#alma singing with like anyone

[honestsycrets]

Amor y Respeto II: Corazón [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

chapter I: mi alma

❛ pairing | miguel o’hara x reader

❛ type | continuation of one shot.

❛ summary | you're trying to forget miguel with hobie's help on the field. but miguel isn't quite ready to let go.

❛ tags | jealousy, latina reader, slightly nsfw (only nudity), spanish is not translated, some mention of blood and wounds, violence, some paranoia, miguel is not pleased, an attempt was made at british slang, some creative liberties.

❛ sy’s notes | gif credit to aehanse. a little reference to gilgamesh with a golden bull in this chapter because i wanted a simple anomaly and for some reason a golden bull just makes me giggle a bit.

Miguel only left Nueva York for very important reasons. Very important reasons usually entailed a little stress relief at the end of a very stressful day. Very important reasons like your gentle fingertips running over his sweaty chest. Very important reasons like your plush lips wrapped around his--

“No chance,” Lyla chittered in his ear. “There’s the whole ‘I don’t love you’ thing. And that kiss?” 

A headache was brewing: everything twinkled, glistened, and refracted light.

“I was there, Lyla. Could do without the reminder.” 

“Really because--” 

“I can fix it,” Miguel growled, clawing past the tall buildings rife with beautiful flowers. It was your favorite time of year. The perfect time to go to the balcony and wait for him to follow behind, to pick off the yellow pollen that dusted his burnt umber hair.

When he finally breached your plant-filled balcony, the window was open despite his warnings to keep it closed. You loved the light and drew the blinds open day by day to let in the bright light of the day. In contrast, he could have done without the bright light streaming in during his early morning visits. That wasn’t wholly the issue. The issue was anyone who wanted to watch you sleep in your love-rustled sheets could. He could.

Miguel’s hands hooked on his slender hips. He glanced at the offensive presence of a singular powdery pink rose in a vividly graffitied cup that he hadn’t given you. He didn't need to guess to know who had. As your shorthair cat trotted into your bedroom, he realized that the rest of the apartment was empty. He wouldn’t be mewing at him if you were singing in the kitchen and making cookies that he shouldn’t eat. It's little, you would guilt him and squish a bite-sized morsel in his mouth. 

Miguel jerked his head to the side and threw a look at Lyla. She threw up her hands in response. They came to the same conclusion. “The roof?” 

There wasn't a worse time to climb the last few floors of your apartment. Light battered his senses as the sun crested past the rooftops of your city and emitted pastel crystal hues. Soon, the night would fall on your busy city and cloak it in darkness. In the darkness, problems always arose.

"Se dice-- never mind, it's a pastellio," you brushed off the small chunks of crystal that nipped at your forearms and picked a chunk up off of a paper-thin napkin. The crumbly remnants held their own memories. Memories of your fingers sealing pastry dough over a cool picadillo, arguing about the quality of HQ cafeteria’s empanadas all by yourself despite knowing that he liked them. They didn’t taste the same lately.

“Tastes like a meat pie,” Hobie waggled a crusty corner. “Must be a meat pie.” 

You brought the rim of an opaque brown glass bottle to your lips. The malt drink coursed down your throat slowly, leaving your throat cool and refreshed. Just the way you wanted to feel after a long day of work. “If that’s a meat pie, this is beer.” 

Hobie-- Miguel sneered. There had some alternative, impure reason he was here. Maybe it was to piss him off, to distract him from the work really at hand. If that was it, he lamented, he was doing a good job. Why else would he be here?

“A kiddy beer,” he flicked over one of his empty beer bottles. “Listen. You coming to see the concert?” 

“Whose?” 

“Mines, who else?” he answered. “Gwen’ll be there.” 

“It’s not really my scene, Hobie,” you said. “Don't you think I’m a bit old for that sort of thing?” 

“Old?” Hobie chirped after you. You swayed under the force of his playful punch to your shoulder and returned one to his willowy arm. Your eyes turned back to the crystalized sun dipping beneath the horizon. He sucked his tongue against the roof of his tongue. “Letting that muppet shoot his cum in ya is the only thing that’s gonna make you old. Complicit. You wanna be complicit?” 

“¡Fo! Gross, stop,” you dropped your drink to the side and flopped back onto the unforgiving concrete roof. But he had a point, your palm migrated over your belly. His spunk was probably still wiggling around in your stomach. Miguel simpered in the shadows.

“You never see these autocrats for who they are," he lamented.

“It has nothing to do with… Hobie. Hobie, my love isn’t politic--”

“Everything is political.” 

“Hobie, I take care of him-- them,” you motioned to your city, glittering in the fading sunlight. “For love and laughter. That’s what we all deserve. Love and laughter. Miguel wants it too, he’s just,” Incapable or unwilling, you suppressed. “Complicated.” 

“Complicated,” Hobie spat out as though it offended him. “It ain't complicated to me. He don’t love you. Half the time he don’t even like you.” 

“But I love him.” 

“His love? It ain’t enough.” 

“It matters to me.” 

A low growl emanated from his deep chest. It was enough to cause your heads to wrack around in his direction. Miguel steeled his body against the wall he dangled from, shielded in the dark crystally shadows of a mural.

“Should we--” you stared at the wall, eyes narrowing.

Fuck.

“Ain’t nothing to be worried about. Probably a rat— a big rat,” Hobie lurched over your body. His long and lanky arms caged your body beneath him. It was a universe apart from Miguel’s well-corded arms, broad and strong. Arms that, at the moment, Miguel used not to spring off the wall.

“It’s his muscles.”

“¡Ay cállate! Why is it always his muscles?” You ruptured into laughter and reached up to push him away by his thick wicks. You crawled out from underneath Hobie and stretched out your arms behind your back. Tension unwound from Miguel with an exhale of stale air from his lungs.

“You got a type,” Hobie lazed his elbow over his knee. 

“You don’t know any of my exes, Hobie,” you swept up your trash and covered your head with your rebozo-like cowl. At that exact moment, your watch blared. “And you ain’t know mine, either.”

“Vente, Corazón. I have a call.”

Corazón?

“Can’t handle it yourself?” Hobie hopped up and adjusted his guitar, slouching off his shoulder. 

“Just because I can, doesn't mean I have to,” you took a step to the edge of the rooftop. You turned your hands up. “C'mon, I’ll even make you cookies.” 

Make him cookies. You would change out of your blood-smattered outfit into a little slip to make Hobie, a man that you knew he had a very poor opinion of, cookies. A man that was reckless in life, reckless in HQ, and would not take orders that didn’t benefit his perception of the world. His breathing hitched, heavy and sharp, to keep his rage in check. If you respected him, you would never invite Hobie anywhere near your apartment. Especially not at night. What were you thinking? 

“That your way of keeping me for the night?” Hobie asked. “Think I’ll get lucky?”

“Is it working?” 

You looked Hobie over once, starting at his boots and ending at Hobie’s pierced lip. Your lips budded in a terrible smile. A look that Miguel did not like, not at all. You turned and stepped off the building, out of his field of vision. Hobie followed soon after.

The sun faded far past the horizon, cloaking Miguel in solitary indigo darkness. His fingers teased the ochre face of his watch-- he had things to do.

You didn’t need backup. 

You crawled out of the rubble of one of your favorite flower shops. Bits of lavender crystal embedded in your arm drew blood down your arm. As of late, it felt as though you couldn’t do anything right. Hobie was a consistent fixture in your life and fixed the amateur mistakes you were making day by day without mentioning your incompetence. He was good to you.

This time was different. You recognized this anomaly from another time, but not another place. It was here, at the intersection of Cereza and Trini, that months ago that Miguel and you-- No, you did not need backup. You didn’t need him.

The thick, muscular leg of the stupid bull stormed by. The thing was comically obnoxious. Just as obnoxious as the ache in your chest every morning when you woke up alone in your bed with Miguel visiting… not even once in the past few days. You wondered if he even thought of you.

“Miss Spider lady, are you okay?” a little girl with thick brown pom-pom puff hair and the warmest caramel eyes asked. Usually, she sold singular flowers at the cash register of her parent’s shop. You hated to think what hardship would come to them because of your inadequacy. If you could control your emotions, as Miguel rang true, this never would have happened.

“Si, si, Zaniah,” your head spun with the pain radiating from your side. You broke something, and of course, it wasn’t healing. You blamed him. Your feet stumbled forward in a line. You didn’t want to see the headlines of this one. Most spiders dealt with villains worth the name, villains with prowess. You? A shiny fucking bull from heaven. “No te preocupes, go, go.” 

“Mami, mami!” the little girl shrieked and bolted, her flowy purple cape dissipated as she disappeared into the back. You felt bad for the mother that would have to deal with that for the next few days as you broke into a run, flexing your wrist for webbing. 

If you could just-- trip the damn thing. Then, somehow, with enough time you could… oh, you didn’t know, bind its legs? Or bind its legs first then tip? But where would you even tip without casualties? Maybe, if you were lucky, you could lure it to the river-- but that was on the outskirts of town. You were running out of time. You had to deal with it. Had to. What would that little girl think? What would Miguel think? 

“You sure you don’t need backup?” Lyla asked, her gilded frame bending at the waist. "Because you look like you need backup."

“Si,” you hissed. “I am sure, Lyla. I don’t need anyone. And I especially don't need Miguel. I got this.” 

Your red boots connected with its fuzzy back. Its great, golden chain skid across the concrete floor, emitting an awful hissing noise. You seized its collar and jammed your heels into its back to try and force the thing to heel. It wasn’t. Despite your strength, you weren’t strong enough to do it on your own. The pressure on the side of your rib cage was becoming immense. Breathing became a chore. 

“No you don’t,” she sang. 

It was moments later that the bull howled pitifully. It slid on its side, crunching old cars and taking out rusty street lamps under its thick muscle. Despite digging your heels in, the damn thing whirled you off like a children’s dreidel. The force of the impact thrust you off its back and into a rusty tow truck. The pain burned low in your back. Hobie: to the rescue again. At some point, you were going to have to give him something better than cookies.

“Get up,” rasped your backup, cloaked in vast dark blue and red. Not Hobie, then. Your hazy eyes were playing tricks on you. You heaved out rattly breaths as you obeyed, or tried to obey the dumb big man in your life.

It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Heavy and hard, your limbs fought the attempt to move. Before you could complain a minute further about how fucking infuriating it was to have him run to your aid, your world eclipsed into the darkness. 

You woke up with a pulsing headache and the very unwelcome sight of Jess. Through her yellowy glasses, you recognized her colorful kaleidoscope of emotions: annoyance, derision, and eventually… relief. It wasn’t the infirmary. The bed was too comfortable for that. You quickly realized that you were in his room with nothing but one of his annoying tech bandages mummified to your chest. You knew from that alone that you were in for it-- if not for her face becoming increasingly more stoic. They should have been siblings.

“You needed backup,” her arms encircled her belly. “Didn’t you?” 

Your eyes fell to the soft sheets that tickled your skin. Breathing was still hard, harder with the anxiety of knowing a lecture was headed your way. You couldn’t lie to Jess. Tears pricked your cheeks and you tried to steel your heart from them.

It was impossible. His room overwhelmed you: from his rich scent that perfumed the sheets you laid on to the air you breathed. He was close by. That alone was more stress than you could handle.

“I know Jess. I needed backup. Pero, the anomaly, it was-- I thought I could handle it.” 

“Pero nothing,” she held a gloved hand up. “Girl, I don’t need your excuses.” 

“But I’ve called Hobie too much this week.” 

“Is Hobie the only one here? You could have called me. Or-- and I’m just being crazy here. Miguel? Your man?” she rolled her head toward the back of the room. She must not have heard. You followed her gaze to where he stood, his uniform flopped unceremoniously about his waist. Your heart strummed and skipped a beat. With her words, Miguel turned his eyes up from the wound at his waist-- to your eyes. They pierced your heart in the darkness. He would have come.

“You know what? I’ll just leave you two alone.” 

“No, no, no Jess, por favor--” She left without another word. Punishment in its own right. Your hand approached your chest, covering your cleavage from his sight. His hand swayed over the pad to lock the door shut. 

Your head dropped back on his flat pillows. Whether it was the bundles of discomfort at his presence or actual shots of pain, the awkward silence was growing increasingly too much for you to handle. He brought you here, into his bed, for a reason you couldn’t understand. You both were done. Finished. Miguel didn’t seem to think so.

“You act as if I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Maybe, he had seen you naked before. He had no right to anymore. You opened your eyes to look at him, noting the strong scent of sweat permeating his skin and the warm sheen that dusted his chest. You had your increased senses to thank for that. You swallowed air in forceful gulps and burrowed painful shockwaves in your chest. If nothing else, you could at least swallow pain with some honor.

Everything that Miguel did had a purpose. You couldn’t help but eye the way his thumbs looped around his waistband to draw his pants lower, freeing his swarthy skin from indigo fabric. Your eyes fell on his flaccid cock that sat on a tuffet of his thick black pubic hair, chased the curve sight of his shapely ass, and settled on his strong rideable thighs. It was the least egregious sight to stare at. He slipped the suit over his shoulder, raising his brown brows in unison. 

“And as if you haven’t seen me naked before, either.” 

“It… it’s been a while.” Your eyes darted past his figure to the door. You were sure it was locked.

"Has it really?" Miguel threw out as he disappeared into his bathroom. For a moment, you debated running. Your heart ached with the knowledge that he would just come to find you. He left knowing that you would not disobey him because, after everything, you respected his wishes. 

What Miguel's wishes were today was up for debate. The only thing you were sure of was the gentle pitter-patter of water droplets, the steam that emanated from the bath, and his lofty figure swaying in the distance. The warm certainty that filled your body knowing that he would come back to bed. Because that’s what Miguel did when you were hurt: he paid attention. 

He came back into the room nude, ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel. You couldn’t convince yourself to act as if you were asleep. His presence shattered any illusion of ignoring him, even with the expressionless way he considered you tonight. He was utterly intolerable.

After an eternity boxed in with your thoughts, reality came as Miguel, a smooth wall of muscle, clambered into the bed. The bed shifted under Miguel’s weight. Just as you predicted, the warmth of his chest was against your slight back and his large palm was flat against your stomach. 

You broke up with him for a reason, you broke up with him for a reason— Miguel didn’t seem to care about those delicate details. He caressed your neck with his nose. His lips dragged over your unmarked skin. As certain as a clock was to click, your body became slick with anticipation. You knew he could tell. 

You were weak. Weak out there. Weak in here. Weak everywhere.

“You smell… different.”

“Miguel, por favor,” you breathed, thready and thin. “It’s just Hobie.”

“Hobie?” he growled. Miguel’s hand encompassed the large space of your belly. Your legs shifted as Miguel held you a little firmer. You expected his hand to move lower, but he didn’t.

“Hm. Why would it be Hobie?” he asked, his voice dripping dangerously low. “Is there something I should know, Corazón?”

“No, I, no,” you stammered. He knew. Though you said the words, they felt cut off from what you were saying. As though the threat of his rejection took over all the confidence in your world. "You were watching?"

You turned in his arms to face him. His forehead creased in disapproval. You opted to press your forehead against his, running your nose against his, breath puffing his lips.

"You thought I wouldn't," he said. His eyes spun with sharpness, searching your face for evidence of the truth. As though he were asking if you’d been unfaithful despite the breakup. Your face was always pitifully easy to read. Even with the breakup, he could read your intentions as clearly as the words on his lab screens.

"I didn't think you cared."

You were used to a Miguel who crept into your bedside window, slunk into your bed, and woke you up from your slumber with the weight of his body between your legs. A Miguel that only had time for brief moments of pleasure and successful results. This Miguel was different.

"You know I do."

And there it was. He pushed himself free of the bed in search of pants. You watched him pull them over his ass before he flopped into the one chair in the middle of his room, head in his hand. Lyla, he rumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite hear. Your senses were dull, something you equated to the exhaustion and sleepiness that threatened to overtake you at any given moment. 

“Something is different. And it isn’t him,” he sneered. 

You missed the warmth of his body against yours. The ginger way he touched you just moments before. After days of being without his touch, you missed the simple things. Like the way he touched you. The way he focused on you alone in a room full of others. You hated yourself for craving it. You made a choice. Why couldn’t you stick with it? 

“What did I do wrong now?” Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth. It was the very cottonmouth you feared you would have when telling Miguel about Gwen and Miles. Your mind was too hazy to rationalize what you possibly could have done this time. Miguel would always be an impenetrable castle, one you could admire from afar but never enter. 

“Nothing!” He snapped. You recoiled from the shrill in his voice. Miguel ran his hand through his hair, easing his tone down to a murmur. He threw you a small, bittersweet glance. Almost a smile. “Muñeca, you did nothing wrong. Get some rest.” 

He sat there a moment longer. A frown grew on his lips as Miguel stood up and walked toward the door. After one, two, then three attempts to open the door, his closed fist slammed a hole into the siding. It finally whirled open and allowed him to exit. It left you in the sea of silence that was his dark room. You never liked waking up in his room alone. It was bare, too bare, for anyone to live in. You worried that his mind was just like that.

“Lyla? Lyla, I want to go home.” 

It was a long time-- too long-- before she answered. “You should sleep.” 

And though she advised that, it was a restless night.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel/reader #miguel o'hara/reader #across the spiderverse imagine #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv x you #atsv x reader

[sofasoap]

Love at first sight - Epilogue

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x F!reader ( aka Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Two love birds finally got together. To the relief of everyone.

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,Part 5,Part 6

Warning: E Rating. Smutty smut. inaccuracies to medical and military related. discussion of injury.

A/N: @siilvan , thank you for being a wonderful Beta-reader *hug* @jynxmirage for giving me daily encouragements of sending me picture of delicious Bayardo De Murguia to keep me going :) Thanks to @okayyadriana  and @saltofmercury helping me with Spanish words :) if there are any mistakes. Please blame me not them.

“masterlist” 

You stayed on with the Los Vaqueros In Las Almas after Rudy was cleared to be discharged from the hospital. 

Approaching Price a few days after in private, you were nervous as you put in a request to stay on for a bit longer while the rest of the team moved on to another mission back in Europe soon.

“I know this is a very selfish request, Captain..” You look down at your boot, feeling guilty abandoning your team while they need you. But you can’t walk away from him this time. Rudy still needs you to look after him, or so you try to justify it. More like you need him to heal your guilty conscience. 

Price observed you in silence for a few minutes, brows furrowed. At last he jerks his head towards the outside, indicating to you to follow him. 

The sun is slowly setting, a few soldiers returning from their patrols and training. Everything seems so tranquil and peaceful compared to the near death mission the squad was sent to a few weeks ago.

Taking out a cigar he stashed away in his vest pocket, he lit it up, and took a slow drag before turning to you.

“You've been burying yourself in work non-stop for the last few months Mini. Is this why?” He didn’t point out what exactly he was asking about.

But, you know what he is implying. 

Kicking a bit of dirt on the ground and swiping the little gravel away for no reason, you let out a little grunt, acknowledging his question. 

“Stay as long as you want. You have trained your team well, Dr. MacTavish.” He chuckled as you pouted like a child, he knows you don’t like to address you with the title. “I’m sure they can handle the boys without you.” He pats you on the shoulder. “Take a good break, but I don’t know how much rest you are going to have fussing over him.” 

“I’ll try to behave…” You replied sincerely, finally feeling a bit of weight lift off your shoulders. “Thank you, Captain. It means a lot to me.”

Patting you on the shoulder with a fatherly smile, “Go chase your happiness, Mini. You deserve it.” 

Leaning back against the wall, you close your eyes and listen to the faint sound of music and singing that could be heard from the mess hall from a distance away, as the Task force and Los Vaqueros soldiers celebrate another successful mission under their belt after months of hard work. 

A shadow appears in front of you. Looking up, you saw Rudy standing in front of you, eyebrows raised, silently asking for permission. 

Patting the ground beside you and inviting him to sit down, you share the brief silence. 

This is probably the only time the two of you have spent time alone in the last few months, without anyone else hovering about. 

To Rudy’s dismay, Alejandro forced his second in command to take an extensive break after his return from hospital.

“Rest. You nearly died in my arms, hermano. I am sure your mother will be happy to have you at home for more than one day in a few weeks.” He commented. Alejandro turned towards you and patted you on the shoulder, “I’ll get Dr. MacTavish here to check up on you, so don’t you worry about your injury.” 

Mama Parra was ecstatic to see you return along with her son. You were quite touched by how the whole family welcomed your return. Camila gave you a knowing look after giving you a hug.

“Thank you for saving my brother. And, please, look after him from now on.” 

The tender look he gives you everytime you go over to change his bandages, and the desire he couldn’t keep hidden sipping through when you glide your hands, deliberately across his well defined ab. You linger your hand around his pelvis area, boldly caressing the slight bit of hair showing above his pants. Oh how his eyes darken as you flash him a sly smile, teasing him. 

If only he wasn’t still recovering from his near fatal wound. If only there weren’t people always out and about in the house.

Both of you would have given in to the desire, right there and then. 

But his mother would always poke her head into the room every time, fussing about and pulling you out to feed you with delicious meals, trying to show you the family photos, and with your rudimentary understanding of Spanish language, along with Rudy and Camila’s translation, Mama Parra loved telling you all the family history and childhood stories of Rudy and his siblings, and all the havoc him and Alejandro caused when they were young. 

You often catch Alejandro looking at the two of you, rolling his eyes while shaking his head, exasperated that the two of you are behaving like love sick puppies yet again. 

“Are you two going to make a move on each other or not?” Alejandro asked you once, when you were dropping off the health assessment reports in his office. “You know there is a betting pool happening amongst the team to see when…”

You ran out of the office in a flash, not even waiting for his sentence to finish, utterly mortified. 

Rudy breaks the silence first as he softly calls out your name. Turning slightly to face him.

“Cariño. Mi vida.” The tips of your ears burn as he addresses you in such an intimate manner. How would it feel if he called out like that when he was buried inside you…? “What are you thinking?” He whispered, his beautiful brown orbs filled with sadness. “Are you… are you thinking of leaving again?” Your heart clenched with pain as he looked at you with the same nervousness and distress you saw the night at the hospital.  You realise the two of you haven’t sat down and discussed the future, where to move on from here. No wonder the poor man is feeling so insecure. 

“Oh love.. no.. no don’t think that.” Gently cupping his face, you pull him down towards you to lean against his forehead. “I am not leaving you. Ever again. No matter what happens. I am sorry I haven’t been clearer.” You apologised as you leaned close to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “...well, barring from getting sent out for missions…” You added hastily. 

You feel tension dissipate from him as you give him your words of reassurance. Taking one of his hands, you put it over your heart.

“This will be yours from now on. And this,” You put your hand over his rapid beating heart, “I hope I have the honour for this to be mine.” You drop down to a whisper, suddenly timid. 

“From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I had already devoted my heart to you. I never expected you to return my feelings. I was happy to watch you from afar, assist you whenever I could; seeing that bright smile appear on your face is all that matters to me. I never expected anything in return.”

You were taken aback by his comment. You knew he had feelings for you quite early on, but from the moment you arrived at Las Almas? You didn’t quite expect that. Silently pining for you, doing what he does the best, assisting you in the background. You realise everytime the medical team has requested something, it would be done right away in the next few days. You got a complaint? Rudy would sort it out straight away. 

“All done, as per your request.” You remember his soft smile and his shyness everytime he reported back to you. 

It was all for you. 

“Rudy… oh, Rudy…” You lamented. The guilt is hitting you again.You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face now. “I am so sorry… so sorry…”

“Cariño, it’s not your fault. You did what you thought was right at the time, and I don’t blame you for that.” He pulls you into his embrace, kissing you lightly on your head. “I admit, I was quite heartbroken, but I do understand. Duty over heart. And the distance would have made it hard.” Closing his eyes, he chuckled slightly. “I buried myself in work, trying to put it all behind me. That accidental phone call? It reignited my hope. Brought back the ache again.” 

Resting your head in the crook of his neck, you enjoy the closeness, his scent, as he lightly rocks you back and forth to the music in the distance, slowly processing his words. 

“I love you, mi vida. I love you so much.” He whispered into your ears. “You are so beautiful. So strong, so fierce, so loyal…” He pulled himself away slightly to face you as he took in a deep breath.

“Would it be too much to ask, for you to be mine?” He pleaded, desperately searching for an answer in your eyes. 

You wrap your arms around his neck with a soft smile, “You already have my heart,” You whispered as you tipped your head up to give him a gentle kiss on his lips. “And you have my permission to take my body as yours, too.” 

With that reply, he leaned down towards you for another kiss, pouring all his emotion and heart into it. You can feel both of your bodies heating up as you nudge his lips open with your tongue, teasing him.

Abruptly, he pulls you away, panting, and jerks his head towards the main building. “My room. Not here.” That was all he could get out with his mind semi-frazzled from the kiss. You nodded your head frantically as both of you made your way towards the said destination.

As the two of you passed through the mess hall towards the officer’s quarters, you thought you saw Alejandro’s quick wave and smirk. Must be your imagination?

You couldn’t help but circle your arm around his waist as he shakily tried to open the door to his resting quarters. Hands meander around his body, teasing him a little, feeling his broad muscles, his back, and coming to a stop as you palm his semi hard package underneath his trousers. As soon as the door opens, he turns around and pulls you in, and kicks the door closed. You pull him down by his collar for another kiss, desperate to show him how much you want him, to soothe his worries and doubt. 

You push him to sit down on the bed, both of you still catching your breath from the heated kiss and dash.

“Please, mi amor… please, show me how you like it. Where you want me to touch…” He looks up at you, hands roaming up and down your body, voice dropping into a husky and lustful whisper.

You lower yourself to straddle him, feeling his hardness through the fabric. Rolling your hips slightly, you hear his breath catching slightly, holding back a groan. 

You move one of his hands to grab your ass, and the other to slide under your top, towards your breast. “Anywhere you like, love,” You swallow thickly, body filled with want. You want him. Anywhere. Everywhere. “Just show me what your deft fingers can do.” You purred as you looked at him through half hooded eyes. . 

You always wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on you after seeing him playing the guitar that night. The beautiful nimble fingers gliding up and down the fretboard, plucking away on the strings.

Standing up again to let him have better access to your lower region, he fumbles slightly as he unbuttons your pants and glides in between your pants and underwear. You let out an unrestrained moan as you feel his finger skate over your clit, before it reaches your already soaking opening.

“That’s it, my love..more… I want to feel more of you there…” You gasped and demanded as you rolled your hips with his moment. Another finger followed without hesitation, and another, until you feel stretched full of him pumping slowly in and out of you. 

His thumb languidly circles your clit as you dig your nails into his shoulder, back arched and screaming his name, not caring if the whole barracks hears you enjoying the first orgasm your lover has given you.

You look down at him with your watery orbs, breathing still short and fast as you come down from the blissful high he has just given you. He pulled his fingers out of you and slipped them in his mouth.

“I want to taste more of you.” He hummed as he slowly licked his fingers, cleaning up the cum juice you drenched him with. “My mouth against your beautiful soaking wet cunt, making you happy…”

Oh, you have definitely flipped a switch on. Gone is the shy Rudy, now Rodolfo Parra, the same confidence and passion shining through his eyes that you saw from him that night playing his guitar, is requesting to please you once again. Or, is that a thinly veiled demand?

Either way, you welcome the change.

Leaning down to pull him into an open mouthed kiss, you speak against his lips.

“You will have a lot more chances for that later on, my love.” You smirked as you pushed his shoulder, making him fall back onto the bed. You kneel on the bed, legs on each side of his body. “Now, it’s my turn to give you some pleasure, as you have just given me.” You position yourself comfortably sitting on his thighs, before you start to unbutton his shirt. 

Peppering kisses on his chest, your eyes soften as your hand carrases over the healed scar from months ago. That pain in your heart is still as fresh as the day you barely pulled him back from death’s door step.

“Still hurting?” You murmured as you traced your fingers over the most critical spot. “Occasional phantom pain, but I am alright now. Thanks to you.” He reassures you as he runs his hand up and down your arm.

Continuing down his body, your hands shake with excitement like a child opening a present on Christmas day, eager to see what is hiding underneath. 

Your smile broadens as you pull his pants down, his impressive girth finally appearing. You heard him groaning as you gently grabbed his length, pumping it a few times before taking it with your mouth.

Rudy gasps and moans as you work away, teasing him with your tongue, sucking the tip and kneading his balls lightly. He grasps the bed sheet hard as he blabbers away in Spanish, too fast for you to follow. He took you by surprise as he let out an almost half whimper-half sob before you felt the hot cum coating the inside your mouth. You lapped it all up and swallowed keenly as he rode out the rest of his orgasm.

“I… I am sorry, mi amor. I couldn’t hold it in any longer...” He apologised profusely, clearly embarrassed. You climb back up towards him. “I am glad I have that effect on you, Cariño.” You hushed him as you showered him with kisses on his face and patted his chest. 

His eyes glitter as you use the endearment in his mother tongue. “I should feel honoured that I can make you come so quickly. Now,” You stripped the rest of your clothing off. “Show me what you can do with that impressive thing inside me.”

Rudy claimed shyly he isn’t as experienced as you, but oh boy. His attentiveness, his eagerness, how much he wanted to give you a good time, all made up for it. 

His hands couldn’t stop touching you, caressing you as he slowly thrusted in and out of your aching core, stretching it open, making you quiver and moan out no matter what angle and position he went for. As if the two of you were made for each other, meant to be. Your soulmate. 

The two of you finally drifted to sleep, round after round of pleasure and orgasms, with his arm around you, holding you close to his chest. Afraid to let go, afraid for you to disappear again.  

The whole mess hall erupted into cheers and whistles as both you and Rudy walked in, taking both of you by surprise. 

You hid your face in Rudy’s shoulder, abashed by the sudden attention both of you were getting. 

Rudy, calm as always, ignored all the teases as he gently took your hand, which incited another round of cheers as he led you to the back table where Alejandro and your team was sitting at the moment for breakfast. He sat you down first before murmuring into your ear and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, heading towards the serving area to grab food for both of you.

“I hope you two had a good time last night.” Alejandro smiled as he pushed the jar of sugar towards you. 

“HOW–” You nearly spilled out the coffee that you were pouring into the mug. 

“Why did you think the officer’s quarters were so quiet last night?” Alejandro smirked with a knowing look. 

Blistering hell, he knew. He ordered people to stay away from the sleeping quarters. You wondered why the usually busy hallway was void of people as the two of you dashed towards his bedroom. 

Another soldier sitting across from you laughed. " Ah, don't be so shy. We were all rooting for you and our Sergeant Major. And, you know what they say?? Tell her, mi hermanos, mi hermanas!!"

“Save a horse, ride a Vaquero!” The whole mess hall shouted in unison. 

You just want to dig a hole in the ground and hide.

“...Captain.” You mumbled at Price. “Have you got Nikolai’s contact? Please ask him to take me away from this horrible embarrassment.” You buried your face in your hands. Now how are you going to face all of them?

“Might be a good idea, so we don’t have to hear your screams every night.” Soap mumbled as he took a sip of his coffee. 

OH great, now your brother is talking about your sex life. Something just snapped inside you. Stuff this. If they are so interested in your life, you might as well…. 

Slamming your mug onto the table, you stood up on the bench, whistling to catch everyone’s attention. 

“Since all of you are so interested in our love life, yes, the Sergeant Major and I finally shagged last night.” You heard your brother spitting out his coffee while Ghost thumped his back, Gaz laughing his head off. “And, ladies, his fingers are just as good, if not better than all of you imagined.” Gasps and giggles could be heard amongst the crowd. Out of the corner of your eyes, Rudy froze mid-motion while picking up some toast from the toaster, soldiers around him slapping his back and elbowing him, teasing him. 

“Mini…” You heard Price trying to interject, but you held out your hand towards your captain, stopping him. 

“Last, but not least, I love him, and he is off the market people! Take this as a warning, no one touches MY MAN!” 

Jumping down from your bench, you walk down the aisle between the refectory tables, as if doing a victory walk between the cheering and clapping soldiers, towards Rudy, who’s now blushing from head to toe, hearing your public declaration. 

“There. I think that will stop anyone from gossiping about us.” You stop in front of your lover, as he leans into the crook of your neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin.

“Ah, querida… What am I going to do with you.” He asked, followed by a sigh.  

“Well, one thing for sure, you aren’t going to get rid of me, because I am going to stick around for quite a long time.” You replied as you wrapped your arm around his torso.

“Good.” He put his plates down to the side and proceeded to lift you up high. “Because you are mine forever, mi hermosa.” 

“... how much did you bet on them?” 

“A hundred pounds, But that’s because I had insider information.” 

“Mierda.” 

Tag list:

@jynxmirage, @kaplerrr, @captainpriceslover,@homicidal-slvt,@floral-force,@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world,@iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface,@okayyadriana,@random-thot-generator,@siilvan,@crazymela,@preciouslittlecreature,@glitterypirateduck,@cumikering,@devcica,@nrdmssgs,@random0lover

@nightingal3-tales, @deakyspuff, @abbeyrjm-blog, @alypink,@liyanahelena, @loppyc

@deadbranch

#rudy parra x reader imagine #call of duty #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rudy parra x female reader #rudy parra x f!reader #rudy parra x reader #rudy parra x you #rodolfo parra x you #task force 141 #cod x reader #cod x female reader #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #rodolfo parra x female reader #rodolfo rudy parra x female reader #rodolfo rudy parra x f!reader #sofasoap writes #mini mactavish universe #mini mactavish

[miracles-and-butterflies]

The second wip of the Reincarnation AU series; Isabela’s death.

Featuring another sketch at the end.

Time skip of fourteen years. What happened between Mirabel and Isabela’s deaths? You’ll never know.

Comments are always appreciated.

Warning, sensitive topics below: murder and character death.

~~~~~~

So Much Hides Behind My Smile

“Knock, knock? Mi flor? Are you in there?” Someone asks, opening the door.

Isabela is sat at her vanity, carefully taking out the flowers she’d woven into her hair that morning. From the mirror’s reflection, she can see Milagro stood in the doorway, her family going about minding their own business just behind.

It had been a busy day, of course. Her perfect, albeit long awaited, wedding.

“Of course, mi vida. Did you need something?”

“I just came to see you,” he answered, shutting the door behind him. He laughed, walking over to her, just about to set a hand on her shoulder. “Well, it’s been a long day but we’ve finally made it to the wedding night—”

“Get the fuck out of my room.” Isabela snarls.

Milagro blanks for a minute. “Um… where else am I meant to sleep?”

“I don’t care. It’s not my problem.” She seethes, turning back to the mirror.

“In case the rest of the day didn’t clue you in, mi flor, we are unfortunately husband and wife now. It very much is your problem. And from what I understand, the sooner you have a baby, the happier your Abuela will be. Which you’ll have a hard time achieving if you don’t want me here.”

“If you so much as touch my shoulder, I will rip your penis off and feed it to my carnivorous plants.”

Neither says anything more.

But it takes exactly two seconds for them to act.

Milagro goes to charge his entire body into hers but is yanked onto the floor by throned vines, as Isabela throws herself straight onto him.

“How dare you treat me like this!?”

“How dare you!? This is my room and don’t you forget it!”

“Just because you’re a Madrigal doesn’t mean you can get away with everything, princesa!”

They scratch and hiss and hit like wild jaguars, fighting over the last scrap of meat.

It just keeps going.

Not only does he deserve it and worse, she can let out all the steam that’s been building inside her.

~~~~~~

“A perfect match,” Alma hummed, as Bruno poured them all another round of wine. “Isabela deserves the best and that is what she has. They will both bring so much good to the Encanto.”

“I can’t believe it. Where has the time gone?” Bruno added.

Pepa nodded, still drying her hair. “It feels like just yesterday Isabela was born and now she’s married and going to have babies of her own.”

“That will be our Lolita soon,” Félix smiled.

“I’m too young to have grandchildren! We’re too young to have grandchildren! No offence, Mama.”

Alma was in too good a mood to even remotely care.

“Is it really Dolores’ wedding next?” Bruno asked, teasing. “Because I had a little peek into the future and I saw—”

“NO! DON’T YOU DARE RUIN IT! I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” Pepa shrieked.

Bruno held his hands up in surrender as his sister began a play fight with him, Félix laughed riotously.

“Hey, I was only kidding!”

“Well, I don’t believe you!”

Alma chuckled too, before getting up. “I am going to check on Julieta and Agustín.”

“You do that,” Félix said. “I’ll keep an eye on these two.”

The rest of the grandkids, all of whom were drunk, were out in the courtyard, hyper as anything.

Camilo, Antonio and a variety of animals were dancing while Dolores played some lively tune on her bandola; Luisa singing a completely different song over the top.

Honestly, you wouldn’t know they were adults.

On any other day, she would probably have scolded them and sent them to bed. For now though, she is happy enough to just leave them. They aren’t hurting anyone or causing any trouble, to be fair.

Agustín and Julieta were sat quietly in another room, without the wine. Julieta has been in an odd state for the past few years with seemingly new cure, and Agustín has always preferred to keep some distance from his mother-in-law when he can help it.

But they should be together right now. This is Isabela’s day and they have all been her biggest supporters.

“They certainly make the happy couple,” Alma said, taking a seat beside them.

“Indeed.” Agustín agrees. “I had my doubts about this match, but I’m glad that I’ve been proved wrong.”

“So long as my girls are happy, then I’m happy.” Julieta declares.

“Well, mija, I can attest that Luisa is definitely happy.” She paused, trying to get the pair to hear the carryon happening outside. “And trying to make herself a soprano, apparently.”

After some wonky, forced long note from Luisa, they broke into laughter.

“It’s nice to see the kids are still enjoying life and spending time together,” Agustín remarked, smiling fondly.

Julieta’s smile drops.

“Not all of them.”

~~~~~~

Long after Milagro is gone and her temper has cooled, Isabela heads downstairs.

It’s late now.

The rest of the family is in bed. Or at least in their rooms.

She doesn’t know where Milagro went after she kicked him out, probably the guest bedroom, but she doesn’t care enough to check. He can sleep outside for all she cares.

She heard some footsteps on the way to the kitchen, but brushed them off.

One of Antonio’s animals, no doubt.

In the kitchen, she makes her way over to the coffee pot. It’s half full, just needs to be reheated - no doubt Luisa has beaten her to their usual midnight drinks.

Casita takes over, sliding her signature cup along to her.

“What do you think of all this, Casita?”

A few tiles clink.

“Mirabel? I’d be lectured for at least two hours about failed marriages in history or something if she was still alive.” Isabela glanced to the side. “Can’t imagine how she’d take this… knowing I just went back.”

More clinking.

“Well, what was I meant to do? I couldn’t say no.”

A cupboard smacks her shoulder, lightly.

She chuckled. Taking off the wedding ring.

“Haha, good point. You know, I always thought getting out of the Guzmán engagement would make me happy, and now I’m about two seconds away from committing murder.”

The beams squeak supportively.

“It’s nice to know someone’s got my back.”

The coffee pot, ready, is tilted over Isabela’s cup, filling it to the brim.

“Maybe I’ll let it happen. Let the family see he’s awful and then I’ll be free.”

It smells as good as usual, there’s an underlying hint of something that isn’t coffee though. She shrugs, and drinks it anyways.

Luisa’s been drunk since the ceremony ended, who knows what she’s put in here since. It’s probably alcohol - that she’s added in some spark of creativity. And Isabela isn’t too against the idea of alcohol in her coffee at all - it’s an idea she’ll try later, when she isn’t about to go to bed.

It doesn’t taste any different though.

She lets Casita dispose of the ring.

She returns to her room steadily, not paying much attention to the beautiful decorations that have been hanging since this morning.

It’s one of the odd times where she wasn’t the one to decorate Casita in her flora - it was her day. Abuela had made it very clear that she didn’t want Isabela to lift a finger.

She never really got a chance to admire them this morning either. She’s spent most of the day outside of Casita and when they have been home, she was in her room, getting ready with Dolores, her maid of honour.

Ah well.

They will still be there tomorrow.

All that matters now is that she’s alone, out of that hideous wedding dress and can sleep off her frustration with a drink.

She doesn’t bother switching on the light, just clambers into bed and setting the cup on her bedside table.

The café con leche is as inviting as always.

[Note reads, not in Isabela’s handwriting:

Dear family,

This is not about you, this is about me. I can’t cope with the pressure of being the perfect Madrigal any longer. I was not made to be a wife and mother - my most sincere apologies to Milagro, mi vida. I tried. You should not blame yourselves. I hope whatever is is next is better than this.

— Isabela]

#encanto #encanto reincarnation au #isabela madrigal #alma madrigal #julieta madrigal #agustín madrigal #pepa madrigal #félix madrigal #bruno madrigal #luisa madrigal #dolores madrigal #camilo madrigal #antonio madrigal #mirabel madrigal #my writing #my art #encanto fanart

[farthngdr]

This post is tinhatting to the nth degree, and it includes speculation about the current State of the Union of Cockles that is undoubtedly unpopular. If you're sensitive about this subject, turn back now.

(For the sake of context: I adore Cockles and want them to last forever.)

Someone mentioned that Jensen was asked at a recent con to name a favorite band or song. He answered that he had just learned to sing and to play a song called "Wondering Why" on guitar.

I read the lyrics to the song, which I am including here. Clearly he means this song to be a tribute to Danneel:

"She comes from silver spoon, golden rule, private school Never missed Sunday church And I come from blue collar, low dollar Out here where concrete meets old red dirt

And I don't know what happened But it sure don't add up on paper But when I close my eyes late at night You can bet I thank my maker

She keeps on loving me Loves me the way I am She's not just along for the ride She's my biggest fan Lord, it's a little old piece of heaven When we lay down at night She keeps on loving me And I keep on wondering why

She's got a wicked smile, angel eyes Every guy wanting to hold her close She's as pretty as sin Like the sun sinking down on the California coast

She keeps on loving me Loves me the way I am She's not just along for the ride She's my biggest fan Lord, it's a little old piece of heaven When we lay down at night She keeps on loving me And I keep on wondering why

Alright, alright, alright

I don't know what happened But it sure don't add up on paper And as long as she lets me I'll take her wherever she wants me to take her, oh

She keeps on loving me Loves me the way I am She's not just along for the ride She's my biggest fan And it's a little old piece of heaven When we lay down at night She keeps on loving me And I keep on wondering why."

My first reaction was, "That's really interesting, Jensen doesn't typically sing love songs that clearly reference the 'she/her' pronouns, so he is experiencing a renewed appreciation for Danneel." Wonder why...?

The lyrics are also taking a dig at a certain kind of person, the kind who is only "along for the ride." I wondered if that particular line was a dig at Misha, as I believe Jensen might have distanced himself from Misha due to the whole girlfriend debacle. I attended Burcon and the Jenmish panel, and I felt very strongly that Jensen had changed toward Misha, most likely due to Misha's inviting a new woman into his life, and also most likely without asking anyone else's consent to do so (except maybe from his kids). Judging by the cold (as in Arctic) mood of the panel, as well as a few mean-spirited swipes at Misha, something was definitely off between the two.

The song says she has "angel eyes" ?

Also: "It's a little old piece of heaven/When we lay down at night." Jensen has sung Bryan Adams' song "Heaven," which is thought by many to be a song he sings for Misha. ("When I'm lying here in your arms/I'm finding it hard to believe/We're in heaven.")

And I kept thinking about that line--"along for the ride." Could that be what a hurt and jealous Jensen thinks about Misha? That Misha was really just along for the ride, as opposed to Danneel, who has remained loyal and committed to him through thick and thin?

And then I saw a poem Alma posted on their story today. It's titled "Along for the Ride."

(I have no proof of anything. I know nothing. Just a mind that tends to see connections. And yes, possibly where there aren't any.)

If folks come at me for this, I guess I'll do what I always end up doing these days- -I'll have to delete it.

Oh well.

POSTSCRIPT: SInce the posting of "I'm going I'm gone," Alma really went. Not even posting their daily favorite verses on their Instagram story, which have been a staple of their account for several years. Alma, please come back. We weren't just along for the ride.

#Alma Perpetua #Jensen singing Wondering Why #trouble in Cocklesland? #oddly mean tone at Jenmish panel Burcon 2024 #god I love Cockles and so want them to be OK #Alma don't be gone long

[achy-boo]

Amara Anabel Alma

1.Neka (Before)

2.Neka (After)

Full name: Amara Anabel Alma

Name meaning: Amara means 'immortal' or 'eternal' in African and Sanskrit, Anabel signifying 'graceful beauty' and Alma means 'soul' or 'Spirit" in Spanish

Gender: Female

Age: Immortal

Sexuality: N/A

Species: Deity??

Personality: Amara is a soft spoken woman with an unknown origin. She is very motherly and kind hearted, she is mostly had few words to say so she just observe. Like Kianisha, her hostility and rage belongs to those who harmed her 'children'. She is mostly silent and creepy to some due to the fact her face is unnatural to look at it. But be warned: she is sneaky and has a tendency to snatch unwanted tainted souls to her room to turn them into dolls/puppets.

Likes: dollmaking, watching her 'children', remembering her past with Bellatrix and [redacted], trying new human things, snatching unwanted sinners, snow, animals

Dislikes: showing her 'side', [redacted]'s death, her 'children' hurt or sad, people trying to find her origins, Minako's Sakamaki Family, being told no by Night(but she accepted it either way)

Voice Claims;

Japanese: Kafka from Honkai Star Rail

English: Navia from Genshin Impact

Facts:

She is the mother of the girls

She is in that domain of Night's(the one with the two large doors that is chained shut)

She used to protect Bellatrix until Bellatrix tell her to protect Night and her loved ones

She is the Deity(??) of dollmaking

One of her eyes has no light

She had no birthday sadly

She is hostile when her 'children' is hurt or sad

She will adopt anyone as her children

She a kinda hatred towards anyone with malicious intentions

She is very large for her own good. (In mortal form: She is 6'3 when in her deity(??) form: she is 10 ft tall but she is flexible)

Her melody is what you hear at an abandoned doll making workshop or doll house.(Creepy Ass singing but its beautiful)

@anxious-twisted-vampire @marrondrawsalot @yukii0nna @abyssthing198 @the-weirdos-mind @yumeko2sevilla @amxto @yoghurtsan

#ཐིཋྀ ~ Rosey’s Theater ~ ཐིཋྀ #𝄞 ~ The puppets’ theater ~ 𝄞 #୨୧ ~ A new puppet has been obtained ~ ୨୧ #Amara Anabel Alma

[ajibooks]

By now, Alma and Louis have several children between them, and Ed's their favorite grandparent by far. He has big soft brown eyes and he never makes anyone do anything as boring as fishing. Sometimes, when none of the other adults are looking, he lets them play with knives. Best of all, he always has candy in his pockets.

Grandpa Stede says he's happy and proud of Ed, and Grandma doesn't care, but Grandpa Doug is sad. "I was the cool dad," he says. "Why aren't I the cool grandpa?" Grandma shrugs and tells him to stop complaining about it, and Ed giggles.

Ed has the best taste in music of anyone, and (unlike Stede) he doesn't mind how badly the kids sing or (unlike Mary) if they dance around without any rhythm or spin until they get dizzy and fall over. They climb all over him like he's a ship they're plundering for treasure. He tells them stories about his tattoos, all made up and different every time.

The kids bring their friends to meet him like he's a local celebrity, even though he's always just been "Ed" to them. He figured that was the best bet with two other granddads and a grandma, and it's easy for even toddlers to pronounce. Of course the friends get candy too, and soon, there are almost always kids in their house, some familiar and some strange. Grandpa Stede laughs and makes sure there's enough candy for everyone.

#ofmd #our flag means death #this can be canon or modern au if you like #my fic #just a thing I was imagining that I thought other people might like to imagine too

[darling-miaxoxo]

“Once Upon A Time”

A/N: Hello everyone! Damn its been awhile! hope everyone’s having a great day! Happy new year! Heres a oneshot for now! btw this song called “Once Upon A Time” is in the oneshot! the link is here if you want to listen to it! Also, would you guys mind if I start writing for different fandoms? Please answer in the comments :D Summary: You tell the children your past with a rhyme. Alma overhears this rhyme and talks to you. Warning/s: some angst, undertale/deltarune spoilers kind of?? Fandom & Relationship/ship: Miss Peregrines Home for Peculiar Children, Alma Peregrine x Reader.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“Please tell us Miss Y/n! We promise we wont be disappointed!” Fiona and Claire said. You were currently amidst of almost all the younger children. Horace was reading outside under the tree, while all the other younger children are around you, begging to know your past. You were an... interesting peculiar as someone might say. You did just come into the loop unplanned, nor did anyone knew you. Horace’s dream didnt even show you coming into the loop. “Alright, alright. What about a rhyme to go with it hm?” You said, finally giving up to the children's begging. You walked over to the living room and sat down. “Alright then, everyone ready?” you said, making sure everyone is ready to listen. “Every good rhyme starts with “Once Upon A Time!” You sang, clapping your hands. The children clapping along with you. “Long ago, Far away, Centuries before our day. Humans lived, monsters roamed, both shared earth and sky as home.” You sang once more, remembering the time you saw a few monsters in the sky, and also seeing another one near your house. Luckily, for you, they didnt see you. The reason being the next line in the ‘rhyme’ you were currently singing. “Yet this peace came undone, war was waged and humans won.” You were scared during that time, the main reason being, this happened during the war. You were lucky you even survived that one. Thanks to a friend, you managed to become immortal. You looked like a regular 24 year old, but in reality, you were an estimated 400-410 years old, and thats before you factor in the years you were in the loop. “Forced below, monsters fell. Humans trapped them with a spell.” You remembered the time you saw this happen with your own eyes. You were going to the village and took a wrong turn. There, you saw the countess with the guards. As you heard the spell itself. “Cape eas, in eternum sub monte vivent, non salvabitur.” The countess said, the monsters being put in under the cave.  “Listen children, to my words: Ebbot will eat you, beware the curse!” You sang, as you remembered the warning the countess said. Since the countess asked for everyone to come to the townhall. That exact line was what she said, unfazed that the children might be traumatized. “Monster teeth go clack, clack, clack” Your mother, sang this rhyme to you when you were 7 years old. And kept on singing it until you were 10. Now your singing it to a bunch of younger children. “If you climb the mountain, you wont come back! Human child, human child, wont turn around. Human child, Human child - oops they fell down! ” You sang once more, now changing the rhyme your mother once told you. Now it basing off your actual past, and not a rhyme your mother told you. This way they can enjoy your past, even if its dark. “Human child, human child, look out below.. down underground where the monsters go.” The serenade you were singing were currently bringing back memories. You recalled the time you failed to follow your mothers rules, and went to Mount Ebbot. You saw the monsters. They clearly were mad at humanity. “Oops dropped your heart, be careful in the dark. Someone might take it, break it apart.” Now this line, was a reference of the monsters powers. They could absorb human souls. The reason humans won was, that almost all of the monsters equal to just 1 human soul, and the monsters surrendered. That’s the main reason why the humans won. “Trouble on the left, Trouble on the right... Will you spare them, run, or fight?” You were still clapping, after all, this was considered a nursery rhyme after the war. And this helps with the children not fully understanding it. “Oops dropped your heart... Be careful in the dark. Someone might take it, break it apart. Trouble on the left, Trouble on the right, Will you spare them? Run or fight?” You sang, finally ending the song. The children were surprised, they didnt expect this, not the song of course, but you? singing? They were baffled. But while the children were happy, now having a vague description of your past, one thing you didnt know, was that, your girlfriend, Alma, overheard this ‘rhyme’ and unlike the children, she understood the meaning of this. You went about your day, trying to clear your mind of these, instances. ≪•◦ ❈Time skip to dinner! ◦•≫ “Miss Y/n, may I talk to you please?” Alma said, in a stoic voice, it being clear that this is a command, not a request. “Of course Miss Peregrine.” You said. Starting to stand up and follow Alma. You went into her office. “What is it Alma?” You asked. “Y/n, I heard your rhyme earlier, and wanted to talk about it.” She sighed, clearly disappointed. You were afraid, afraid she might dump you and throw you out of the loop. “O-of course Alma.” You said, your voice being shaky. “I’m not mad. I just wish you should’ve said it to me sooner darling.” She said, tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to fall. “I’m sorry” You sobbed, going forward, to keep her close to you. “Dont be sorry darling.” ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

#alma peregrine x reader #miss peregrine x reader #miss peregrines home for peculiar children #so like sorry for not posting but uhm- the 3rd part of my fic's gonna be posted like next month? or somewhere in 1-5 more months- #reader insert #wlw #oneshot #lesbian

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 28

This has been a hell of a chapter to write so PLS comment or like if you liked it!

MASTERLIST

taglist: @crimsonincursive

28. I stand with the Mockingjay

Three days pass and nothing changes. President Snow is being captured in a palace with a beautiful garden, surrounded by his beloved roses and you can’t help but think that Alma Coin is trying to make an example out of it. Presidents should be treated with kindness and respect even after being captured. You can torture civils and guards if you want, but not the President. It’s just a coincidence that she is a president. 

Katniss is always with Prim, she reads her stories and she sings for her, while her mother is catatonic again, staring at the wall for hours. You sometimes talk to Katniss, but you can sense she is desperate, she stares at her sisters for hours and hours and she doesn’t talk to Gale Hawthorne anymore, which means she knows something about the theory about Snow and Coin.

Peeta is a little better. He has to continue the therapy and he spends an awful lot of time thinking he is in the Capitol being tortured, but now he knows that he loves the Mockingjay, he knows he is not in danger anymore and he even remembers some things.

He is a patient of Doctor Aurelius too, but today she wants to see you.

«So, how's it going today? Do you want to tell me something?»

«The nightmares are a little better.» You can tell her that. You have to deny all the other things, because she is on Alma Coin’s payroll and you may like her but you definitely don’t trust her. «And when I wake up Haymitch helps me.»

«Haymitch is your boyfriend.» She asks, but you don’t know why. She knows him, she’s seen you with him.

«Yeah.» You answer her nonetheless, because it’s the polite thing to do. And he hates the term, by the way. He keeps saying he is too old to be anyone’s “boyfriend” and “partner” is more than okay.

«He is a victor too.» She points out, maybe in a sense that tells you “He needs to be helped too”. You know it, every victor should be in therapy, but he in particular is a stubborn mule. Maybe after all this mess you will insist.

«He was my mentor. Like Annie and Finnick. And we fell in love. Are you going to tell me he is not right for me?»

«No, Daisy. You know what it’s right for you. I was just wondering if you thought about what we talked about last time.» 

You thought she wanted to ask you only about the murder, and it would’ve made sense, but Dr. Aurelius wants to know about your life, so you told her about Portia’s offer and how it makes you feel. 

It felt safer than talking about Caius or Clark, at the beginning. 

«He doesn’t know that. It’s not exactly a priority right now.»

«And you still want to go to learn from Portia?» 

«Yeah I mean, I like clothes very much. I like making clothes, you have that perfect image in your head and then you try to sketch it and in the paper it’s not sure, but then you cut the fabric and you sew and you embroidery… and it’s yours. It’s exactly how you wanted and you can have it because you did it. It’s fantastic.» You explain, quickly full with enthusiasm. 

Since you were little you’ve done dresses for your doll, Olivia, with little pieces of fabrics that Holly couldn’t use anymore. She wanted you to learn, because in the district life is hard if you don’t know how to do things yourself. She made you learn how to clean, how to cook, how to hunt (that’s not something you want to do) and a lot of other skills but you really enjoy sewing, you’ve always done it even when it wasn’t a necessity anymore. You used to do it for your friends and for their dolls, when they had them. 

«But you don’t want to stay away from Haymitch.»

You just shake your head, aware this is not right, it’s a person, not an addiction. But you don’t think you would be happy without him. «He hates the Capitol.»

«What about District One or Two? They are very close to Capitol City, so you can take the train everyday.» 

This is actually a good idea. An idea that could save the day, if you survive the last straw of the revolution.

You go out of the psychologist with a great headache and you decide you need to be in your room. Your room is not even yours anymore, you spend all your time at Haymitch’s room or the hospital and Effie is always there with Portia. And here you find her, alone, so you open your arms and you cuddle against her. 

«Friend.» You request with a little pout. Effie and Haymitch can’t resist a pout or big eyes. Then again you always want to snuggle against them and they humour you more times than not, so perhaps they just like to spoil you a little. Their last tribute.

«Of course!» She pats your head. You can only imagine the state of your hair right now. «Is everything okay? Is it Little Prim?» 

«No, she is stable. I just missed you.» You get to be whiny and spoiled with her. When you are with Haymitch he is your partner, so you can ask for a cuddle but you also have to prove to him that you are independent, and if you would try to act like this with Holly she would scream to you to stop it. Effie is different, she enjoys being the big sister and you get to have a holiday from being the strong one all the time.

«Haymitch told me he loves me.» You confess after a while. You don’t even know if you can say that to her, it feels a little like cheating. You don’t completely get people like Haymitch or Perla, so private. When you are happy you want to share it with the world, you want to scream it to everybody and you are glad to hear it from others.

«That’s wonderful news!» She hugs you again. «In times like this I-»

She can’t end the sentence, because two guards burst into the room. The door was closed, so they had a passepartout. They could have entered any time, you realise with a shiver down your spine. District Thirteen is a horrible place. 

«Miss Trinket, President Coin requested your presence for an interrogation.» The guard orders, and you watch her in disbelief. For an interrogation? About what? Effie has been nothing but perfect in this dreadful district since the moment you arrived. Much more perfect and well behaved than you.

«Miss Trinket has immunity.» You get up, shielding Effie with your body. Effie is taller than you, but she is so frightened and you, well, you did the Hunger Games, you are strong. The guards are not impressed, though.

«Not anymore.» Is the only answer you get. 

It makes sense. You got arrested, you don’t have immunity anymore, let alone give it to other people. 

Still, Effie was part of the revolution. Maybe not from the start, but she was. She was the one who said to you to hold on during the Games, she was aware of the plan and she is Cinna’s friend, she is not an enemy. She was a face of the Hunger Games publicly of course, being an escort for Twelve, but so was Plutarch being a Gamemaker.

You try to take their hands off of her, but they immediately out strong you and you see this scared, afraid woman in a grey jumpsuit taken away from you.

No, no, no, not Effie.

«Let her go, she didn’t do anything!» You scream.

«It’s just an interrogation.» The guard tells you, but you don’t believe him. If you let her go you will never see her again, and she doesn’t even have a bracelet.

«She is part of the revolution!»

Just for a moment you think you will hurt that man, but the blonde woman sees the glimpse in your eyes and stops you before you could do anything you would regret.

«Find Katniss or someone who could help us.» She instructs you, so calm despite the situation.

Not Effie. Not again.

You run as fast as you can, but you don’t know who to run to.

It’s Perla who finds you before you could catch her, though. She is still in bad shape and she has bruises all over her body, but she is up.

«They have Cinna.» She pants.

«Cinna?» You ask, worried.

«All the people from Capitol City. Cinna, Portia. Cinna was with me, I was about to leave the hospital and they took him.» She has trouble breathing, her face is so red you want to let her sit down, but you have more urgent problems now.

«They have Effie too.» 

«It doesn’t make any sense! Cinna basically started the revolution! Portia and Effie were part of it. I don’t understand.» She is panicking. You start to think about who you could call for help, because you have no idea. The victors have little power over Coin, and Plutarch never listened to you one day in his life.

You rush into Haymitch’s room, but he is not there, so you try to go into the hospital room to see Finnick, but he has vanished. You don’t get it, you don’t understand and you try not to be scared, but there is no chance Haymitch would have gone without telling you.

He doesn’t know about Effie, you reason. He loves Effie, she is his friend. He will help you.

If he is somewhere. What if they took him too? 

You go to the hospital again, thinking that maybe Finnick and Lora are there, but you only find Mags.

«Mags!»

When you spot the old woman in the hospital you are so relieved. She is still there. The grandmother with grey hair and a sweet smile, who has been in the hospital since she was retrieved. You nearly forgot about her.

Then you remember she doesn’t talk and she barely remembers you.

«Where are all the victors? Where is Finnick?»

She gestures something, but you are too on the verge to understand anything. Fortunately for you, Perla is more intelligent than that.

«They are in a room with President Coin?» She asks, and finally Mags nods.

Snow is captured and the victors are in a room with Coin, something big is going on.

Finally they open the door and all the victor go out. Finnick and Annie storm out of the room so quickly they practically bump into you, and Peeta looks at everyone with sad and judging eyes. When Katniss passes next to you she doesn’t even see you. Perla decides to follow Finnick, and you kinda think it’s the better choice instead of Haymitch, but you have loyalty to him.

Johanna Mason eyes you with a smirk. You don’t know what she has to laugh about. You don’t like Johanna very much, it’s like she brings trouble, and the only times she met you she always smiled at you kinda cruelly. The dark haired girl has been through hell like you, but she’s definitely not your favourite victor. 

Haymitch is the last to exit. His face is blank, but you can sense he is not right and his hands are trembling. He looks like he wants to drink so badly you just want to hug him forever and take him away from this madness. 

«Haymitch!» You call him, and you jump into his arms for comfort. «They took Effie.»

Now everything will be okay. The victors love Effie. They will rescue her one way or another, Haymitch and Finnick always know what to do.

«They did what?» He wants to know, and he is shocked. If he doesn’t know about the imprisonment they didn’t talk about it in the room.

«They took Effie for an interrogation.» You say again. «We have to go, we have to save her. They wanted information from her.» 

«Good.» Johanna gets in the conversation. «She is Capitol.»

«She is part of the Revolution.» You snarl. You almost assaulted a guard before, you can hit a victor now. Actually you want to punch a victor now, a victor like Johanna Mason from District Seven, but you are adult enough to stop yourself. 

«Once a Capitol, always a Capitol.» She talks back. Haymitch must see your expression, because he takes your hand.

You don’t handle well violence under stress.

«Johanna.» Haymitch growls. «Stop it.»

«Oh don’t be such a hypocrite! You voted with us.» The District 7 Victor reveals, and you don’t get it. There was a votation in the room? Is that why Finnick and Annie were so upset with everybody?

«What did you vote for?» You have a bad, bad feeling.

«I’ll explain in my room.» He tries to cut it off, but the woman interrupts his words again with a satisfied grin.

«New Hunger Games.» Johanna explains taking his place. «With Capitol kids.»

New Hunger Games. New… it’s not possible. Coin really thought it was a good idea. Kids from the Capitol being reaped. The Games, the television, the arena. Memories creep in your mind and you have to close your mouth with your hand, free from your boyfriend’s. 

«W-what?» You barely manage to talk. 

This is not possible, this is not true. The Games are part of your nightmares. They are all the victor’s nightmares. They were supposed to end forever.

«Sweetheart…» He searches for your eyes, but you don’t see anything. 

«This is not true. Haymitch would never.» You look at him. «You didn’t vote yes, right?» 

Haymitch is many things, he is an addict, he is rude, he is not gentle and he is rough more times than not, but he is not cruel. He is not one for vengeance on innocent people, and they are innocent people.

You are District Twelve by luck, or the leaking of it. If you grew up in the Capitol, that wouldn’t have made you a bad person. Yes, maybe a spoiled one, but not bad. Not all Capitol citizens are pro games. Not everyone is rich. 

And kids. Kids the same age Snow bombed. Or Coin bombed. Kids the same age you teached for. 

«It’s complicated.»

«Not really. Did you vote yes?» You start to shiver. Your world is collapsing. In these months the war was upon you and you were about to die, but Haymitch was a certainty. A good man. A man of honour. The man you are in love with.

«…Yes.» He sighs.

He tries to hug you, but you take a step back. His touch is weird now, this is not your Haymitch. «Don’t you dare.» You spat. 

Your head is spinning. Other blood, another game, another television show. Nothing is changing from this revolution, just the name of the tyrant. 

«Sweetheart, please.»

«Kids, Haymitch! Cinna’s family. Effie’s family. They are with us. Capitol doesn’t mean Snow… how is that fair?» Ivy is a Capitol kid, you want to scream. The sweet girl you saved, the sweet girl he saved.

«You have to understand-»

You slap his hand because he wants to stroke your cheek and right now you can’t handle his touch. «I don’t have to do anything! Now we save Effie. Then we can discuss.»

It takes hours to finally make them release Cinna and Portia. Coin has no leverage against them, they are part of the revolution since the beginning, and the President just wants to get them out of the way because she wants the Capitol to be the enemy. 

Effie has to stay in the cell for now, for “dubious connections”, but you can pay her a visit. Dubious connection, you don’t have any clue on what it means. Maybe her parents are on Capitol side, or her friends from her past life. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to keep Haymitch and you on track, because she knows you love her.

The room is little and grey, without any window. It’s claustrophobic, tiny, you can’t live in a place like this for more than two hours without screaming. No air whatsoever. There is a - grey - bed and a bucket you really don’t want to know what is used for.

«Darling girl.» She approaches you and she is trying to smile, but you can see she is frightened. 

She is not a fighter. She is a TV host. An escort. Yes, she reaped the names of the kids, but she is not a mastermind, she doesn’t have a great plan, and she is an active part of the revolution you morons.

«I’ll take you out of here.» You promise her, reaching for her hand. She is cold, and you didn’t think about bringing her blankets. 

«You are in danger too.»

«I don’t care, Effie. You will be free.» You smile through the tears. «You have to host me in Capitol City, okay?»

You are scared too. If the new games are real nothing reassures you Coin won’t torture her to get informations or kill her like she is about to do with President Snow. 

«Okay.» She reassures you. «I promise.»

«Good, a promise is always good. You promised. I promised I would outlive the Games and I did it. Don’t break the promise, Effie.»

You hug a little more, until a guard tells you to exit. When you go out of the room you start to walk really fast, because Haymitch is behind you.

«If you just-» He begins, but you are furious this time. No amount of kisses and caresses will fix this.

«If I just what?» You turn around and face him with fire in your eyes. «And what? Your precious mockingjay said yes and you followed her?» This is mean. Katniss is a broken child herself but damn it, she should know better. You are angry at her too. Prim is the same age as Capitol kids. 

«…Yes, but-»

«Kids, Haymitch! Capitol kids are still kids!» You shout, and you don’t care if all the district watches you. You are on a black list anyway, not really beloved by Thirteen. You are definitely the next after Effie. 

«Don’t scream, it’s dangerous.» He whispers and takes your shoulders, but you scoff him away.

«I don’t give a flying fuck! You condemned kids. There will be a new mentor. A new you. A new Effie and a new me, but maybe she will be Prim’s age! Are you ready for it? You will watch it on television, I bet it will be mandatory.»

«Look at me.» He takes your wrist and dear heavens you are about to slap him. «Do you trust me?»

«I trusted you.» You reveal. You trusted him with your life, and you still trust him that he thinks he is doing the right thing, but if he’s doing it to save Katniss he is trading a child for a child. 

«Remember who the real enemy is, Daisy.» He murmurs. 

Coin. He wants to do something about the Coin situation. He probably knows everyone is in danger as long as she is in power. 

Still, he said yes. The risk is too high. If whatever the plan is, if the plan fails, the “yes” will still be active and children will be reaped again. Children are not a price to pay. Children are the spark for the revolution. You don’t sacrifice children if you are not Snow or Coin. 

«You still said yes.» You whisper, trying really hard not to cry. «Are you one hundred percent certain of what you are doing?» 

He is about to lie, you see it on his face, but he closes his eyes. «No. Not one hundred percent.»

So children are a risk he is willing to take. «If anything happens, it’s on you.»

#bad feeling #haymitch x fem!reader #woody harrelson #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x reader #the hunger games #haymitch imagine #haymitch abernathy #fanfiction #daisy pinecone #princess daisy #perla #lora #finnick odair #mags thg #katniss everdeen #thg series #thg fanfiction #hunger games #thg #peeta mellark #mockingjay #thg haymitch #effie trinket

[jamespotterthefirst]

Satellite (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart, book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1K Warning: None Prompt:   31. "thank you for being in my life" Premise: She comes to his aide when he is stuck unexpectedly babysitting his godson.

A/N: Thank you, anon, for sending this prompt. And I’m sorry it took so long! 

Lilac tried to push down the trepidation that resulted from standing at that one particular door on the fifth floor. The sliver of rationality that managed to peek through reminded her that it was just Ethan. There was nothing to be nervous about.

Except there was.

Lilac was supposed to be keeping her distance unless it was work-related. It was part of his carefully crafted "reset." Lovestruck, weak, and a little pathetic, she found any excuse to seek him out anyway. If she couldn't touch him, at least looking at him should suffice.

It was never enough though, no matter how diligently she engraved the details of his handsome face to her memory.

Breaking out of her reverie, she cleared her throat, knocking on the door.

“Busy,” was the brusque reply from inside.

“Sorry, Doctor Ramsey, I'll just come back later.”

“Rookie?”

“Yes?”

“Come in.”

Nothing could've prepared her for the sight that greeted her. Ethan's tall frame—impossible to miss in the empty office— stood by the window, his posture so rigid, Lilac was convinced it could break through bricks. And in his arms, looking out of place and angled quite awkwardly, was a baby.

When she recovered from her shock, she laughed. Ethan's helpless expression soured and it only made her laugh harder.

“I'm glad my predicament amuses you,” he said dryly.

“I'm sorry,” she offered, trying her best to reign in her laughter. When she regained her composure, she added, “You just look like you’re trying to hold a football.”

“I wouldn’t know how to hold one of those.”

“That's why I said trying.”

“Hrm.”

Biting back another wave of laughter, Lilac focused her attention on the rosy cheeked baby in his arms. Big, bright brown eyes glanced up at her curiously as she approached.

“Who’s this handsome little man?” she asked in a sing-song voice.

“Ethan Hudson,” Adult Ethan provided helpfully. “Alma is in Boston to finalize the sale of Dolores's house. She had a lot on her plate, as you can imagine. So I offered to help with the baby.”

“That's so nice of you, Ethan.”

With all humor gone, Lilac was unable to help the unbridled admiration in her voice. It caught his attention because those striking blue eyes fixed on her, paralyzing every limb in her body. A traitorous blush rose up her neck, burning hotter in the prolonged pause.

“Yes, well…” he said, tearing his eyes away from her at last. “Just don't tell anyone.”

Lilac recovered.

“You're worried people will find out you're a big softie deep down?”

“Terrified,” he returned without missing a beat. “It'll ruin my reputation.”

The baby's legs flailed in the air perched on Ethan's forearm as he was.

“It's a wonder you haven't dropped him.”

“You presume to be better at this?”

“I don't presume. I know I'm better.”

Lilac peered at the wiggling baby, tilted so awkwardly on Ethan's arm that the poor thing was probably unsure what to do. Little Hudson looked as though he was deciding that crying was the appropriate reaction because his tiny nose scrunched up. Ethan noticed too and raised his dark brows in alarm.

“You want to hold him like this,” Lilac explained calmly, gently taking the baby from his arms. With careful but swift maneuvers, she positioned Hudson securely in her arms. She bounced him slightly, eliciting a bright smile from him.

“Perfect. Problem solved,” Ethan declared, heading back toward his desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Not a chance,” she said, blocking his path. “You're going to learn how to properly hold this child if it takes us all day.”

Ethan raised his brows at her, impressed.

“You'd make a formidable Attending.”

“Maybe I'll take your job someday,” she quipped. “Now, I'm going to give him back. Carefully turn him to face you, one forearm supporting his bottom and your free hand supporting his head. Got it?”

Ethan nodded and successfully followed her directions. The baby smiled widely at Ethan, taking advantage of the proximity to his face and smacking his tiny hands against his bearded jaw. The handsome doctor chuckled, swaying on his feet for the child’s benefit.

“This is nice,” Ethan commented after a while.

Lilac, for her part, forced herself to nod. The sight of the devastatingly handsome Doctor Ethan Ramsey with a baby was too much for her brain to properly process. Privately, she lamented the fact that he said children weren’t in the cards for him. He would have made an excellent father.

Ethan’s heavy gaze settled on her.  As he watched her, something glimmered behind the blue of his eyes. He watched her with as much intensity as he did on that balcony in Miami, right before he kissed her.

“Thank you,” he said at last. His lips parted as though he wished to add something else. When he didn't, Lilac nodded.

“Don't mention it.”

Hudson babbled loudly, as though offering his thanks too. Both doctors watched him as he happily bounced on Ethan’s arm, his tiny fingers playing with the ID badge perched on Ethan’s chest. Watching him healthy and happy made Lilac think of Dolores. She lived on in her son, her own infectious smile mirrored on the tiny face.

Before she could help it her gaze wandered up to Ethan. She froze when she realized he had been watching her quietly, that same unidentifiable look from before in his expression. Staring at those intense, piercing eyes felt like staring straight at the sun in that moment, and so Lilac glanced away.

“Thank you for being in my life.”

The words were like a whisper, so quiet that she almost missed them. And when she did recognize them, Lilac almost  believed he was speaking to his friend's son. Until she glanced up to find him staring directly at her.

“You've done so much for me this past year,” he continued. “I could never repay you.”

“You never have to.”

“I know.”

Something unfurled in the space between them as blue eyes held hers—something that had grown impossible to ignore in the last year, something that had taken root on the night they first watched over Dolores's son.

A tiny shriek of amusement broke the spell. Hudson had gotten hold of Ethan's stethoscope and brandished it over his head with gusto. Still dazed, Lilac laughed as she watched him.

“Looks like someone else is in the running for your job, Doctor Ramsey.”

“Hm,” he said, pulling his chin out of the crazed path of the spinning stethoscope. “His technique is sloppy, but marginally better than most interns these days.”

Notes: More fluff for you!

I decided to hold off on YBF because I’m not happy with it. It has been driving me insane, you guys. I have to finally admit to myself that I’m severely blocked. Thank you everyone for understanding.

Love you all!

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices

[allthingsencanto]

Usually whenever I see people say “Alma didn’t directly apologize to Bruno”, I go…..yeah you’re right, but I feel like a lot of people are forgetting this moment.

After Alma realizes her faults, she comes back to the broken casita with Mirabel, and sings towards the whole family, but more importantly, she welcomes Bruno back. She takes his hands, looks him in the eye, and shows him that she NOW knows her mistakes and that every member here is worthy, (including him of course) and that their gifts aren’t the miracle. It’s not a flat out apology towards him specifically, but she herself told the whole family “I’m sorry I held on too tight”. She welcomes Bruno, immediately hugging him, and she shows everyone that her eyes are open and her outlook has changed, and that’s a good thing! So even though she never specifically said “I’m sorry Bruno”, that doesn’t mean she’s being in-denial of what she did and shunning him out, it’s the opposite in fact. Of course, they’re probably not going to heal quickly, they have a lot to talk about, to make up for lost time, and I think the writers are smart enough to know that. When the family rebuilds their house, it isn’t just them saying everything is okay, it’s them admitting that they have made a new foundation, and that in time, they’re all going to heal, expect they know NOW that they’re not alone, and that they can all work together to be better. Just like the directors have said, family can be messy, and it’s going to be messy from time to time. However, that doesn’t mean their isn’t light, isn’t hope for a better way, a better life. While some have wished Mirabel or Bruno would cut off Alma, this movie teaches you not to FORGIVE your abusers like a lot have been saying, but rather teaches you that anyone is capable of changing, anyone is capable of getting better, of BEING better, of healing and growing as people, as a family than they once were. Everyone has their own demons, their own faults and imperfections, but that doesn’t mean all hope is lost, or that their can’t be a reconcile. And even if you don’t agree, or don’t think the film handled a message like this well, hopefully we can all agree that this movie is certainly a good START when talking about these complex themes towards kids and adults. 💚❤️

#encanto #jared bush #walt disney animation studios #disney’s encanto #lin manuel miranda #mirabel madrigal #walt disney #bryan howard #disney animation #encanto mirabel #bruno madrigal #Encanto Alma #Alma madrigal #encanto movie #disney characters #Disney analysis #generational trauma #themes #encanto themes #Abuela Alma #Encanto Bruno

[gamerbearmira]

FNF Mod⁉️⁉️

Coming to you never💯💯

Jkjk lol. But like. Does anyone remember FnF? I remember playing it before it got popular 😭 then after Senpai/Spirit’s week (and Whitty), everyone started making mods, but they were all the same rinse and repeat and. Everyone’s songs were just stupid hard and pretty much unplayable.

ANYWAY. If this was a mod. There would be two versions; V.S Mirabel, where you play against her. And then one where you could play as Mirabel, haha. Antonio on the speaker because. He’s so rad <33

Menu screen background and her move set and a concept for Felíx and Pepa’s week. I’m still debating on whether it should be winter themed or not

And the. I only got to do her idle animation, but. You get it right <33

Antonio is the Tutorial Week. The first week is Agustín and Julieta, second week is Camilo and Bruno, third week is Dolores, fourth week Luisa, fifth week is Pepa and Felíx, and then Bruno again, sixth week is Isabela, and the 7th week is Alma.

The first sings of each week are remixes of the ost, and then the two songs after are completely new songs. Bruno would be the only one to have a completely original song, in week 2. He’s got that creepy vibe from WDTAB, but then by week 5, he’s just. Normal Bruno 💀

What do you guys think? ((٩(´͈ᗨ`͈)۶))

#encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto antonio #fnf mod #fnf #friday night funkin #v.s. Mirabel #my art #artist on tumblr

[dragonmuse]

i'm turning 41 this sunday, and it's not gonna be much of a thing due to life circumstances and well-practiced not-caring, but it'd tickle me if you had a fun idea how... really, anyone in the main verse might celebrate their 41st.

(happy early birthday! This one caught me right in the brain pan, so have several birthdays actually. These range from angsty to fluffy pretty much in that order because they're in age order. CW: parent death, shitty parent, but it counts)

Eddy  

The world was very quiet, in the wake of so much noise. Eddy’s ears stopped ringing quickly enough. They had secured the package, a blubbering girl, clinging to Eddy’s right arm. Vaguely, Eddy considered scrapping her off onto Fang, who could be counted on administering pats and sweet words to the distressed. 

“S’okay,” Izzy said roughly to her. “We gotta go though. Boss?” 

“Right,” Eddy shook her head, coming back to clarity. They gave the girl a smile, “You’re safe now. We’re going to bring you home.” 

“Thank you,” she wept harder, clinging tighter. Eddy pulled her into a hug, so she could look over her head at Izzy. She gave him three hand signs. He signed back acknowledgement and took off. 

Her will be done. 

Within an hour, they were all on a plane out. They returned the girl to the grave gratitude of her elderly parents. Eddy gave them the bank information. Suddenly they were all substantially richer. Magic. 

They walked out of the house. Eddy wanted to sleep. She wanted to never sleep again. 

“Drink?” Izzy asked. 

“Yeah.” 

They found a bar close by, too posh for their usual, but liquor was liquor. They both got whiskey and took it to a back table away from the daylight glare. They drank in silence, Eddy staring into space above Izzy’s head while Izzy fixed his attention to the door.  

It was only once she drained the glass and set it down, that his attention went to them again. He reached into his pocket, seemingly in slow motion then eventually set down something in front of them. Bemused, she picked it up. It was a coin, heavy and old. She turned it over and over. 

“What’s this?” 

“Found it while we were waiting for the raid. Caught my eye in the dirt,” he shrugged. “Looked old as fuck.” 

“Huh.” There was a face imprinted unevenly on it, words in a language she didn’t recognize.  Interesting. She slipped it into her pocket. 

“Another?” 

“Not today,” she got up, dug for her wallet, but he was already laying out the tip.  

“Headed home?” 

“Maybe.”  

He nodded as if he expected nothing else. Got to his feet. They’d ridden their bikes here, and they were waiting just down the road. Izzy saddled up, then hesitated a moment. 

“What?” She asked warily. His last minute pronouncements were rarely good, his deep desire to get in the last word often skewering the air. 

“Just...happy birthday,” he started his bike and before she could respond, he was gone. 

Asshole. 

It wasn't even their birthday. Was it? Frowning, she got out her phone and turned it back on. They rarely left it on when they left the country. 

It was their birthday. 

41 and still kicking. She shoved the phone back in her pocket where it clinked against the coin. 

Hoo-fucking-ray. 

Stede 

“Happy birthday, Daddy!” Alma said carefully. Her hair was up in two pigtails, looking like sparklers. She smiled at him through the two candles, one a ‘4’, the other a ‘1’. The cake was small, perfunctory. Alma and Mary had sang, one with far more spirit than the other. Charlie had watched silently, with big eyes. The boy didn’t talk much yet, let alone sing. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he managed a smile for her. He caught Mary’s eye. They regarded each other over the flickering lights. As distant as the ocean. 

“Wish,” Charlie said suddenly. 

“Right, of course,” Stede kept the smile glued to his face. “A wish.” 

“Don’t tell us what it is!” Alma scolded him as if he’d been just about to. “You have to keep a secret.” 

“I will,” he promised. 

He stared at the two flames. The plain white cake. Vanilla icing. Vanilla cake beneath. He much preferred lemon, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever told Mary that. Should he? What was one fact in a sea of the unspoken? 

I wish I had a place where I fit. Even if I had to build it around myself. 

Stede didn’t put much faith in wishes. If anyone had been listening, he had made far more desperate ones and a far more tender age and they certainly hadn’t been granted then. But it did feel oddly auspicious that the phone rang in the wee hours of the morning. Mary groaned, curling tighter in on herself under the covers as he picked it up. 

“Hello?” 

“Stede,” that was his father’s wife’s voice. He barely knew the woman, but was unmistakably soft-spoken. So thready that it was often lost during their rare visits entirely. “I’m so sorry. It’s your father.” 

“What’s he done?” Stede sat up, imagining any number of horrors. 

“Died!” She wailed. 

“I see,” he said faintly. 

And as she told him the whole horrible tale, Stede tried very hard not to smile.

It wound up being a very happy birthday after all. 

Izzy  

He got stabbed. There had been worse birthdays. At least this one came with painkillers. 

Pete  

“And the piece of resistance!” Frenchie plonked a box down in front of him. 

“I thought you knew French,” Pete laughed. 

“I do,” Frenchie sniffed. “When I feel like it. And I don’t right now. Take your present, asshole.” 

“Thanks,” Pete lifted it up. 

“We went in together on it,” John told him. 

John and Frenchie were both on the sagging couch that had taken all three of them to get into the apartment. It was high on Pete’s mental list of ‘to replace’ as the money came in. He was on the lone other seat in the apartment, a precarious folding chair. 

“I figured,” he assured John. He hadn’t really been expecting much at all, so it was cool to get a gift. 

He tore through the newspaper and found a repurposed delivery box inside. Opening that and he pulled out a white rectangle. As he held it, it fluffed up freed of it’s confines. 

“A new pillow!” 

“A good one,” John nodded. “We know you’ve been getting a sore neck.” 

“Because you told us. Repeatedly,” Frenchie sniffed. “So. Pillow. It’s supposed to be good for side sleepers.”

“Aw, man, thank you!” He squished it to his chest. “That’s great!” 

“I know it’s not very big, but we’ve got a cake,” John offered. 

“It is big,” Pete told him seriously. 

Last year, everything had been in flux and Pete hadn’t really wanted to acknowledge his birthday anyway. There were things he’d expected to be when he was forty, and broke, parked in Buttons’ house with two ex-co-workers were not any of them. 

But the past year had been one of the happiest of his adult life as it turned out. Who cared if it wasn’t flashy? He had friends, who cared about his neck even if he did complain about it too much, and a job that was kind of okay. No one bothered him much at least. 

“You want the cake then?” Frenchie asked. “We got candles.” 

“Yes, let’s do that.” 

They had cake for dinner. It was a supermarket special, vanilla with a thick chocolate filling. It left him heavy and sluggish, perfect for watching a movie, crowded on the couch with both of them.  

Oluwande  

“I love you so much!” Oluwande told Jim. 

“I know,” they were laughing at him, but that was okay. Jim had a great laugh. 

And Oluwande was maybe a little drunk. 

“You’re the best partner,” he gushed. 

“Oh, I know,” they nodded. 

“I am very drunk.” 

“Ooooh yeah.” 

“Are you drunk?” 

“Nope.” 

“That seems unfair,” he decided. “Why aren’t you drunk?” 

“Because this is way more fun,” they leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Why am I drunk?” he asked, which seemed more pertinent. 

“Cause you’re a lightweight,” Roach sat down on his other side, holding out a glass of water. “And you insisted you could keep up with me. Spoiler alert: you cannot.” 

“I could,” Oluwande said firmly, taking the water when it was pushed into his hand. 

“You can’t,” Jim told him like they were informing him of a grave injury. 

“No?” 

“No.” 

“Damn. Are we done drinking?” 

“You are.” 

“Okay,” that seemed wise, actually. Things were a little blurry. “Can I have another piece of pie?” 

“Your funeral,” Roach decreed and then there was pie. It smelled amazing. Fuck cake, truly. 

“Please don’t fuck a cake,” Frenchie cackled. When had he gotten here? 

“I wouldn’t. Because it sucks,” he decreed and ate a piece of pie. 

“I like cake,” Stede was saying a little wistfully. Was everyone here? Oh. Right. They were. Party. Oluwande gave himself points for recalling his general location. 

“I’ll get you cake,” Eddy assured him. 

“I mean not right now, I’m very full. Excellent spread, Roach, once again.” 

“Yeah, well, Oluwande is more interesting to cook for. He has taste.” 

“Right now, he has pie,” Frenchie was laughing again. “You good, man?” 

“Yes,” Oluwande said earnestly, taking a sip of his water. “Never been better.” 

“I think you’re aging backwards,” Roach gave him a speculative look. “Damn baby face.” 

“I’m a distinguished man of my years,” Oluwande shrugged. “And I’m cute.” 

“He is,” Frenchie agreed. “We all think you’re cute. Like very. Especially right now. You’re selling it. The tiara especially.” 

The tiara and sash that said ‘Birthday Girl’ had been presented to him while he was still dressed as Teal for the night. He had put them back on after he’d de-dragged because fuck it. He was the Birthday Girl. 

“Happy birthday, Olu,” Jim rested their chin on his shoulder. It was kind of pointy, but he liked that. He pressed his cheek to theirs. 

“Thanks. For everything.” 

“Always,” they slid and arm around him. 

Lucius 

“You want a cake?” Pete asked.  “Nontraditional. No candles. Just sweet goodness.” 

“Not really,” Lucius set down his stylus with a sigh. “I’d really prefer just to pretend it’s not happening at all. Per usual. Please.” 

“Okay,” Pete slid his arm around him, pressed a kiss to his temple. “Would you like, entirely unrelated to any particular day, to go see that immersive Van Gogh thing you keep calling ‘horribly tacky and overpriced’, if I happened to buy some tacky, overpriced tickets?” 

Lucius repressed a smile, “Why would you do such a thing if you knew I thought it was tacky and overpriced?” 

“Because you sometimes love tacky and overpriced and I want to see the pretty pictures. And make you explain them to me.” 

“Fine,” Lucius pretended to be aggrieved. “For your sake. When?” 

“Got ‘em for Wednesday. Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay,” he brought Pete’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thanks.” 

Later that afternoon, Frenchie brought in the mail. There was a small package for Lucius which he presented him without fanfare. It was from some bland company, return address vague. 

“I didn’t order anything,” he frowned, but opened it.  Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back, after all. 

There was a small, but lush box inside, matte black. He drew that out. It felt familiar somehow though he couldn’t pin it down. It had a hinge, so he opened it and was rewarded. A bracelet sat inside, a very thin leather one in his favorite shade of red. Embossed in the center was the image of a key, filled with black resin so it caught the light. 

“Oh you asshole,” Lucius laughed and drew it out. 

Lucius: I said no presents. 

Izzy: coincidence. Ordered it weeks ago, no idea when it would ship. 

Lucius: Liar. I love it. What’s the key for? 

Izzy: cuff isn’t actually locked, doesn’t need a real key. 

Lucius stared at the message, then at the bracelet. He picked it up and put it on, a difficult business one handed. It was unobtrusive, less eye-catching than the thick leather black cuff on Izzy’s wrist. Unlikely someone would even draw a line between one to the other even if they saw them together. 

No one else had to know. Lucius would. Izzy would. 

Lucius: No one would ever believe me if I told them what you were actually like.  

Izzy: good.  

“Happy birthday to me,” Lucius said smugly. 

He’d let their shenanigans pass again this year.  They kept managing to get away with it. Probably wasn’t really teaching the right lesson. Maybe next year he’d be firmer. 

Maybe. 

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #eddy teach bonnet #stede teach bonnet #izzy hands #oluwande boodhari #lucius black

[miracles-and-butterflies]

In actor au, how's relationships between the cold sisters/their actors?

(Did I just ask something about the au that was forgotten the day it was created? Go call an ambulance)

AN ASK FOR THE ACTOR AU? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?!?!?!?

This has been a long while. Let me spend the next few hours scrolling all the way back to early 2023 to find my notes on this AU.

Before I get into the answer, just a reminder that the actors have different names:

Mariana Borrero - Mirabel

Alejandra Carmen Monagas - Alma

Bruno Juan Lozano - Bruno

Lucía Diallo - Luisa

Ines Gamarra - Isabela

Javiera A. Crespo - Julieta

Alvaro Valdés - Agustín

Paulina Cavero-Gallegos - Pepa

Felípe Cavero-Gallegos - Félix

Dafne Yanez - Dolores

Chepe Frontera - Camilo

Arlo Cantù - Antonio

Some of these names have changed since the first post of this AU. Also some of those names I have now used for other characters and such.

(The first name’s initial is the same as the first name of the character. While the initial of the surname matches the voice actor - with the exception of Dolores, because sources don’t have an agreed surname for Adassa; Pepa and Félix are married so they have both).

To answer the question, the cold sisters’ actresses are all on very positive terms.

None of them had met prior the table read. Well… Ines and Lucía met literally ten minutes before, having both gone into the local coffee shop and chatted whilst in the queue. They had an awkward moment when they both walked into the same building, like “oh, you’re in this too?” The two got on right away, bonding over coffee. Now whenever they do anything for Encanto, they meet up at a coffee shop beforehand.

Mariana had never been in film or TV before and was understandably a nervous wreck, not knowing what to do, outside of when she was acting or singing. Lucía reflects in many interviews how she instantly decided that she was going to take Mariana “under her wing” after seeing the girl for the first time. Ines has fully admitted to thinking Mariana wasn’t going to be great and then being blown away at the first vocal warmup because “holy shit, kid has pipes”. Listening to anyone nail Red Leather, Yellow Leather or hold a note for a stupid amount of time is a stunning moment.

Mariana herself had been overwhelmed with everyone else and didn’t feel worthy enough to talk to them, so… she didn’t for the first few table reads, unless they spoke to her first. But she recalls both Lucía and Ines being very chatty, welcoming and helpful. (Not that the rest of the cast weren’t, she just spent a lot of time with these two).

Ines and Lucía were among some of the ones who usually goofed off on set. Lucía frequently interacted with fans and social media, so subsequently you’d see a lot of Ines and Mariana if you followed her. They later started weekly live karaoke sessions where (taking advantage of the piano on set) Mariana would play a song and the cast would sing.

The three are usually seen together for interviews. I imagine they’ve done a lot of those “best friend test” and “Disney trivia competition” type press too.

#encanto #ask me anything #encanto actor au #isabela madrigal #mirabel madrigal #luisa madrigal

[jhsgf82]

Feel the Beat, Always Part I

A/N: Thanks to @daydreamsandcaffeine​ for encouraging me to write this and for the little brainstorm session! I’m not very good with edits, but above is a little visual anyway. It’s kinda long. Enjoy!  

Katniss raises her arms above her head, stretching her lean, lithe body; she links her thumbs, bends her knees, and arches her chest as she drops her head back, leading with her fingers. Slowly, she goes into a full standing backbend, then drops down and catches herself. She bends her elbows and goes into a reverse tabletop position for about ten seconds, then lowers herself down to the mat.  

She’s been up since sunrise, limbering up and running through her dance routine, twice. Now she’s completing her post-dance stretches. Maybe she’ll go through the routine once more though, for good measure. 

After all, her big audition is TODAY. 

And big shot producer, Alma Coin, is going to be there. 

Dance is Katniss Everdeen’s life. And she’s good at it, really good. Oh, she’s not a star by any means, but she’s managed to land a couple of larger roles which have gotten her name out there, and she’s kept steady gigs in the chorus line of several popular stage shows. It’s been enough to make a living without having to work two or three jobs, which is a small miracle here in New York City. Her place isn’t a penthouse, obviously, nor is it a rat’s hole‒it’s just a simple loft, and it’s just right for her. What she loves best is that there’s plenty of space to dance. 

A small town girl leaving her small town life to make it as a performer in “the big city” is relatively unheard of–well, no, not unheard of. It’s all too common. What’s not common is being successful at it. But Katniss has talent, and she’s aware of it. She can sing; she can dance, and if only she could act, she’d be a triple threat; however, she sucks at acting. But that’s okay. She doesn’t really need to; she can make her body work for her when her words and facial expressions fail her. 

Katniss goes into a butterfly stretch. 

Her mangy old muddy-orange cat, Buttercup, whom she inherited when her grandmother passed, comes up beside her, brushing her with his tail as he passes. He stops to stretch out beside her, elongating his body and sticking his butt in the air as he digs his nails into the gray and beige geometric-patterned rug. Then he trots over and jumps up on her couch and assumes the loaf position. Lazily, he watches her with rotten squash-colored eyes. He blinks at her once, and Katniss’s lips twitch.   

Buttercup, an unlikely companion (and one she didn’t like very much at first), is quite possibly the ugliest cat she’s ever seen with his mashed-in nose and half an ear missing. He was definitely unwanted at first, but he’s grown on her. He’s her only company, truly, the only person in her life, and he’s not even a person. Well, Katniss hasn’t had a date in…some number of years, but that’s okay. She doesn’t really need anyone; she only needs the stage. 

As for family, there’s only her dad. She’s an only child, and her mom left when she was little. She does try to call her father at least once a week. They don’t have much to talk about, but they get each other all the same. For one, he’s good about not guilt-tripping her for never coming to visit; he’s just happy to hear her voice. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go back to New Hope, West Virginia, or maybe she doesn’t. Admittedly, it would be too hard to see…certain persons, namely one, and of course, she’d have to hear everyone drone on and on about how she abandoned the town to make her way in NYC.    

She finishes her stretches, showers, braids her long hair up in a high braid, and dresses in her dance attire as she doesn’t know what the changing room situation will be like‒she hates crowding in a room with dozens of other girls, all fighting over the last mirror. Not that Katniss cares about the mirror so much; she’s not a heavy makeup wearer. She checks the weather, and of course, it’s raining, so she grabs a trench coat and slips into it on her way out. In the elevator, she buttons it partially up and cinches it at the waist.  

Midtown traffic is a killer, per usual. Actually, it seems much, much worse today. What the heck is going on? It takes her nearly twenty minutes to hail a cab, and her once leisurely commute is suddenly a rush. When the cab comes to a stop, she says a silent thanks. But then, she sees a middle-aged woman with long gray hair across the street, and she’s going for the same cab as her. 

Oh no, no way. That’s my cab! thinks Katniss. 

Her competitive side kicking in (and also her survival instinct‒Katniss Everdeen doesn’t get pushed around by anyone), she runs for the cab as fast as she can in her character heels, and without being hit by traffic. Fortunately, it’s come to a crawl. The other woman gets to the cab just ahead of her and opens the door, and Katniss slips right in, calling out, “Thank you!” 

“This is my cab!” the woman screeches. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s a matter of life or death.” Katniss shuts the door and gives the driver the address, and he’s speeding off, leaving the woman standing there in the rain‒she’s lost her umbrella, so she’s getting pelted. For a moment, Katniss feels bad, but she can’t miss this audition; this is her big break. Wherever the woman has to go, it can’t be as important as where she’s going. She probably has some cushy office job, anyway, where it doesn’t matter much if you’re a few minutes late. 

Briefly, Katniss thinks of someone she used to know. He was always such a do-gooder that he’d never approve of this kind of behavior. He’d never make it in this city, she thinks; NYC would chew him up and spit him out. Even so, she decides to do something nice for some random stranger later in his honor; perhaps she’ll buy coffee for the next person in line at Starbucks after she nails this audition. 

----- 

Katniss gets to her audition with only five minutes to spare. It’s good she decided to wear her crop top and tights to the audition rather than change there; now she only needs to dry off her shoes a bit, so she doesn’t slip. 

When her name is called with a group of several others, Katniss heads confidently to the stage. She’s not nervous, not really. There was a time when she used to get nervous before auditions, but such a thing does no good. It’s better to appear confident, even if you’re not; although, she is. 

Katniss performs the routine perfectly. She noticed a couple of the dancers getting off the beat, but it didn’t throw her a bit. Those two will surely be cut. She makes it through the first round of cuts, and then the second, and she’s practically flying, her smile wide, her face glowing with hope and just a bit of perspiration. 

“Now, Ms. Alma Coin would like to have a look at you,” Coin’s assistant, who’s been doing the cuts, says. 

Katniss stands tall, strikes a pose, and smiles just as the cab woman walks out on stage. 

Oh crap.

Katniss prays this woman won’t recognize her, but of course, she does, her thin, lipstick-less mouth curling up into a snarl-grimace. Then she hopes for Ms. Coin to be professional, to choose the best dancers, regardless of petty vendettas. But no. She immediately begins dressing her down for her outlandish behavior, says she’d never allow such a disgraceful person to perform in one of her shows. It seems a bit much to Katniss. Just because she inconvenienced her and ticked her off she’s going to ban her from being in any of her shows? And not only that, but Ms. Coin also declares, in an overly dramatic fashion, that her ‘career is over.’ 

She can’t just decide that, announce that she’ll never work on Broadway again! 

Katniss tries to explain herself, smooth things over, but that only results in her accidentally knocking Alma Coin off the stage and injuring her. Not knowing what else to do, Katniss rushes out of the audition. 

-----

On her way back to her apartment, she receives several texts from her friend Cinna. Apparently, someone captured a video of her knocking Alma Coin off the stage and posted it on social media. The ridiculous thing is up to 30,000 views. 

Cinna, what am I gonna do? she texts.  

Cinna: Just give it some time. Lay low and try again after a month or so. It’ll die down. 

A month? she texts back. I don’t have a month. I’m already behind on my rent since the money from my last show ran out, and I’m sure my sleazebag landlord isn’t gonna be happy. 

Cinna: Don’t worry, darlin. Just let me know if you need some money. 

I don’t take charity, Cinna, she texts. 

Cinna: I know.  

-----

Over the next three weeks, Katniss does everything she can to make ends meet, even cocktail waitressing, something she never thought she’d (or wanted to) go back to. Additionally, Cinna had the brilliant idea that she should audition for Portia Rose, a big Broadway producer, who’s apparently the only one not intimidated by Alma Coin. But how is she going to audition for her? Her agent dropped her after the video, and it isn’t exactly easy to take meetings with wealthy show biz people.

Her one chance comes after Cinna does a little detective work and discovers that Portia will be dining at the ritzy Capitol Bar & Grille for lunch Friday afternoon. It might be crazy, but if Katniss can put on a performance on the sidewalk as Portia is coming out of the restaurant, maybe she’ll catch her eye. Dressed in her best dance ensemble, a sparkly silver little number designed by Cinna, she waits outside for Portia. Sure enough, she’s there, and the moment she leaves the restaurant with her group, Katniss goes right into it. 

Unfortunately, Portia either doesn’t notice her or doesn’t care because she walks right by. As she’s trying to get her attention, Katniss runs into a hot dog vendor and ends up covered in ketchup and mustard.    

For the topper on the crap sundae that is her day, and her life, when she gets back to her apartment, her stuff is in the halls and there’s an EVICTED notice on her door in bold black letters. And the locks have been changed. Did her asshole landlord throw her out with no real notice?! Okay, so maybe he’d been threatening her for weeks, but how could he just toss her stuff into the halls and change the locks? It could’ve been stolen! At least he put Buttercup in his cat carrier rather than turn him loose. She considers going to her landlord to plead her case, but he’s already made it clear he won’t be lenient anymore, that is, unless she wants to sleep with him. She’d rather be homeless. She doesn’t want to live in a place managed by such a creep anyway. 

Katniss slumps against her door between the boxes and slides down to a seated position. Her head falls back against the door with a thunk. Buttercup yowls from beside her, and she sticks her fingers through the holes of the carrier to let him sniff her. 

“We’re gonna be okay, Buttercup. We’ll be o-kay.” 

Just then, her phone rings, and as if he sensed her despair, it’s her dad. 

She hesitates, then answers the video call. “Hey, Dad.” She attempts for bright and cheery, but she’s sure she’s grimacing, and she can feel hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Katniss hasn’t cried in years, not since her mom left, and she doesn’t plan to start now. 

“Hey, Catkin! How’s my best girl?” 

“Just…paying my dues, Dad,” she mutters. She can’t fake it much longer, but she doesn’t exactly want to give him the deets. 

“It’ll happen, sweetie,” her dad assures. “You’re so talented. You’re gonna make it.” He goes on to tell her how proud he is of her and how he’s saved the playbills she’s sent him for all of her Broadway shows. He’s only made it to one of her shows, but she knows that was difficult enough for him to manage, so she’s thankful. 

“Thanks, Dad,” she says, plastering on a small smile. 

“Are you…sitting in the hallway?” he asks. 

Oh God. She positions the phone to ensure he only has a view of the door, not the boxes and bags littering the hall.  

“Yeah, just, uh, waiting for my take-out,” she says. And he seems to buy it. Her dad knows how much she loves food. 

“Oh,” he clears his throat, “what’d you get?” 

“Chinese,” she answers immediately. 

“Oh. Sounds good.” 

There’s a pause. 

“Well, uh, Dad, I think that’s my food coming up the stairs now, so I better…” 

“Okay, honey. Call me later. Love you.” 

“You too.” She hangs up and sighs. 

She stares across the hallway at her neighbor’s door until she hears a little ding. She looks down at her phone. It’s from Dad. 

Dad: You can’t fool me, sweetie. Just come home. 

Dad: You can stay in your old room as long as you want. It’s all set for you. Haven’t changed a thing.  

Katniss sighs. She doesn’t want her dad to think she couldn’t hack it; she doesn’t want to admit failure. But what else can she do? Presently, this city is sucking the life out of her, and she needs a recharge. She can crash at home, er her old home, maybe get a job and save up some money, and once she’s back on her feet, she can work on getting to Portia again. 

-----

Against her will, her dad bought her a plane ticket and insisted on picking her up at the small New Hope airport. Probably for the best. There aren’t any cabs. Even Ubers are extremely rare. And unless she wants to hitch a ride on Old Farmer Diggs’ tractor, it’s best that she lets her father pick her up. 

They sit quietly in his truck; Katniss has barely said anything since their greeting and hug at the airport. After several minutes pass, her dad starts humming a little song they used to sing together, which successfully breaks the ice, and she starts humming, then singing along. Her dad has an amazing voice, always has. She swears he can make the birds stop to listen. Truthfully, he was her inspiration to get into show business, although she's more confident and comfortable dancing than singing.  

Just as they’ve passed the New Hope sign, “So, uh, heard from your mom lately?” her dad asks out of the blue, effectively putting the ice wall back up. 

“Nope,” she replies. She doesn’t know why he would think she would after all these years.   

Suddenly, Katniss has a terrible thought. Not that she should care about what the person who abandoned her thinks, but… “I hope she didn’t see the video.” Katniss groans. “Or anyone in town. I’d die.” 

“Oh, now, don’t be too full of yourself, sweetie. People around here have other things to worry about, you know. Their own lives.” 

“I know.” 

“Probably just me stalking your Instabook.”

“That’s Instagram, Dad.” Katniss smirks.  

“That’s what I said.” Her dad laughs a little, and Katniss’s lips quirk. But not long after, her lips curve into a frown. “I hate the internet,” she says on exhale. 

“Me too,” her dad replies. “Just keep up with it for my pride and joy.” 

That brings another little smile from her. 

They’re driving past Town Hall when they see Coach Odair and his football team. He’s barking at them to pick up their feet and run faster, so they’re not the slowest football team out there, as well as other little passive-aggressive encouragements. 

Katniss’s dad throws up his hand. “Hey, Finnick.” 

“Hey, Mr. E, how ya doing?” Finnick waves back, then proceeds to ride his team. 

“I see the football team still sucks,” remarks Katniss.  

“Ah, they’ve had their good years and bad. Finn’s a good coach. He rides ‘em hard, but he’s actually a big softie.” 

That sounds about right. 

Katniss and her father make idle conversation about his job in the mines, which Katniss wishes he’d give up, and about the possibility of making the farm his sole source of income, which she encourages. But he isn’t a risk taker, he tells her. Not like her. 

“Some risk taker,” she mumbles. “I take these huge risks and fail.” Katniss sighs, and Buttercup meows from the truck bed. “I really screwed up, Dad.” 

“Oh now, honey. That’s what the term risk implies, that you might fail. But you haven’t failed. This is just one missed opportunity, a minor setback after multiple successes. Like you said, in a profession such as yours, you’re bound to have to pay some dues.” 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

“Come on, gimme a smile.” She does her best to. “Aw, you can do better than that.” 

“This might be the best I have in me right now, Dad.” 

“Ah, that can’t be it. Hey, I know what you need…cheese.” 

Katniss quirks a brow. She does love cheese. Cheese and chocolate: two substances she could pretty much eat (or drink) her weight in. 

“Or better yet, cheese buns!” 

“No, Dad.” Katniss shakes her head. “Can’t we just get some cheese at the market? You know I can’t go to the bakery‒”  

“Not to worry, Catkin. He won’t be there. He’s never there this time of day. I’ll even go in for you, just in case.” 

---- 

Katniss waits outside Mellark’s Bakery while her father goes in for bread and cheese buns. She decides to get out of the truck for some fresh air. As she leans up against the truck, she cranes her neck to see if she can see who’s inside working. 

“Katniss?” 

Katniss spins at the sound of the high-pitched affected accent of who could be none other than Ms. Effie Trinket, her dance teacher from when she was a pre-teen through high school. 

Sure enough, there she is. She’s a bit older, though she looks much the same (probably thanks to Botox, and all the makeup). Naturally, her hair is dyed a vibrant color; today, it’s bright pink. She’s dressed in her usual flamboyant style and wearing at least three or four-inch stilettos. She’d always change into dance shoes for practices, but otherwise, she’d be wearing high heels around town. 

“Oh, h-hey, Ms. Trinket.” Although she’s married to the surly town drunk with a heart of gold, she still uses her maiden name. “How are you?”  

“Can’t complain, dear. How are you?” She raises her voice on ‘you.’ “The big Broadway star!” 

Katniss feels her shoulders slumping, but she puts on the hint of a smile. “Fine. Just fine. How’s Haymitch?” 

“Oh, goodness! He’ll be the death of me, I’m sure of it!” she wails. 

“You two are still…together?” 

“Heavens, yes.” Then Effie launches into a number of complaints about her alcoholic husband, who is apparently sober now (for the most part) and assistant coaching the football team, interspersed with sprinklings of praises throughout. These two have an interesting relationship. They’re so different, yet somehow, they’ve made it work all these years. 

“And what about you, dear? Any special man in your life?” 

Katniss shakes her head. “No, not really.” She knew it was a mistake mentioning Effie’s relationship, for it was bound to lead to questions about her own, or lack thereof.  

“Oh, speaking of, I just saw Peeta!” trills Effie Trinket.  

Katniss feels as though a large thorn has been jabbed into her side at the mention of his name. 

“Peeta?” another voice chimes in. “Oh, I saw him this morning!” Delly Cartwright has just strolled up the sidewalk hand in hand with her little girl, a light brunette girl with her hair in buns wearing a pink tutu and leotard. The last time Katniss saw her, she was a baby; she recalls that her name is Emmy. “Katniss! Is that really you?!” 

What is this? A reunion?  

Well, Katniss knew she was bound to run into people from her past in town. But does every one of them need to bring Peeta up?  

Katniss nods and smiles faintly, and Delly claps her on the back.

“I thought it was you, but I couldn’t be sure! I mean, I thought you were in N-Y-C. I’m so glad you’re back.”

“I’m not back,” Katniss protests, though they both seem to ignore her.  

“Ohhh,” Ms. Trinket claps her hands together. “It’s almost as if nothing has changed.” 

Delly smiles. “Minus Katniss and Peeta being attached at the lips, that is.” She giggles.  

Another thorn in her side.  

Katniss rolls her eyes out of Delly’s sight. It wasn’t like Peeta and she were super into PDA. Okay, maybe they were. Peeta, anyway. Oh, he was perfectly fine with showing his affection for her anywhere and everywhere, and he was, quite frankly, hard to resist, so that made Katniss a little more lax on her no-PDA policy. 

“Have you seen him yet?” asks Delly. 

“Who?” Katniss plays dumb. 

“Peeta!” exclaims Delly. 

“Uh, no, I haven’t.” 

“He’ll be glad to see you.” 

No, he won’t, thinks Katniss. 

“You know, back then, you two were pretty cute,” says Delly. “Some people thought you were a little sickening,” Delly giggles again, “but I always thought you two were perfect together. I really thought you were gonna get married and have a bunch of babies.”

Yeah, well, that was a long time ago, Delly. People grow up. They change.  

“Oh, but then you went off to dance school while Peeta waited at home and you got that audition in Manhattan, and then came ‘the text’.” Delly uses air quotes. 

Why is she giving her the play-by-play? As if Katniss doesn’t remember what happened. 

“Oh yes, the text!” bleats Effie. “How scandalous!” 

Katniss certainly doesn’t need to be reminded of the infamous text. She can’t help that she’s no good at saying things and chose the worst way possible to break up with her high school sweetheart. And apparently, Peeta went around telling everyone in town about it. She can’t believe he did that. 

“When you two broke up, it really messed with his head, you know,” says Delly. No, she didn’t. “He was moping around town for months, barely spoke to anyone, and you know how friendly he normally is. We were all very concerned about his depression.” 

Peeta was depressed? Katniss feels awful about that, but it was the way it had to be. It wouldn’t have worked out with her going to New York, and Peeta, quite obviously, wanting to stay in their hometown. Whatever existed between them was nice while it lasted, but it’s gone now. 

“Oh, you remember my youngest, don’t you, Katniss?” Delly pulls Katniss from her reverie, presenting the little girl in the tutu. She’s holding a stuffed pig. “She was in Pampers last time you saw her. Emberlyn. Emmy for short.” 

“Of course, I remember,” says Katniss as sweetly as possible. “Hello, Emmy. You’ve gotten big.”  

“Hasn’t she?! And she’s taking dance now, just like you!” 

“That’s nice.” 

“Ohh, and she’s doing just marvelously!” Effie chimes in. She bends slightly at the waist as she can’t quite squat in her skirt and heels and taps Emmy on the nose. “You know, Miss Emberlyn, Miss Katniss was my star pupil.” 

“That’s right!” chirps Delly. “And star soloist in the choir, too.” 

Wow, that was a long time ago. Does everyone in this town have the memory of an elephant? 

“And now she’s on Broadway!” adds Ms. Trinket with an air of pure pride that makes Katniss feel sick to her stomach. She hates the thought of letting down these people who believe in her. 

“How’s Gale?” deflects Katniss, needing a change of subject. 

But it’s short-lived as all Delly says about her husband is: “Oh, same old Gale, you know.” 

Katniss nods and says, “Give him my best.” 

“Will do!” bubbles Delly. 

“Oh, darling,” Ms. Trinket interjects, “while you’re in town, you simply must come by and see the girls at the dance studio!”

“Uh,” Katniss pauses, “I’d love that, Ms. Trinket…except…” She pauses. Being in a dance studio is the last place Katniss wants to be after the audition debacle; she doesn’t want to be anywhere near anything related to dance, in fact. Plus, she knows her dad was just blowing steam and she actually is under the town’s scrutiny‒it’s a smaaall town‒and she can’t face the looks and little whispers once they learn what a failure she is and how she blew her big shot. And as primitive as this little town is, someone is bound to see that video and pass it along. She doesn’t want to lie to them, and yet she can’t stand the notion of telling them the truth, either. So, she lies. “Except, it’s my dad. He’s sick.” 

As soon as she says it, her dad walks out of the bakery, a white bag tucked under each arm. He shoots her a curious glance. 

“Oh dear,” says Ms. Trinket. “I do hope it’s nothing serious.” She looks between Katniss and her father.  

Katniss looks to her father. “Oh no, don’t worry. I’m fine,” he says. “Catkin is just being overprotective, you know.” 

Katniss glimpses Delly, who also has a concerned look on her face. “Always such a trooper, Mr. E! Well, I’m gonna bake you a casserole!” 

Ah, small town hospitality. 

“Well, um, we…better be going, Dad.” 

“You’ll consider stopping by the studio?” Ms. Trinket jumps in before they can get in the truck. “Perhaps around…5:30? I know you need to take care of your father, but the girls…it’d be such a thrill for them. I’d hate to disappoint them.” 

Katniss opens her mouth, but her father speaks for her. “Of course she’ll be there. I can get by for an hour or two on my own, and we wouldn’t want to disappoint the girls, now would we?” Her father gives her a pointed look, and she’s toast. Although, why would they be disappointed if Ms. Trinket hasn’t told them anything yet? 

Katniss looks between her father and Ms. Trinket then says, “Sure, I’ll be there at 5:30.” 

“Wonderful!” shrieks Effie. “Well, you feel better now.” She pats Mr. Everdeen’s shoulder and announces that she’s off. Delly tosses out some last well wishes, a ‘good to see you, Katniss’, and a promise for that casserole ASAP. 

-----

After waving goodbye to her father, Katniss stands outside the New Hope Dance Studio. She stares up at the brightly painted sign with the dandelions on it, which was hand painted by Peeta, she recalls. She takes a couple of deep breaths before making her way inside. 

The place hasn’t changed much. It’s still painted a bright sunset orange. The reception area is exactly the same with the box of dance-related pamphlets on the counter and a couple of spare leotards and tutus hanging on the wall. She wanders over to the opposite wall with the corkboard. This area has changed a little. Namely, there’s a large framed collage photo of Katniss in various stages of growth in dance attire as well as the newspaper clipping with the story about how a local girl made it big in NYC on Broadway, also framed. 

Miss Trinket hums as she comes up behind Katniss. “I know I only taught you for 6 years 10 months and 22 days before you went off to real dance school in Chicago, but I’d like to think I had a hand in you becoming a Broadway sensation.” 

Katniss turns, smiles faintly, and nods. 

“Thank you, Ms. Trinket,” she humbles herself. “I’m grateful.”  

Miss Trinket sniffles and looks like she’s about to cry. She waves her hand in front of her face, then says with a hopeful expression, “Grateful enough to teach a master class, or three?” 

Katniss sighs. Not that grateful, no. 

“Oh, but don’t worry about that right now.” Effie tugs on Katniss’s arm. “Come on, let’s not keep the girls waiting.” 

Once inside the dance studio, which also looks exactly the same, and could probably use some renovations, Katniss surveys the young dancers while Ms. Trinket brings over a folding chair for her. Delly is also there. She’s a committed dance mom, of course. 

“Have a seat now, dear,” says Ms. Trinket. Then she turns to the girls. “Girls, this is Miss Katniss. She was one of my best students and is now a big Broadway star! Make her feel welcome, please!” 

The girls all clap, save for one. Katniss catches sight of none other than Primrose Mellark off to the side, and she looks none too pleased to see her. 

As for the rest of them, Katniss does her best to commit their faces and names to memory as best she can as Ms. Trinket introduces them. Meanwhile, Delly is signing alongside her. 

There’s a deaf girl with pale skin, amber eyes, and bright red hair. Katniss has already forgotten her name, but her face and nose is elongated like a fox, so she’s calling her Foxface. So, it must be for her benefit that Delly is using sign language.  

There’s Rue, a dark-skinned girl with soft brown eyes who gives off a very birdlike quality. At least she has the body of a dancer, so there could be hope for her yet. 

Then there’s a girl named Camille, who places a flower crown she made atop Katniss’s head. Katniss recalls Peeta doing the same thing one day in the meadow. It feels like so long ago…  

Speaking of Peeta, Katniss knew that Prim was interested in dance because she used to prance around in front of her constantly. And she didn’t seem half-bad for her age. She wonders how she’s progressed. Hopefully, she’s learned some actual steps. 

Katniss doesn’t know Peeta’s youngest sister as well, but she seems energetic, and maintains close proximity to her brooding older sister. 

Delly’s girls are there as well as Finnick Odair’s brood: a little girl with dark brown hair and sea green eyes named Morgan, and apparently, he leaves his son Rusty, a bronze-haired, green-eyed boy, there while he’s at football practice. Rusty just watches and colors. 

Ms. Trinket gets through the introductions, then decides it would be fabulous to have a Q&A session with Katniss, so the girls can learn from a real life success story. 

They ask questions like: When did you start dancing? Does the most talented dancer always get the part? Etc. And Katniss answers in brief. When one of them asks what show she’s in now, Katniss moves on to another topic. 

They’re all overly excited now, as if they’ve had sugar, and just about every one of them has announced that they want to be on Broadway someday. One of them raises her hand and asks how to get on Broadway. 

“Well, first of all, don’t ever make a mistake in front of anyone important,” Katniss says. Alright, so maybe she’s a bit jaded from her recent experience. “But here’s the thing. You don’t always know who the important people are, so that means you can never make a mistake in front of anyone, ever. Oh, and also, hard work and talent.” 

The girls are staring blankly at her. 

Katniss knows she should stop, but she keeps going. “I’d say you all have a .0001 percent chance of making it.” Delly signs it, then adds an enthusiastic little fist pump after as if to soften the blow.  

Despite Delly’s false enthusiasm, their faces collectively fall. And a few of them are even cuddling each other for comfort. But it’s better she tells them the honest truth now before they go out and fall on their faces. They look like criers. 

This seems like a good time to take her leave, so Katniss excuses herself (but not before Ms. Trinket slips a dance competition flyer into her bag). She feels a little bad about dashing those little girls’ hopes, but maybe she’s done them a favor. The life of a Broadway dancer is not at all glamorous.  

When she steps outside, Katniss is blindsided by the sight of her father standing next to none other than Peeta Mellark.

Katniss comes to an abrupt stop and gapes. 

“Look who I ran into, Catkin,” her dad says. 

Peeta is grinning at her. And he looks great. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” says he.  

“Peeta,” she mutters like an idiot, blinking rapidly. She’s not sure why she’s reacting this way; it’s not like she didn’t know it was a strong possibility she’d run into him while she was home.  

“You remembered.” He smirks. 

Katniss clears her throat. “Of course.” 

“So, the rumors are true. You’re back,” Peeta says. And she can’t tell if he’s happy about that or simply stating the fact.  

“Temporarily,” she clarifies. “I’m just home visiting my dad. He’s…” She looks to her father, who quickly chimes in with the fake story she made up in order to save face, which is probably already going around town anyway. 

“I’m sick,” her father chimes in. “I’ve been sick.” 

“Oh,” Peeta’s brow furrows. “Really? Mr. E, I’m…” Peeta doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead lays a hand on Mr. Everdeen’s shoulder. 

“Yeah…” Her dad gives a clearly fake cough. “I better go rest…in my truck.” 

Peeta nods solemnly, but the quirk to his lip indicates he knows it’s a lie. “Feel better, Mr. E. I’ll bake you a pie,” he promises as he waves goodbye to him. 

Well, at least thanks to her lie her father is going to be well-fed. He’ll have Delly’s casserole and now Peeta’s pie, both delicious.  

Once they’re alone, Katniss offers Peeta a thin smile. “So, um, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” repeats Peeta, clearly amused. “Did they wipe your memory while you were in New York? I’m picking up my sisters from dance class. Remember Primrose and Poppy?” 

“Of course I remember Primrose and Poppy.” 

They stand there a moment, Katniss shuffling her feet, Peeta staring at his. 

“So,” Peeta speaks up, meeting her eyes again and folding his strong arms across his broad chest. Has he gotten even broader? Peeta always had muscles, but now he’s…like a brick wall. A very cozy brick wall, she’d imagine… 

Katniss shakes off her delusional thoughts.  

“So,” she repeats, folding her arms and arching a brow. She hopes to appear nonchalant, although she feels completely the opposite. 

“So?” he repeats, the corner of his mouth twitching. He still has that damn dimple. Of course he does. She’s not sure why she’d think it would go away, or that it would stop having an effect on her.   

When she says nothing more, Peeta starts up a conversation, filling in both his and her parts. “So, how are you, Peeta? What have you been up to?” he says. “I’m great, Kat. Busy. Baking, of course. Doing odd jobs around town. And my Grandma Mags has been getting a little forgetful, so I’ve been taking over more with my sisters. You know, doing the grownup thing. Oh, and by the way, your dad is still on me about fixing the barn from that time we, uh,” he raises his brow, “accidentally started that fire.”  

Katniss’s cheeks warm, and Peeta adds proverbial fuel to the fire by saying, “Who knew starting a fire,” he winks, “could actually start a fire?” He gives her a sly grin. “Guess that broken lantern had something to do with it, huh?”

“Guess so,” she mutters, suddenly unable to look him in those blue-blue eyes.  

Working up her nerve, Katniss decides to just come out and say what needs to be said. “Look, Peeta.” 

“Mhm?” He strokes his chin and stares at her thoughtfully. Why does he have to make everything so difficult. 

“Since...” She sucks in a bit of air. “Since I’m going to be back for a bit, and we’re clearly going to be running into each other a lot, I should say…I know I broke your heart.” 

Peeta pokes out his lip and bobs his head up and down. Is he mocking her?   

“I know I didn’t end things in the most…thoughtful way…” 

“‘Sorry to do this in a text,’” Peeta quotes, “‘but I’m going to New York, so we have to break up. -Kat.’ No, see, I thought it was very thoughtfully-worded.” 

Katniss smirks and shakes her head at him. 

“I just wanted to make sure, uh, that there weren’t any hard feelings…” 

“Oh, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss. That was high school. Ancient history. I mean, it’s not like we were ever gonna work out.” 

For some reason, the way he says it so casually and cheerfully turns Katniss’s stomach. 

“Well, I better be going,” says Peeta, reaching out to graze her arm. She feels an electric current pass between them. He then tosses her father, who’s in his truck across the street, a ‘see ya later’

Mr. Everdeen calls out in reply, “That barn’s not gonna fix itself, young man!” Peeta just laughs. 

-----

Katniss is in a foul mood on the drive back to the Everdeen farm. And her dad doesn’t help matters by saying, “Well, it’s good he’s finally over you.” 

Katniss grimaces. 

“At least his skin’s cleared up.” Katniss shoots her dad a bewildered look, and he quickly changes the subject by pulling the dance brochure out of her bag. “Oh, what’s this?” 

“Just some dumb dance competition thing.” Katniss sighs. “Ms. Trinket actually wanted me to teach, can you believe it?” 

“Well, I think that’s nice. Means she thinks a lot of your skill.” 

“No, it means I’m a failure, Dad. I should be doing the dancing, not teaching.” 

“I told you, you’ll get your shot, honey.” 

Katniss huffs. Her dad clears his throat and starts reading through the brochure. 

“Hey, this doesn’t sound so bad. There’ll be all kinds of big name judges there.” Katniss gives a skeptical exhale. “No, really.” He starts naming them off, one of which he claims she is friends with, although she only danced in a benefit she hosted. “Then there’s,” her dad goes on, “Por-tee-uh Rose.” 

Katniss slams on the brakes and pulls off to the side of the road. “Portia Rose?” She snatches the brochure from him, and sure enough, Portia Rose will be one of the celebrity judges at the finals in Atlantic City. 

“I’m going to do it, Dad,” she announces. “I’m going to teach dance.” 

#JHsgf82 writes #Based on Feel the Beat #Feel the Beat Always #dancer!Katniss #exes!Everlark #Prim and Peeta siblings #Peeta has sisters instead of brothers #Mr. Everdeen is alive #AU #dance teacher!Katniss #dance teacher!Effie #dance dad!Finnick #dance mom!Annie #dance mom!Delly #everlark #Gelly #Odesta #hayffie

[dirty-bosmer]

15 Questions for 15

Tagged by: @thequeenofthewinter thank you, dear friend <3

Tagging: @justafoxhound @chennnington @atypicalacademic @dumpsterhipster @hailtheknownworld @wispstalk @elavoria @thana-topsy @dwellerinroots @crynwr-drwg @druidx @sithis-has-no-balls @zomboidatomic @alma-amentet @burningsilence

1. are you named after anyone?

Just my middle name, after my grandmother.

2. when was the last time you cried?

Last month maybe. I ugly cried while watching The Last of Us lol

3. do you have kids?

Nope, and not for a while but maybe one day.

4. do you use sarcasm a lot?

Not really. I'm always worried my delivery will be off and someone will take it seriously. Then I'll feel like an ass jajaja

5. what sports do you play/have you played?

I ran track competitively for ~10 years as a kid. Dabbled in rugby in college but wasn't very good, just fast and liked being thrown around. These days, I'm getting into tennis if only to have an excuse to wear those stretchy athletic dresses and skirts.

6. what's the first thing you notice about other people?

Whether we can maintain conversation without it feeling forced or strained.

7. eye color?

👁 big brown eyes like a cow 👁

8. scary movies or happy endings?

Scary movies, but if the scary movie has a happy ending I won't mind... most of the time.

9. any special talents?

Dissection? Does that count?? While TAing comparating anatomy, my PI told me that my shark prosections are a work of art which brings me way more joy than it probably should lol. Also, I'm mean on a microtome. Plant ID but only in the north eastern US. Baking pies. I can sing, but only when no one is around, heh.

10. where were you born?

Southern California ☀️ 🏝

11. what are your hobbies?

Writing, rolling around in oil pastels, camping/backpacking/hiking, lounging with a book by the pool.

12. do you have any pets?

My apartment doesn't allow them :'(

13. how tall are you?

5’5”

14. fave subject in school?

Biology, english, anthropology.

15. dream job?

Collections manager at a museum or lab manager at an imaging core. I love manual labor, organizing things, helping other people get their research done without any of the pressure attached to actually publishing. Stick me in the basement with a to-do list and I'm good :)

#tag games #personal

[toaverse]

Why I don’t like Encanto…

(Just to remind you all that all this is just my personal opinion and interpretation, and that you don’t have to agree with me, as long as you don’t harass me for it)

Look, I know you’re already asking; “Toa! You write a ton of AUs for this very film! How can you possibly dislike it??”

Easy; the message of generational trauma is terribly handled, along with a shit ton of other issues I have with the story of the film.

Allow me to list them for you…

Mirabel, a 15 year old child who had been emotionally abused and left out for a decade, had to do everyone else’s (including adults’) emotional labor and had to bring the entire family back together… I know I already ranted about all that here, but I will repeat it.

So you’re telling me that Mirabel only realized her self-worth after having to fix her whole family…? And that her only reward for putting up with all that neglect and emotional abuse was that her family stopped neglecting and emotionally abusing her…?

And let’s not forget said family finally stopped neglecting her and acknowledging Mirabel only after she did their emotional labor. Throughout the movie, they either brushed her off, ignored her, or where too busy with their own problems to notice her, and it’s only after Mira saved the miracle and brought them together that they acknowledged her!

Alma’s apology was very, very bad. Throughout most of it, she just explained what happened in her past and Pedro’s death (which was traumatic, yes), and this overshadowed the whole apology! And then she just hugged Mira like it’s nothing? Isn’t Mirabel allowed to express her pain of being neglected and left out for 10 years?? Heck, did Alma even say “Sorry”?? When the deleted apology scene felt more sincere and true, there’s a problem!

Isabela didn’t even apologized for treating Mira like shit for (presumably) a decade! Again, she just hugged Mira after singing a song and all was forgiven! And don’t give me the “That’s how siblings act” and “Isa was pressured by Alma” excuses, because they don’t work! Isa is 21, an adult! An adult who should know better then to bully her 15 year old sister for years!

So Bruno apologized to Pepa for “ruining” her wedding with a joke and wanted to say even more apologies. He didn’t have to apologize for anything! Everyone vilanized him for his visions, complained about him and even shunned him! Everyone wronged him, so Bruno didn’t owe a single “Sorry” to them!

But no one apologized to him! They all just accepted him back like nothing has happened!

Hell, Pepa and Julieta at least got an “I’m sorry” from Alma, but Bruno couldn’t even get that?!

Pepa and Julieta just ran up and hugged him like it’s fucking nothing! Like he wasn’t shunned and hid in the walls with horrendous living conditions for 10 years! They just didn’t address that!

And Alma did the exact same thing! She just hugged him upon seeing him, said how she felt like something was missing, and didn’t even apologize for treating him like shit and basically shunning him!

Pepa had no excuse shitting on her brother like that in WDTAB and presumably for a decade. I’ve seen some people say; “Her wedding is just an excuse! She actually missed Bruno after he left.” but that doesn’t excuse her villanizing Bruno, especially after something that happened more than two decades ago! Yes, I know her gift is one of the worst and that it heavily fucked up her life, and I sympathize with her for that, but that doesn’t excuse her from vilanizing Bruno! If anything, for all Pepa knew, he could very well be dead, but she still shat on him!

And it wasn’t even Bruno fault for what happened at her wedding. It wasn’t anyone’s fault! He made a joke, Pepa didn’t take it well and unintentionally caused a hurricane she couldn’t control on her wedding. Knowing that information, I think neither of them where at fault or to blame. Yet Pepa blamed Bruno for it, and he apologized! What the heck?? He didn’t have to!

None of the grandkids even offered to share their room with Mira after her failed ceremony, not even Luisa! Julieta and Agustín either quickly gave up finding a solution, or didn’t step in at all! Mira was just forced to sleep in the nursery, a room meant for children, even in her teen years! Reminding her daily that she isn’t special like the rest of her family!

After singing a whole song about how her family was great and amazing, Mirabel wasn’t even included in the group photo at Antonio’s ceremony that same day! Julieta, Agustín, Luisa or Antonio should’ve included her, but they didn’t! They just took the picture without her like she wasn’t a part of the family!

Bruno outright called Alma, his own mother, out on her mistreatment of Mira, only to be cut off by Alma hugging him and welcoming him back as if she hadn’t shunned him and saying he didn’t care about the family…without a single apology… What the hell?! This was suppose to be his big moment where he finally stands up to his mother who has shunned and scapegoated him, and he does it for his niece who was also a scapegoat and who is still a child! But Alma just cuts him off with a hug and simply welcomed him back as if nothing had happened?? And everything was cool again??? Fuck you!

With all these writing issues that really bother me, I don’t like the movie…

It all just seriously taints the film for me…

We seriously need an Encanto series. Where the family acknowledges their treatment towards Mira and Bruno, and where everything can get properly addressed while having relatable slice-of-life adventures.

But I know what you’re asking; “Toa, why would you make uncountable AUs for a film you don’t even like?”

Easy. Because I love the characters. I love writing different stories and featuring them that are far different from the film, for you all.

And I will keep writing AUs, despite the film. ^^

It’s the story I take major issue with, not the characters.

I’m just going to hope that Lightyear, Strange World and Elemental’s stories and writing are better…

#encanto critical #mirabel madrigal #isabela madrigal #alma madrigal #pepa madrigal