,”I love you,” but you knew he heard you as he squeezed you once more. Actually too many times to count.

“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?” You finally voiced out the thought you were planning ever so long to say. “You always kiss me at midnight, but only when you think I’m asleep” You placed a hand on his chest. You don’t look at him when you say this, your eyes dart to his hands that were currently around your waist.

Jimin mistook the way your eyes wandered around as distaste for his night ventures to come give you a kiss.

“Do you want me to stop?” His grip loosened on you. His heartbeat is pulsing and you felt the urge to kiss him now. Maybe it was just a spur of the moment.

Instead of answering you pulled the collar of his shirt closer and placed your lips onto his plush lips. Your tongue entangled with his. The foreign feeling made you feel things you never expected.

He lets go of you with shallow breaths and with a gravelly tone he murmured into your ear, “Are you sure you want this?”

“I will take any consequences,” You smiled into the kiss. He finally gives in, connecting your lips into a heated session as he pushes you down into the bed.

Both of you were breathless and disheveled into the mattress, this led him to cling on to you again. He didn’t want to be separated from his soulmate anymore. His wings taking up so much space compels him to shift into his human form to cuddle you easier.

“Jimin?”

Jimin and you turned your heads to the door to see another angel looking confused as you were.

“Aren’t I the guardian angel? What are you doing here?” The black haired angel called out and a small groan was uttered from the man besides you.

#jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin drabble #jimin drabble smut #bts smut #bts fluff #jimin soulmate #angel au #angel jimin #jimin #reincarnated au #angst au #jungkook smut drabble #taehyung drabble #angel!Jimin #sub!reader #jimin angst #sexy jimin #min yoongi #hybrid bts #soulmate au #soulmate jimin #jimin-fluff-angst #jimin x reader #jimin smut #jungkook fluff drabble #yandere-fluff-jimin-drabble #bts hybrid #btsedit #angel!jimin

[tripstaysnoided]

Flow Just Like Water

Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

#state of the uwunion #long post

[uptownbabyfanfic]

Prologue.

*Flashbacks*

Chevaugn

*2 Years Earlier*

    “Fuck,” I mumbled shaking my head as I watched the ball bounced off the rim for like the tenth time in a row. 

“Aight pause,” my pops called out after catching the ball. “Come talk to me Chevy,” he motioned for me to come over where he took his seat. 

“Wussup pop?” I asked, grabbing my water I sat next to him watching as he shrugged his shoulders. 

“You tell me, you’re missing shots you can make in your sleep which is crazy to me,” he paused, clearly frustrated. “With tryouts right around the corner how you gon make JV playing like this?” He asked

“Chill dad, it's just a few missed shots, let's run it again,” I stated trying to get him to get off this topic. 

“Hell no, and it’s not even about the missed shots, you've been off the whole time we've been out here & we’re running basic ass drills. What’s on ya mind boy?” he questioned looking over at me. 

“Nothing. Why something gotta be on my mind? I’m fine pop,”  I said lying through my teeth. 

“I’d believe that if you weren’t my son, but you are and as ya pops you should already know I know for a fact when something is bothering you,” he paused making us laugh a bit. 

“We ain’t getting back to this till you clear ya mind so talk,” he said I sighed, shaking my head. Something is in fact heavy on my mind but I don’t exactly know how to express it to my pops especially since this is a problem we thought was finally over.

“It’s mom,” I paused looking over at him “What about ya mother?” he asked curious

“She’s using again and she thinks I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head.

“You know this for a fact?” he asked me, I nodded he breathed out shaking his head. 

“You have any idea where she's getting it from?” he asked me

“Yea. Dre,” I answered referring to my moms boyfriend, which is the main reason I ain’t wanna mention this to my pops in the first place. My parents aren’t together and even with the way they ended things, my pops always managed to keep things on a respectful level or at least tried to. 

“Dre?” he questioned, shaking his head I nodded. “I thought they broke up,” 

“So did I, but they’ve been back together for awhile. I just didn’t want to tell you to avoid any drama between y’all,” I said making him laugh a bit. My pops and Dre have known each other since they were kids but as they got older things changed. Dre made an enemy out of my pops and made things worse when he got with my mom. He caused problems he shouldn’t have been able to, the main one being the custody battle my parents went through a few years back. He’s the reason why I can only see my pops every other weekend.

“You don’t have to worry about that, you could have told me,” he said I waved him off. 

“I do though pops, I may be young but I understand a lot for my age and everything we go through when he’s in the picture is too much,” I paused, shaking my head.

“I hate it when he’s around and I don’t understand why or how the judge granted mom full custody because living with them ain’t fun,” I stressed 

“Is something else going on you tryna protect me from? Cause if that’s the case you need to tell me,” he said h

“No. It’s just the simple fact that he ain’t my pops and serves no purpose in my life, I just rather live here,” I expressed he sighed

“I've been trying like hell to get full custody with everything that has happened over the years, but you know with my record & the shit your mom be pulling it’s hard as hell,” he sighed

“I just need you to know despite what the judge say I’m not gon turn you away if you wanna come here, you my son so I could give a fuck what anybody gotta say,” he said pulling me in Ismiled shaking my head. 

“I know that pop but honestly I just don’t want you in any more trouble with the law. I don’t know how this will work if you ain’t here,” I said he nodded. 

“I appreciate that son but ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you, besides I’m here for good. You ain’t losing me, I can promise you that” 

“Thanks pop, & I just might take you up on that offer too,” I said standing to my feet grabbing the ball from him. 

“You got keys right,” he said, making us laugh. “Can we get back to work now,” he smirked and I nodded, bouncing the ball. 

“Let’s go and watch how I lock you up,” I joked setting myself up on the court

“You can’t lock me up boy, I taught you everything you know,” he said waving me off.

“Lamar the cops out front,” my aunt yelled running in the yard.

Dropping the ball I watched as a bunch of police officers swarmed the backyard and approached my pops. It was like something out of a movie, I’ve never seen them grab somebody up so fast in my life. I tried to follow after them to get answers but my aunt pulled me back. 

“Stay with ya aunt Chevy, I’ll be home sooner than you think,” my dad called out from the back of the car but little did me and my pops know he wouldn’t be coming home no time soon.

Lanay

    Placing the phone up and away from my face I waited patiently for him to appear on the screen. After the many failed attempts for my mom I thought I’d try cause only lord knows if I come in the house with food for everybody but him all hell will break loose so for his own good he better answer cause I won’t be ringing his phone off like my mom. 

“Wussup Lala?” he answered looking at me through the phone 

“Oh wow look who finally decided to answer the phone,” I joked, shaking my head. 

“Nah I was doing something, I tried to call mommy back but she ain’t answer, she home?” he asked 

“Not yet she should be home soon though,” I informed him he nodded

“Wussup though you good?” he asked I nodded. 

“I’m going to buy food from Ms. Cherry’s what you want?” I asked him as I placed my sneakers on.

“What I usually get, but get rice and peas instead of macaroni and see if they have fried dumpling get like 2 or 3,” 

“You asking for a lot,” I said shaking my head as I walked out of my apartment

“Just buy it big head. I'll give mommy back her money,” he said but I shook my head. 

“Nah this is my money, so Ima need that back plus interest,” I smiled he laughed waving me off. 

“Whatever. Yo La that tiger & puma head mix you drew was so fire, that might be the piece I get tatted for my 18th birthday,” he said making me smile big. 

“Word? Okay that was the draft Ima draw it better for you,” I said he nodded

“Cool and put ya signature on it too, like at the bottom or something,” 

“I got you, but you know mommy gon be mad when you finally do this,” I said as we laughed

“She’ll be fine, Ima get her face tatted so she can’t be mad,” he said I waved him off. 

“I need my face too, that should be the first one honestly,” 

“Here you go,” he said shaking his head as his boys started making noise in the background. 

“Tell mommy I’ll be home in like an hour or two, keep my food warm Autumn,” he snorted, making me roll my eyes. He knows I hate when people call me that. 

“Whatever, bye lil Lucky,” I laughed quickly hanging up before he could respond. 

“Why you laughing?” my best friend Jordy questioned as I walked out the building. 

“Lucky,” I replied, placing my phone in my pocket as we walked to the Jamaican restaurant. 

“You were talking to my man, where is he?” my other best friend Sky questioned eagerly. Since the girl was old enough to fully understand and grasp the looks of boys she’s been crushing on my brother and as we get older and closer in age I need to keep it at just a crush. I love my girls I do, but my brother is off limits and it's for their sake honestly.  

“Bye Skylar, my brother don’t want you,” I said, waving her off. 

“You don't know that Lala, freshman year will soon start and we gon be seeing each other everyday,” she squealed, causing us all to laugh.

“Yea you and every other girl in school checking for his ass,” my other best friend Krissy chimed in I nodded. 

“Exactly,” I said as we approached the restaurant. 

“Whatever, when we get married I don’t wanna see any of y’all at the ceremony hating asses,” she waved us off as we burst out laughing and proceeded to order our food.

____

“Yea but Lala I’m serious, let me know if you want me to do ya hair for the first day of school,” Sky said as we walked in my apartment. 

“I got you, cause mommy talking about wash n’ set but it’s honestly too hot for all that,” I said as we laughed a bit. 

“Lucky what’s the problem now?” I heard my mom ask as we walked in the kitchen. 

“In the bookings for what? What did you do?” she asked in a slight panic which had me worried. I just got off the phone with my brother so what could he have possibly gotten himself into 20 minutes after hanging up. 

“Ma what’s wrong?” I asked her but she just placed her finger up at me. This isn’t my brothers first go spending time in the bookings and it’s usually never anything serious. It’ll be for something minor like the cops shutting a party down, or just acting a fool with his bros but this time around with the look my mother has plastered over her face it seems like something more. 

“Just explain it to me when I get there, I’m on my way now. I’ll be back Lala,” she said grabbing her keys I nodded watching her leave. 

“La,” Krissy called out. 

“Yea,” I answered, facing her. 

“I don’t know if this has anything to do with Lucky but Tati just posted that her brother got locked up. She said the cops bust in her crib and it went left from there,” she said referring to a friend of ours from school who’s brother runs in the same circle as Lucky. 

“I highly doubt it,” I said, shaking my head. I don’t want to believe my brother is a part of that because as I said before him being locked up can mean anything. 

“Ima just wait for Ma to call and tell me what’s up, besides I already know they gon come home,” I said, but little did I know that phone call would be the last time I see my brother for a very long time.

#yg #megan thee stallion #trey songz #malibu mitch #big sean #teyana taylor #asap rocky #saweetie #meek mill #Roddy Ricch #lil baby #nicki minaj #cardi b #chris browm #urban #urban fiction #hood #hood love

[slash-em-up]

I Was (Not) Born To Be A Cowboy Pt. 2

Last Time:

‘Thank FUCK you’re both here! These ranch-hand bastards are trying to kill me!’

Asa sighed deeply.

“Hello Jesse...”

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

You chortled at Jesse’s miserable look. You couldn’t help it.

“Weeelll howdy, partner! Golly, if you ain’t the cutest rootin’est tootin’est lil cow-poke I ever did see!”

Jesse glared at you then looked pleadingly at Asa.

‘Make them stop.’

Asa huffed and moved past you into the bunk house.

“...Oh, to have that power...”

You moved to follow, and judging by the look Jesse was throwing you, if there was a snowbank nearby you’d be tossed in head-first with no hope of rescue.

Thank heaven for little miracles.

Entering the cabin, you couldn’t help the small whimper that left your lips at the shabby conditions. 

You’d stayed in a very similar place during camp one awful summer; but that had been summer. This was a frigid Montana winter, and from the looks of it the only source of heat was a wood-burning fireplace which was giving off the world's most pitiful excuse for a glow.

“Really, Jesse?”  

You moved quickly to save the fire, re-arranging the logs so they didn’t smother the flame, and adding a few pieces of kindling.

Immediately the cabin brightened, and you smiled.

The aggressive unzipping of a duffle-bag brought your attention back to your partners. One of whom was trying his hardest to loom over poor Brody as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Uh... Hey there Mr. Jesse...”

A stony glare answered him.

“You - uh – you look like you’re all recovered from your tumble this mornin’...”

Now he had Asa and your attention.

“No need to worry... everyone falls off their horse at least once... or four times...”

You were pretty sure you heard Asa mumble an annoyed “Jesus Christ, Jesse...” under his breath before carefully refolding his sweaters and placing them in the bedside cubby.

Under Jesse’s baleful gaze, Brody seemed to determine that it was time to beat a hasty retreat.

“Well, I’ll let you folks get settled!” he gave you a friendly nod and Asa an intimidated “Sir..” before turning to leave the bunkhouse.

“Breakfast’s at four!”

Jesse rubbed at his eye in a beleagured motion as you jumped up from your seat.

“Four?! WAIT... Brody, FOUR AM?!?”

But Brody was gone.

A large arm curled around your shoulders and Jesse gave you a sympathetic squeeze.

‘Welcome to Hell.’

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

These bunks were not made to hold more that one person at a time.

You determined that Mr. Ephriam had to be homophobic. You could almost read the sign ‘No Brokeback Mountain-ing On My Good Cattle Ranch’ and it was about to make you cry.  

You were so cold.

And Asa had the audacity to be sleeping like a baby, that bastard.

Jesse looked like he was wearing at least five pairs of socks, because beyond not being anywhere big enough to fit more than one person, the bunks were also clearly not built to hold anyone taller than 6’.

Even Asa was a little smooshed; but somehow he was making due.  

Jesse, on the other hand, could almost plant his feet on the floor if he laid flat and he looked miserable.

“Jesse...” you hissed.

The veritable mountain of blankets covering the bunk to your right shifted, allowing a blurry brown eye to peer out questioningly at you.

“Bring your blankets over by the fireplace, I have an idea.”

Jesse seemed to intuit what you were thinking because he speedily shuffled himself and his pile of coverings in front of the fire, laying several down as a barrier between your bodies and the cold wood floor.

You did a shimmy of happiness as you laid down next to Jesse’s reclining body, already feeling the heat from the fire and the large form of your partner saturate your chilled skin.

Sighing in joy, you let Jesse pull you in tightly so he was spooning you, nearly covering you with his own body in his quest for heat.

His chest rose and fell with a deep exhalation as you both settled into a comfortable position for the first time that night.  

You were so cozy that the pair of you only barely shifted when, a few minutes later, you heard soft grumbles and movement from the other bunk as Asa rolled to his feet and walked over to join you.

The heat of the two large men caging you in had you nearly purring in delight, and the atmosphere had lightened considerably – enough that moments later Asa jolted up and punched Jesse roughly in the shoulder.

“Hands off my ass.”

Jesse’s chest shook with laughter, and you couldn’t contain your tired giggles if you tried.

A hand rose from it’s resting place on your waist to make a dismissive gesture at Asa before spelling out ‘Thanks you two.’

You turned slightly to press a kiss to Jesse’s scarred chin.

“Anytime.”

Asa grunted in acknowledegement before telling you both in no uncertain terms that you had less than three hours before breakfast and he wanted to sleep – so quiet down.

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

The loud clanging of a bell woke you from what had turned into a rather pleasant slumber.

“Nooooooo...” you groaned, burying your face into Jesse’s chest.

Asa was already up and sorting through his luggage, looking for his glasses as you and Jesse slowly untangled yourselves from your blanket nest and stumbled over to your own bunks.

“What does one wear to a proper chuck wagon breakfast?” you asked jokingly.

Asa smirked but Jesse was less than amused.

‘I think a gunny sack and fur cap would make you fit in perfectly.’

Apparently, Jesse was not at all impressed with the ranch’s dress code.

You played along.

“Aww and here I left my coonskin cap at home...”

The door to the bunk clattered, allowing Spann to enter.

“I have an extra if you want to make an impression...”

“Hey Spann. Love the flannel.”

It seems that Brody handn’t been exagerrating when he said Spann was settling in to the routine of the ranch. You couldn’t recall ever seeing her dressed so casually; and had NEVER seen her without a full face of makeup and jewelry.

Clearly, she was nothing if not adaptable.

“I see you’re making the best of ranch life.”

She gave you a small grin.

“My mom’s family owned a dairy farm. I was pretty handy with a pitchfork before I moved to Florida.”

“Haha, and I guess it’s just like riding a bike?”

“Something like that.”

Jesse interrupted your joking around with a curt ‘cute’ before huffing past the two of you out onto the porch.

You raised an eyebrow at Spann before following her out the door.

Oh, well that explained why Jesse was in such a mood already...

Two horses waited by a hitching post for their riders to join them.

It was pretty easy to tell who’s was who’s. 

Spann’s horse was a beautiful little red thoroughbred – already saddled and waiting for the petite woman to mount and take off towards the mess hall.

Jesse’s was... sized appropriately... you guessed.  

The huge draft horse stood untacked, and you could swear it was glaring as Jesse approached it slowly.

Asa joined Spann and you in leaning against the railing, watching the battle about to commence.

“Her name is Sugar...” Spann muttered to the two of you.

“Mr. Cromean’s has fallen off at least twice every day we’ve been here, and he still can’t get his saddle on tight enough...”

You could hear Jesse making clucking noises with his tongue at the huge animal – but you were sure he was simply cussing Sugar out internally.

He’d pulled a large Western-style saddle off the porch railing before approaching the horse, and you watched with amused disbelief as your boyfriend proceeded to charge at Sugar – saddle up – who quickly danced out of reach.  

This chase continued for several minuted before Asa shifted away with a snort of disgust, pushing his glasses up his nose before stepping to intercept Jesse as he tore after the prancing horse once more.

“Give that to me, idiot. We’ll be here all day if we wait for you.”

You had to admit, you were a little turned on watching as Asa swiftly took the saddle out of Jesse’s limp grasp before confidently walking over to settle the blanket and leather tack comfortably on Sugar’s back; pressing his thumb lightly into the horse’s flank as he tightened the girth with swift and sure movements.

One final check, and he’d gripped the reigns and mounted.

Jesse’s back was to you; but you could just imagine the mixture of awe and embarrassed anger that was probably plain as day on the tall man’s face.

Asa rolled his eyes, giving a click of his heels into Sugars sides and trotting over to where you stood.

“Ready to go?”

You couldn’t hold back your stupid grin as you nodded quickly, grasping Asa’s offered arm and holding tightly as he swung you from the porch to sit in front of him on the saddle.

“Hold the pommel and grip with your thighs...” he murmurred into your ear.

“Well you know I’m good at that.” you teased.

“Cheeky...”  

Asa’s eyes sparkled with a hidden grin as he moved the large horse towards the mess.

“Coming, Spann?”

You nearly let out a hoot of laughter at the sound of boots rushing over to catch the two of you.

Jesse skidded in the muddy ground and jerked back as Sugar moved her head to nip at him.

‘Hey, you stole my horse!’

Asa snorted.

“It didn’t look like you were using it.”

‘It’s a quarter mile to the mess hall do you expect me to walk?!’

“I suppose you could round up a posse and arrest me for horse-thieving; but I think breakfast will be over by then...”

Jesse looked like he was about to start stomping his feet in anger.

‘I hate how much you’re enjoying this.’

You giggled as one of Asa’s arms wrapped itself around your waist and he motioned Sugar into a quick canter, Spann and her red mare following close behind.

“Better run, Jesse!”

#jesse cromeans x reader x asa emory #asa emory #jesse cromeans #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012 #laid to rest #chromeskull: laid to rest 2 #spann #jessica writes #Horror Movies #slasher fiction #this is completely self-indulgent mkay?? #the collector slasher #chromeskull #its lets booly jesse hour 24/7 in my house