#and she has too much energy and access to alcohol and live music

[fellaswiththehellagoodhair]

every celeb at an award show:

taylor swift at an award show:

#Taylor swift #vmas #is she the energized bunny? no. is she 2012 fangirl on red bull? no. she’s international popstar taylor swift #and she has too much energy and access to alcohol and live music #blogging my feelings

[hoe-doroki]

passing the night stars

banner by @dymphnasprose​

warning: reader has social anxiety

pairing: shinsou x reader (platonic or romantic)

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

summary: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

a/n: this is a gift for my SiL’s birthday today! To any astronomy nerds: I tried and I’m sorry.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

There was something to be said about distance.

It was a buffer, quieting every voice, external and internal, until the only one left was that of the crickets singing over the lo-fi spilling out of the house behind you. You’d stepped away from the party long enough ago that the playlist had started over many songs back—you had no clue how many anymore. The distance turned the music’s thrumming into a quiet melody, the lyrics just as indistinguishable up close as here in the backyard, sitting on patio furniture that rocked lopsidedly in the grass.

Any filter would do, though. Anything that could soften the world just a little around its loud, coarse edges. The ice in your peach-flavored hurricane melting so that the drink was a little less saccharine. The rum casting a film over your mood, keeping your loneliness from dropping you into total dolor. The slight late-night breeze blowing the smoke from the fire pit away from you so that the acrid smell was stronger on the hood of your black sweatshirt than the air. It all muddled your emotions, numbing the buzzing overwhelm of the party to an anxious hum. The party had been neon, and out here you had a bit more darkness.

Without these buffers absorbing some of the furor, you might have escaped the party hours ago. Snuck out while the thing was still in full thrall, before social anxiety could hiss over your bones. Got out while you were ahead. Instead, you’d lasted as long as you could before out to the backyard with the near-dead fire, wracked with guilt at the prospect of leaving without saying goodbye, while too nervous to actually draw the attention to yourself necessary to actually say goodbye.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t held up for a good while, though. You’d hung out with your friends when the fire had just gotten started and then when the party had moved indoors for drinking games and edibles. You’d hovered on the border as your friends grew more interested in dancing in drunken delay to the somniferous lo-fi beat than conversation. Then the itching had started in your brain, and before you knew it, you were out here, social battery drained dry, waiting for an indefinite future in which you could find the energy to escape.

You shivered as footsteps swiped through the grass, crickets chirping at the intruder.

“Did I surprise you?” Shinsou asked, his voice deep from booze or smoke or both. Or, maybe he was just tired, you figured, as the harsh light of the fire sharpened the bags under his eyes into dark creases.

“Breeze,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising on your wrists, standing the fine hairs on end. Only a few licks of heat from the pit were touching your knees, leaving the rest of you cold in your threadbare sweatshirt as the fire shrank smaller and smaller.

Shinsou had a blanket in his arms, ratty and certainly stolen from the back of the living room couch. He blinked at you for a second before he asked, “Can I join you?”

His voice was deadpan. Between the two of you, there was no real vocal inflection to speak of. Still, you shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

You stiffened when, instead of choosing one of the many other patio chairs or foldable camping chairs forming a friendly circle around the fire, he joined you on your bench, tossing a bit of blanket over your knees. You hardly realized you were staring at him until he said, “You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah, a little,” you said, tucking your knees up to your chin and curling the scrap of blanket around your arms.

The blanket was raggedy in your hands, pilled on the hem, but warm from being indoors with all the dancing bodies. Plus, clinging onto it, running your thumb over the uneven texture gave you something to focus on instead of Shinsou’s body so close to yours.

Your senses were tingling, raw at having someone nearby again. It was too soon—you still didn’t have anything to say, no defense for why you’d dropped off from the party without a word.

But, on the other hand, being alone wasn’t fixing you either. Parts of your brain were still coiled taut as compression springs, and while they weren’t getting any tighter, they weren’t quite loosening yet either. It was rest, not recovery.

Abruptly—was it abrupt, or were you that zoned out?—Shinsou touched the back of his hand to yours, nearly making you flinch as he furrowed his brows at you. “How long have you been out here?” he asked, shifting towards you and pushing more of the blanket into your lap.

“Oh, um—” maybe a half an hour, maybe more, “—not that long.”

For that flash of contact, his skin had been hot against yours, so you could only imagine how cold your hands had felt to him. Your icy drink was probably mostly to blame, but you were also suddenly aware of how your shoulders were hunched nearly to your ears, your arms clenched to your sides like your chest might warm them. You piled the blanket a little more over your knees and one shoulder, only the hand holding your drink poking out.

“Hard being on the fringes,” he mused as he took a sip from a can. Possibly seltzer, probably beer.

You mirrored, tasting your own drink. It was really mostly water by now, though you were sure it was still painting your tongue orange.

Shinsou’s situation wasn’t much different than yours. Everyone in that house was old classmates. Shinsou was too, but he’d come late. Not too late to be friends, but late enough that it mattered. You were even later—not a classmate, but a post-high school roommate. You’d both landed on the side of Kaminari’s friend group, but neither of you were the core of it. The heart of it. That, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, was Bakugou.

For some reason, you and Shinsou had never talked about this before.

“Hard being in a group big enough for there to be a fringe.”

Because, of course, it wasn’t just the Bakusquad here today. The majority of the old 3-A was here, those who weren’t on duty or suffering with early morning duty tomorrow. Enough people to certainly cause a ruckus and maybe a noise complaint that even pro heroes wouldn’t get out of.

“Touché”

The two of you fell into silence, and you couldn’t help but wonder exactly what had drawn Shinsou from the party. Even if he didn’t feel he was the most popular guy in the room, you’d seen the way he had the ability to talk to everyone. You weren’t sure if it was a product of his quirk or what, but he was able to start a conversation with everyone he met. He didn’t seem shy or anxious in the least.

Then again, that was just what he presented. You knew from that what you put forth in public wasn’t necessarily in line with what you were feeling.

It was hard to be the introvert around a group like yours. Worse—it was noticeable. This wasn’t the first time you’d stumbled away from a party, mind half gone not on alcohol or weed but on the sudden assault of attention, loud voices, and talk of hero work. Being one of the only non-heroes in the room was exhausting, and maybe that’s why you’d had to escape. Or maybe there never was a reason, good or otherwise, and you were just here because of your stupid self.

“Clear night,” Shinsou commented, “Don’t get to see much of the stars in the city.”

You looked up, a bright spot in the center of your vision from where you’d been staring into the fire. Almost everyone in your group lived in the city, not too far from each other, depending on your definition of the word. But those with quirks better suited outside the city, like Tsuyu and Koda, had moved out of town post graduation, granting the rest of you access to a night in the suburbs like this.

The truth was, you hardly looked up at the sky in the city. Tourists were always looking up, eyes glinting off the skyscrapers and billboards. But natives were always looking down, too aware of the fact that other natives didn’t always clean up after their dogs and, with so little grass, the sidewalk often needed a close eye kept to it.

But here, it was pretty. Not the smog-stained brown you were used to, but deep blue and twinkling with infinite pinpricks.

“Mm,” you hummed, taking another sip of your watery drink. “You’re right.”

“There’s Cassiopeia,” he said, pointing just over the tree line.

You followed his finger, unsure quite of what you were looking at. The stars hardly looked like clusters to you, especially on a night like this where you could see so many. It was more a broad network of them, either all connected or all individual. All the stars or just a star.

“You know constellations?” you asked, ears latching onto something that finally wasn’t hero related. Truth be told, you probably knew less about stars than you did about hero work but it was less alienating. You could lean into it.

“Some,” he offered. “Cassiopeia is a basic one.”

“Where is it?”

Shinsou glanced at you, leaning in closer so that his finger could match your gaze. You shoulders knocked and you could feel his wild hair against your own. His finger traced down and up, down and up in a cockeyed W. “Cassiopeia, mother of Andromeda.”

“She’s a woman?”

It was any wonder that ancient people had looked into the night sky and seen things like rams and bulls, creating a whole woman out of a few diagonal lines. Still, you listened to Shinsou, his low voice rumbling into your tired bones as he began.

“A beautiful woman,” he answered. “In Greek myth, she thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her boastfulness made Poseidon angry, so he created a sea monster that Andromeda was sacrificed to. Andromeda was left to await her fate when Perseus, who had just killed Medusa, used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster to stone. After saving Andromeda, the two of them got married, and when they died, they both became constellations alongside Cassiopeia.”

Shinsou’s voice was husky and even as he told the story. The cadences were easy drops, landing you softly before he started up again with his next thought. It was a voice you could be rocked by, a voice you could be held by.

“Do you know where they are too?”

“Just below,” Shinsou said. “Probably come up just in time for the sun to make them invisible.”

“That’s too bad,” you said, curling deeper into the blanket, curling so that on shoulder leaned more onto the bench than the other. You head was almost resting on Shinsou’s shoulder and you could feel his warmth radiating in the cold night. “How do you know all this?”

Shinsou was quiet for a second and your nerves spiked again. You hadn’t even felt them relax, but suddenly your anxiety was scratching again, wondering if you’d misspoke. Or maybe you’d whispered it and he just hadn’t heard you? Before you could decide whether to say it again or apologize, though, he let out a sigh that jostled the blanket.

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” he said by way of explanation.

You cocked your head. Perhaps it was just a good hobby for an insomniac, but you were unsure about the evasiveness. “Did you have to learn a lot for general studies? Or to get in to U.A.?”

“…Yeah.”

You could only imagine. U.A. was an incredibly competitive school for heroes, but that was a specialized course. For general studies you didn’t need to have the physical prowess or the other particular skills that came with heroics, but you had to be an ace in school. It was no small feat to get into general studies, especially while you were trying to pursue something else. You were satisfied with that, ready to let it go and return to the near silence of the crickets and the fire popping, when Shinsou suddenly continued.

“When it looked like my plans to become a hero wouldn’t pan out,” Shinsou began, his words slow, tired, “my parents encouraged me into any and all other interests. None stuck.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the personal admission taking you aback.

For all the times you’d seen Shinsou talk effortlessly with people in a room, you weren’t sure how personal or vulnerable you’d ever seen him. He seemed comfortable enough probing other people, but this was new. It made the space between you suddenly seem private—so different from the party you’d escaped from. You could still hear the ambient noises of a couple dozen people in there having a good time, but it was suddenly a world away.

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” you said, brows furrowing as you glanced his eyes, still gazing up at the stars. His parents had probably thought they were being supportive, but it wasn’t the support he’d desired.

“It is what it is,” he said. “It worked out in the end.”

There was the smallest smile on his face at that, barely betraying what must have been true joy at having a dream slip through his fingers only to fly back to him. And he’d earned every bit of it, even if he wanted to keep it to himself.

“So now,” you began softly, “you just have a lot of little things that you can offer people. The little things you could have been. That’s not so bad, right?”

“No, it’s not so bad,” he agreed. “I always liked that story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Japanese astronomy varies so much from region to region and is usually about more functional things. Harvest, seasons. But these other myths about people with no chance of being heroes becoming ones anyway…”

He trailed off, but the sentiment was there. Trapped in the things he’d done to try and leave heroism behind were little vestiges. The inescapable fact that he was meant to be a hero and would be one anyway, even if the world told him he was a villain, doomed for failure.

The stories had been true.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, surprising you.

“Feeling better?”

“You’d been out here for over an hour,” Shinsou stated. “Your eyes were glassy and distant and you were freezing and you didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh,” you intoned. You hadn’t realized it had been that long. You were sure it had only been half that time.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said truthfully. “I’m fine now.”

The anxiety from earlier that had been buzzing through you had kept you awake, all while thoroughly draining you. You’d hardly realized just how much until now, with your body not just feeling settled but heavy. The stress had run straight through you, and now you bore the fatigue.

Shinsou glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye. His brows raised and it lifted his whole face, making the dark circles under his eyes just a little less stark. “You look exhausted.”

“You always look exhausted,” you retorted, your first little grin curving along your lips.

In his surprise, Shinsou smiled too. “I know that. Here.”

Shinsou took your forgotten drink from your hand and set it down, then patted his shoulder.

“You should rest for a little while.”

Your eyes met his, searching for anything that looked like obligation or impatience. But there was none. Just a surprising amount of openness and a pretty shade of purple.

“Do you have more myths?”

Shinsou smiled and, once again, his gaze went up to the stars. As he started another tale, you snuggled onto his shoulder, the rest of your body drawing closer to his as well. He didn’t wait long to begin speaking, talking in more detail than he had before. There was no reason to be concerned that he might be boring you, or that you didn’t want to hear it. Really, these stories, these stars that had brought him even the tiniest speck of light were just what you needed too.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, and you weren’t sure when you woke up. But when you blinked your eyes awake, the first thing you noticed was that Cassiopeia hadn’t moved far. The second was the feeling of Shinsou’s head tilted against yours, his breath like gentle waves under you.

You shifted, signaling that you were awake, and Shinsou did too, his head lifting from yours. At some point, his arm had wrapped around you, encasing you in his warmth. He didn’t move it, not yet, as your body creaked and you forced yourself to sit up.

“How long?” you murmured, voice barely raspy with sleep.

“Not that long,” Shinsou answered, echoing your reply from earlier.

He didn’t look at his phone or a watch, and hadn’t since he’d come out, so you wondered if he had any clue. Or if it simply hadn’t felt long. Somehow, the idea that his time spent with you hadn’t felt long was a comfort, a relief.

“How are you feeling?”

You checked in, feeling that grogginess that always came in the wake of an intense mental episode. Your brain struggling to catch up and survey the backlash from its earlier antics. That would go away. It always did. “I’m good.”

Shinsou continued to look at you, switching between each eye, double checking your expression for any lie. But he must not have found any, for he leaned back into the bench and relaxed, that tiny ghost of a smile back on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, gazing out again. “You out here alone before? It had been…well, we were…I wanted to check on you.”

For the first time, Shinsou looked almost a little shy, and you couldn’t help but smile, touched. You put a hand on the shoulder that had just taken your weight and brought his gaze back to you. “Thank you.”

There actually was one thing you knew about stars. You’d heard that every light year a star was away from you was a year into the past you were seeing its light. Looking at the stars was looking millions of years into the past. Despite the fact that these selfsame stars connected you to humans around the world today and those of old, that filter of distance and time rendered them ancient, if not already gone.

But as you looked at Shinsou, their soft, silvery starlight illuminating one side while the last dancing coals of the fire glowed on the other, you were sure that this was the opposite. This wasn’t old or past or known to anyone but the two of you. This wasn’t the stars or even the stories inspired by them.

This was just beginning.

#shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shinsou fanfiction #shinso fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #tw: anxiety

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter 3 | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, pretty girl, Sarge), smut [f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PIV, very very slight dom!Bucky, slight praise kink, very slight somnophilia], angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Tag | @mrs--barnes

A/N | Decided to go pure filth and fantasy for chapter three. Enjoy. 😉

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

_____

previous chapter

_____

Since returning in The Blip, Bucky has hated the time between when he lays down and when he falls asleep. He can't seem to turn his mind off. He's still getting used to being alone with his own thoughts, having his own thoughts. Wakanda offered him some peace, and in his apartment, he keeps the TV running constantly to fill the silence and stop himself from getting too lost inside his head. But at Sarah's house, he's afraid to turn the television on for fear of waking anyone else. So, on Sunday night, he lays on the couch listening to the house creak and groan around him, trying not to overanalyze everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours. He also tries not to think about Jo and everything he likes about her: her laugh, her voice, her eyes, her lips, her hands, her breasts—

He cuts off his train of thought. She's funny, clever, and kind, and in just a few short hours, she seems to have commanded Bucky's undivided attention.

_____

On Monday morning, Bucky debates whether or not to text Jo. Sam advises him to wait a day or two: "Put the ball in her court. You don't want to seem over-eager," he says. Bucky doesn't point out that he hasn't felt this way about a woman in eighty years, so he is definitely beyond eager.

Luckily, Jo texts him first.

The slightly outdated smart phone Sam convinced him to invest in chimes. Jo's name appears on the screen, a small pink heart next to it, along with a photo of her in her glasses holding Toulouse and the message, I think Louie misses you, Sarge.

Another picture comes through. This time it’s of himself, asleep with Louie on his chest. Bucky smiles.

“Sam,” Bucky calls across the boat, “how do you save a photo on this damn thing?” He holds his phone up.

Sam laughs and trots over to him. “Hand it here,” he says.

Bucky hands him the phone, the message from Jo pulled up on the screen.

Sam raises his eyebrows, “Sarge, huh?”

“Don’t say a word,” Bucky warns. “Just show me how to save the photo.”

Sam walks him through the steps, then says, “You can make it your background, you know, instead of this…” he exits out of the text message and looks at the screen, “sad, generic picture.”

“You can do that?” Bucky asks.

“Did you not watch the tutorial videos I sent you, man?” Sam sighs.

Then he holds up the phone, snaps a photo of himself, sets it as Bucky’s home screen, and hands the phone back to Bucky.

Bucky stares at it for a moment. “What the hell?” he mutters.

“Watch the videos so you’ll know how to change it, Sarge.” Sam teases.

_____

Jo spends most of Monday and Tuesday trying not to think about Bucky and failing miserably. The only reprieve she has is band rehearsal which gives her something to focus on that isn't Bucky's hands or mouth or eyes or broad shoulders...

She throws herself into learning new music and tries to avoid texting Bucky every five minutes. They keep a fairly regular conversation going throughout the two days, but she's afraid she's going to scare him off if she seems too enthusiastic.

_____

When Tuesday evening finally arrives, Bucky pulls up outside the bar on a borrowed motorcycle Sam hooked him up with. He's sure that Sam only made it happen so Bucky wouldn't ask to drive his car.

He calls Jo on the intercom outside the residential door to the right of the bar. She buzzes him in, and he takes the stairs two at a time. He's full of nervous energy that he can't seem to burn off. At Jo's door, he runs a hand through his hair before knocking.

When Jo opens the door, Bucky has to stop himself from kissing her immediately. It doesn't seem like the right move for the very beginning of a first date, despite what happened between them two days earlier. Jo's dark hair is loose, falling across her shoulders, and her lips are a deep shade of red. It reminds him of the color women wore in the '40s, but he can't remember anyone looking as beautiful in the shade as Jo does.

She's wearing a black button-down shirt tucked into slim, black jeans, and when Bucky's eyes follow the trail of the gold necklace laying across her collarbone, he's greeted with the sight of the beginning of her sternum tattoo and the lace of her black bra peeking out. He licks his lips and flicks his eyes back to Jo's.

She smirks at him.

"You look gorgeous, doll," Bucky says.

"Not too bad yourself, Sarge," she says, taking in his usual dark jeans and leather jacket. She notices that he's not wearing his gloves.

"These are for you," Bucky says, handing her the small bouquet of flowers he picked up on the way.

Jo smiles and takes them. "You did say flowers." The corner of Bucky's lip pulls up in a smile. "They're lovely," she continues. "Just let me put these in water."

She moves away from the door, and Bucky follows her into the apartment. He watches as she pulls a vase from a kitchen cabinet and fills it with water. He can't stop himself from staring at the curve of her hips and backside in the tight, black denim she's wearing. All thoughts of not kissing her yet are dismissed.

He steps up behind her as she stands at the counter, snipping the ends of the stems and placing the flowers in the vase. Bucky's hands sweep over her hips and around her waist, pulling her flush against his own body — her back against his front. He takes her hair into his hand and moves it, so it falls over one shoulder, granting him access to her pale neck. His lips find the spot behind her ear, and he kisses her gently, before moving down to suck a bruise into the skin where her neck meets her collarbone. Bucky hears the scissors Jo was holding clatter onto the counter.

"If you start that, we'll never get to dinner," she says almost breathlessly.

"I did promise you dinner," Bucky mumbles against her neck.

"You did."

He spins her around and kisses her lightly on the corner of her mouth, careful to not smudge her lipstick.

"Then dinner it is," he says, pulling away and offering her his hand.

Outside, Jo eyes his motorcycle with suspicion. "You want me to ride a motorcycle. In New Orleans," she says.

Bucky shrugs.

"The potholes alone will kill us," Jo argues.

"Do you trust me?" Bucky asks, his eyes shining with excitement and his mouth curved up in a flirtatious smile.

Jo nods. With that look, Bucky could ask her to ride a motorcycle naked through Mardi Gras and she would agree. "Of course," she says.

Bucky's smile broadens, and he places the extra helmet on her head. Jo doesn't care how much this will mess up her hair; she's too focused on how gentle Bucky's hands are as he secures the strap and flips the visor down. He puts his own helmet on and motions for her to climb on behind him. Jo wraps her hands tightly around Bucky's waist as he starts the bike.

He's surprisingly agile as he maneuvers the motorcycle through the streets of New Orleans, avoiding potholes and roadblocks. Jo relaxes her hold on his waist a bit and rests her helmeted cheek against his back. Bucky's heart swells at the thought that she trusts him to keep her safe.

_____

The restaurant Bucky chose from Sam's list of suggestions is housed in a converted warehouse a few blocks from the curve of the Mississippi River. Inside, it's louder than Bucky would have liked, but that also means that Jo sits close to him so she can hear him over the noise, her body angled toward his and her hand resting on his arm as she looks over the menu. Bucky places his own hand on her knee.

He has to remind himself to actually read the menu in front of him instead of just staring at Jo. He's finally made himself focus long enough on the entrees to decide what to order when he hears Jo let out a soft snort beside him. He looks up.

"Sorry," she says before biting her bottom lip to stifle another laugh.

He just stares at her.

"You do this thing," she continues, "when you're concentrating on something, where you squint your eyes, and you rest your tongue on your bottom lip. It's kind of adorable.”

Bucky sets his menu down on the table. "I don't think anyone's ever called me 'adorable' before," he says.

Jo hums and cocks her head to the side, staring at him. "Definitely adorable. But would you prefer charming? Handsome? Incredibly sexy?" Bucky blushes. "Should I go on?" she teases.

Bucky takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles. "Please don't," he says.

"Not a fan of compliments, Sarge?" she goads him.

"Not used to hearing them," he mumbles.

Jo smiles and squeezes his hand. "We should change that," she says.

The corners of Bucky's eyes crinkle with his smile, and Jo wants to place kisses over each line created. Instead, she closes the short distance between them and opts for placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek. She likes that Bucky lets her do this, lets her show her fondness for him this way. She's always been overly affectionate with people she likes.

For his part, Bucky is enjoying the contact. He used to love to hold a woman's hand, brush the hair from her face, press a kiss to her cheek, and after being denied any form of gentle touch for eighty years, he finds he can't get enough of it. He thought he would shy away from it after so long without human connection, but Jo makes it easy. She seems to make everything easy for him. He thinks about how normal it is to sit in a restaurant with a beautiful woman, and he chokes down the thought that maybe he doesn’t deserve anything easy or normal.

Over dinner, Jo leads the conversation. While Bucky answers her questions and engages with her stories, she's noticed that he prefers to stay quiet, prefers to listen. So, she talks. And while she talks, she observes him, observes the way his eyes follow her hands, the way his tongue drags over his bottom lip, the way his body tenses and turns ever so slightly to an unexpected noise in the room.

"You're very intense," she finally tells him.

"Sorry," he says, running his tongue over his lips again.

"Don't apologize," Jo says. "I like it. I like you."

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile, and, for a brief moment, Bucky wants to pour himself out before her, tell her how she makes him feel like himself again after so long. He wants to confess to her, wants to tell her more than he's told Sam or his therapists or anyone in a lifetime – stories of his childhood and family, of Steve and the war, and everything after that. But the words get caught in his throat and the moment passes.

When they step outside of the restaurant after dinner and another drink, there's enough of a late-night breeze blowing to cause Jo to wrap her arms around herself. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over Jo's shoulders before tucking her body into his side. She lifts her head and smiles up at him as he leads her the few blocks to where the bike is parked.

Before he places the helmet over her head again, Bucky kisses her, his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her body against his. He nips her bottom lip gently with his teeth and lets his hand wander down her backside, pressing her body impossibly closer. When he finally pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, and his pink lips are slightly swollen.

Jo brings her hand up to cradle his jaw. "Take me home, Sarge," she whispers.

_____

At traffic lights, Jo, warm in Bucky’s leather jacket, finds her hands wandering from Bucky's waist to his thighs, drawing slow circles across the thick muscles there. When they stop at one particularly long light, Jo has to stop herself from letting her hand ghost across his crotch. She’s trying to respect his boundaries, his need to be in control. By the time they reach Jo's apartment, Bucky's half-hard beneath his jeans, and Jo is anxious to get him upstairs.

He parks the motorcycle on the street outside the bar and stashes the helmets while Jo unlocks the building's residential door. When the helmets are locked up, Bucky meets her at the door and guides her inside, his hands on Jo's hips. She turns and presses him against the inside of the door, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his hair and ghost her lips over his, their breath mingling.

"Are you done teasing me?" Bucky growls.

"Never," she laughs and moves out of his reach. She makes it to the bottom of the stairs before Bucky catches up to her. In one swift move, he lifts her up and tosses her over his shoulder, smacking her backside before climbing the stairs. Jo laughs and enjoys the view of his muscled back beneath her hands.

Bucky doesn't put Jo down outside her apartment. Instead, she hands him her keys, and he unlocks the door while holding her with one arm around her thighs. He doesn't set her down in the living room either; he carries her all the way through the apartment to her bedroom and tosses her gently onto her bed. Jo bounces once and laughs before sliding out of his jacket, kicking off her shoes, and pulling Bucky toward her.

"Come here," she says, releasing his dog tags from beneath the collar of his shirt and tugging gently on the chain.

Bucky steps out of his own shoes and climbs onto the bed, hovering over Jo. He pushes a strand of hair out of her face and stares at her. Her lipstick is faded from dinner and their kisses, but her cheeks and chest are flushed red in its place.

“You’re beautiful, Jo,” Bucky says, and he leans down and kisses her gently. They stay like that for a while, kissing slowly, finally breaking away for air and for Bucky to spread kisses across Jo’s jaw and neck.

“Bucky?” Jo whispers. He hums in acknowledgment, his lips pressed against her collarbone. “You're in charge, okay?”

Bucky exhales slowly, his fingers trailing up and down Jo's sides. “Good," he says. "Because first I'm going to make you come apart on my fingers, then my tongue, then my cock."

Jo practically whimpers, and her back arches, her chest pushing toward Bucky’s hands as they trail across her breasts then down to untuck her shirt. His fingers move quickly over the buttons on her blouse, and he parts the fabric to reveal the black lace of her bra. He leans back slightly and takes in the sight of her pierced nipples pressing against the fabric.

"Gorgeous," her murmurs before laving at one of her nipples through the lace. He leans back again and pulls the fabric down to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

Jo sighs and weaves her fingers into Bucky's hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. Bucky growls against her breast, and his fingers move to the button of her jeans, popping it open and tugging the zipper down. His flesh hand dives beneath the waist of her underwear, and his fingers ghost over her clit. He's moving purely on instinct and maybe, he thinks, muscle memory.

“Bucky,” Jo whines as his hand dips lower, two fingers sinking into her wet heat.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He presses one more kiss to her nipple before claiming her lips again. He strokes her slowly, enjoying the way her walls clamp around his fingers and her eyes fall shut.

“More,” she pleads, and Bucky smirks against her lips. He crooks his fingers and presses his thumb against her clit until she’s gasping.

“Look at me when I make you come,” Bucky whispers, increasing the speed of his thrusts, his thumb pressing harder against Jo’s clit. He feels her tighten around his fingers, and she keens, arching her back, her eyes flying open and locking on Bucky’s. “Good girl,” he praises, and he adds a third finger as she clenches around him and digs her own fingers into the bed sheets, coming undone on his hand.

Bucky slips his fingers out of her and tugs her jeans and underwear down her legs, tossing them on the floor. His hands slide up her legs, over the curve of her hips and across her stomach to reach behind her back and unhook her bra. Jo sits up and shrugs out of her blouse and bra, letting Bucky throw them aside. His hand on her shoulder guides her to lay back down.

Bucky sits back on his heels and takes in the sight of her, from her flushed cheeks to the barbells pierced through her nipples to the trim patch of hair between her legs.

“Fuck, doll, look at you,” Bucky finally says, licking his bottom lip.

Jo breathes out a laugh and pushes at Bucky’s shirt until he’s pulling it over his head. He stands from the bed to pull his jeans off, as well, keeping his boxers on for now, then returns to her, his lips finding hers again. Their teeth clash, and Bucky’s fingers dig into the skin at Jo’s hips, holding her in place, keeping her from pressing up against his crotch.

“Be still,” he whispers, and his teeth nip at her jaw.

Bucky runs his tongue down her neck to the top of her left breast where he stops to suck a bruise into her tender flesh. He soothes the spot with his tongue and a kiss before continuing his path down her stomach to her hip. He uses his tongue to trace the floral pattern inked on the outside of her left hip down the top of her thigh and across to her cunt.

Bucky's heated breath ghosts across her sensitive flesh, and Jo gasps when he dips his tongue into her folds. He laps at her slowly, then sucks her clit between his lips, and Jo’s back arches and her whole body seems to rise off the bed.

“Be. Still,” he hisses again, and his arms wrap around the backs of her thighs to hold her in place.

“There," Jo whines. "Don’t stop. Please."

Bucky shifts his own hips against the bed, seeking any form of relief. He loves the sounds he's pulling from Jo, loves the way she tastes, and the way she ruts against him, despite his iron grip on her thighs. Later, he thinks, I'll lie on my back and let her ride my face until her legs collapse.

Stars explode behind her eyes when Jo comes, and a scream is caught in her throat. Bucky places a final kiss against her cunt, then pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jo reaches for him. He kicks off his boxers before settling back over her. She can feel him hot and hard against her thigh, and Bucky reaches down to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin back with a groan.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, his eyes meeting hers.

Jo nods and cups Bucky’s face in her hands. “Are you?” she asks.

"Yes. God, yes," Bucky groans. He hasn’t wanted — needed — anything this badly in so long.

Jo wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. Bucky fists his cock, running it along her folds to gather her slick, before pushing forward, sheathing himself inside her in one thrust. Jo gasps, her head falling back against the pillows, her neck bared for Bucky’s lips and tongue.

Bucky’s vibranium fist is clenched so tightly in the sheets he thinks he might rip them. He relaxes his hand slowly, the plates that work as his muscles whirring quietly beside Jo’s ear.

Bucky groans against Jo’s neck. “Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me.”

He holds himself very still, giving Jo time to adjust to him, until her hips rise to meet his. He sets a slow pace at first, enjoying the way her body flutters around him. Jo digs her short nails into the skin of his shoulders, and Bucky is surprised to find he likes the slight sting. He shifts her legs even wider with his large hands on her thighs and sits back slightly to watch himself sink into her over and over.

Jo's hands drop to his waist, and she caresses the skin there gently before whispering, "Faster, please."

Bucky practically growls at her request before pulling back and snapping his hips against hers at a frantic pace. Jo keens, and Bucky shifts again to press his body over hers, covering her completely. She can feel his dog tags against her heated chest. He watches her bite her bottom lip, her green eyes meeting his. Jo is lost in his eyes, his pupils blown wide; the look he's giving her somewhere between awe and adoration, and Jo is certain the look in her eyes mirrors his because she is so far gone for him.

“I want to see you come again, pretty girl. Give me one more,” Bucky demands, his thumb rubbing harsh circles against her clit.

That simple command is all it takes to send Jo spiraling over the edge for a third time. Bucky follows behind with a low groan, tensing and burying himself deep within her. He drops his weight on top of her briefly, his head resting against her shoulder, before pulling away and rolling onto his back, bringing Jo into his side.

They lay like that for a while, Bucky running his flesh hand up and down Jo's arm while Jo presses lazy kisses against Bucky's chest. Eventually, she excuses herself to take her contacts out and wash her face, tossing Bucky a clean washcloth from the bathroom door, and when she slides back in bed, Bucky is on her again. He makes good on his promise to himself to have her cunt over his face, pulling another orgasm from her before she falls onto the bed beside him, laughing.

He takes her face in his hands and sweeps his fingers across her cheeks gently. He wants to tell her how amazing she is, how happy he is to have met her, how wonderful the past few days have been, but he isn't sure how to put all of that into words. Not yet.

So, he rolls them both onto their sides, her back pressed against his chest and his flesh arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Jo hums and laces her fingers with Bucky's, her eyes closing. She's warm and happy and sleep is calling her name.

_____

Bucky wakes an hour or so after he's fallen asleep, the beginnings of a nightmare fresh in his mind. When his senses clear, and he feels Jo's body pressed against his, he feels calm. He uses the arm wrapped around her to pull her closer to him and presses kisses against her shoulder until she stirs.

Jo mumbles sleepily and pushes back against him, Bucky's cock nestled against her lower back. His fingers find her cunt, and she's still slick with evidence of their earlier encounter. He presses inside her slowly, groaning as he fills her, her walls tightening around him.

"Bucky," Jo sighs, her hand moving back to grip his hip as he ruts into her.

When he comes, he sinks his teeth into her shoulder to stifle his cry, then runs his tongue across the spot to soothe the sting. Jo drags the hand wrapped around her up to her mouth and kisses his palm. He tries to remember what he would have said to a woman in this situation eighty years ago, but the romantic words don't come.

Instead, he whispers, "I really like you, Jo," against her shoulder.

Jo laughs sleepily. "Good. I like you, too, Sarge."

_____

When Bucky wakes the second time, he’s alone. He can hear faint music coming from another room. He checks his phone. 6:00 AM. He slips out of bed and slides his boxers on.

The apartment is still dark with all the curtains closed, apart from light spilling from a crack in the music room door. Bucky finds Jo sitting on the floor, a guitar in her lap. He knocks and pushes the door open further. Jo turns to look up at him and smiles.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” she asks. Bucky shakes his head no. “I don’t always sleep well,” she says.

Bucky sits on the floor with her, his back propped against the wall. Jo has to stop herself from staring at his muscled chest and thighs.

"Play me something, doll," Bucky says, resting his head against the wall behind him.

She runs through a couple of songs while Bucky replays the events of last night in his mind.

"Shit!" he says suddenly, sitting up straight. Jo stops strumming and looks at him, bewildered. "I didn't wear a condom," he says.

“It’s okay. I have an IUD so I can’t get pregnant," she tells him. "And I’m disease free. I assume you are...you know, with all that super soldier serum running through your veins," she gestures toward him.

Bucky nods but stays silent.

“Do you know what an IUD is?” she asks in response to his silence.

He blushes. “When the government pardoned me, they made me do a complete physical — doctors poking and prodding me," he shudders involuntarily. "So yeah, I'm clean. Afterwards, I don’t think they really knew what to do with me, so they gave me a bunch of pamphlets on everything from mental health to safe sex.”

Jo hums and mutters something about the state of the American public health system.

“We should have had this conversation before we slept together," Bucky finally says. "That’s what the pamphlets recommend.”

Jo tosses her head back and laughs, and Bucky beams with pride at the sight.

“Come on, Sarge," she says, setting her guitar aside, "I’m taking you to breakfast."

_____

next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x original character #bucky x original female character

[captain-sparklefingers]

CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: Billy Batson / Shazam  FACECLAIM: Alberto Rosende / Zachary Levi AFFILIATIONS: Nomads AGE: 26 SPECIES: Metahuman IS YOUR CHARACTER’S IDENTITY SECRET OR PUBLIC? Secret IF SECRET, OR YOUR CHARACTER IS A CIVILIAN, DO THEY HAVE A CIVILIAN OCCUPATION? Bar singer DOES YOUR CHARACTER LIVE IN THE MOUSEHOLE? IF SO, WHAT ARE THEIR DUTIES? Yes, he does, and he’s a farmer

 DESCRIBE SIX TRAITS YOUR CHARACTER HAS AND HOW THESE AFFECT THEM:

+Kind Hearted: One of the reasons why he decided to use his powers for good, was exactly because of that. He hated seeing people suffering, he could have not known what to do with them in the beginning, but when he learned, he promised himself he would do everything in his power to protect others.

+Selfless: sometimes some would say he was even a little too much. He tended to always put other people's lives first. Luckily, when he was Shazam, that got him into less trouble, perks of having powers, but when he was a mere human, anyone could hurt him, which happened before.

+Loyal: he takes a long time to trust you, but when he does, he almost turns into a dog. He wouldn't ever betray you, would be by your side until your dying day. He would protect you no matter what. You could call him at 3 am saying that you're feeling sad and down, that he would go running to your place to cheer you up.

- Impulsive: he had gone to the field many times without a plan before, because the only thing he could think about when he saw someone in trouble, was that he needed to save the person. When he was the big guy, he tended to have a lot of wisdom, the same couldn't be said when he was just Billy. Despite being an adult, only four years away from his thirties, he wasn't the wisest on some occasions. But some have said that he could give some pretty good advices sometimes.

- Paranoid: when he starts to like someone, he tends to already start to imagine them leaving him, not wanting to have him in their lives anymore. His head starts to scream for him to run, so he doesn't get hurt, that little voice always shows up when he's already terrified of losing someone. He learned to deal with that, not let that control his actions, even if a lot of times, that little voice is still there, in the corner of his mind.

- Closed off: he hides how he feels 90% of the time, mostly negative feelings, because the happy ones, he tends to want to scream to the world, with the exception of love, which is extremely hard for him to talk about, especially to the person that he feels that toward. He took so long to tell his ex how he felt, actually he was only brave enough to do it when she said it first. But it wasn't just when he felt it romantically, platonic love was hard too, just not as much as the former.

POWERS AND/OR ABILITIES:

Wisdom of Solomon: Due to Solomon's blessings, Shazam has instant access to a vast level of scholarly knowledge. Billy describes this ability as a feeling and a moral compass.

Powers related to the above:

Clairvoyance: The wisdom of Solomon gives Billy clairvoyance and provides him with counsel and advice in times of need.

Divine Grace: Billy has the wisdom of Solomon which allows finesse in actions and dealings with others.

Eidetic Memory: Through Solomon's wisdom, Batson is capable of memorizing anything he sees.

Tactics of War: Through Solomon's blessings, Billy is an accomplished tactician.

Mathematics: Through Solomon's blessings, Billy is an accomplished mathematician.

Multilingualism: Through Solomon's wisdom, Shazam can speak any language when transformed. He has been shown to speak decent Arabic and Japanese.

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Strength of Hercules: With the blessings of Hercules, Billy's strength is greatly increased. He is able to crack concrete, bend steel, and could even fight toe-to-toe with Superman.

Powers related with the above:

Super-Leaping: With Hercules's blessing, Billy is able to use his strong leg muscles to leap far distances in a single bound.

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Stamina of Atlas: With the blessings of Atlas, Billy canendure great physical exertion without tiring while in his empowered form.

Powers related to the above:

Self-Sustenance: Because of Atlas' blessings, Shazam is able to survive without food, water or any other sort of sustenance while in his empowered form.

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Power of Zeus: Zeus' power, besides fueling the magic thunderbolt that transforms Billy, also enhances his other physical abilities and allows for inter-dimensional travel and the casting of various mystical spells. Most notably, this power allows Shazam to manipulate and control the "living lightning".

Powers related to the above

Accelerated Healing: He displayed the ability to use the transformative lightning to heal others or himself instantly from wounds inflicted on his mortal form.

Dimensional Travel: Shazam can access the Rock of Eternity whenever he wants, which sits at the center of the Multiverse. Shazam was also able to forcibly transport the Wizard to the Rock of Eternity through a bolt of his lightning.

Electrokinesis: Shazam is able to generate and manipulate the "living lightning", which is the magical lightning that transforms him into Shazam. He can project the energy from his fingertips and even use the lightning bolt as a weapon by dodging it and allowing it to strike an opponent or other target.

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Magic: As the wielder of Shazam's power, Billy is capable of casting magic spells for various purposes. While originally not well-versed in magic, Billy eventually learned to cast precise spells from the Book of Champions.

Powers related to the above

Power Distribution: As Shazam, Billy can share a portion of his magical powers with anyone akin to family that he so chooses, giving both similar and different powers of their own based on their personalities. The Wizard considers this "sharing spell" the greatest of Billy's powers.

Size Alteration: Shazam has used a spell to shrink down to the size of Mister Mind, in order to fight him inside his father's head.

Summoning: By saying "Ala-Ka-Zamm!" Shazam was able to summon a ping-pong table into the Justice League Headquarters.

Thermal-Blast: Through a spell, Shazam was able to ignite a blast of Superboy-Prime's ice breath into flames, and redirect the blast at him.  

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Courage of Achilles: This aspect is physical and partly psychological, and gives Billy superhuman amounts of inner strength to draw off from, while also making him indestructible to harm. Bullets have no effect on Billy, and conventional weaponry does nothing to his physical body as well. Only the most powerful of superhumans can topple him. He withstood a punch from an enraged Superman without any noticeable pain and injury afterwards.

Powers related to the above

Indomitable Will: Because of Achilles', blessing Shazam is very strong willed in his actions.

Immortality: As long as he remains in his empowered form he doesn't age

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Speed of Mercury: With the blessings of Mercury, Billy can run as fast as a bolt of lightning, this means Billy can at least run a third of the speed of light.

Powers related to the above

Flight: With Mercury's blessing, Billy is able to hover or out right fly at high speeds.

Superhuman Reflexes: Shazam's reflexes are heightened to superhuman levels.

WEAKNESSES:

Vocal reliance: The spell that allows Billy to transform into Shazam is purely vocal. Therefore, if he is prevented from speaking, such as being gagged, he will not be able to transform.

IC PORTION; DETAILS —

WHAT BROUGHT YOUR CHARACTER TO SOKOVIA?  He moved from his hometown, because he thought that Sokovia needed help. He saw everything that was going on, and thought that maybe they needed a little hand. It was a hard decision, because he would be far from his family, but knowing he would have people he was close to there, he felt a little more at ease, he wouldn’t be alone. DID THEY SIGN THE ACCORDS? WHY OR WHY NOT? No, and is shocked by the vigilantes that did, especially Clark. He doesn’t see why anyone would agree with such thing, it was so clear to him that it was some kind of plan Lex created to take over the world. He didn’t trust him. PROVIDE 3-5 HEADCANONS RELATED TO YOUR CHARACTER:

Music is his passion, and he even thought about making a career out of it, but decided against. If people paid more attention to him, would make things harder, so he went for a job that had to do it with, but that he wouldn't get famous over it.

He always wanted pets, but never adopted one because his fear of them getting hurt because of him and his fighting crime job, was bigger.

He also loves dancing, and he is good at it. There are some occasions that he gets really shy, but dancing and singing, are not one of them. He finds so easy to move his hips.

Sometimes he stands on the bed while listening to music, and play air guitars and drums. He had been caught doing it before, many times by his adoptive parents and family.

WANTED CHARACTER CONNECTIONS:

People he joined forces for a mission: vigilantes are always running into each other, so he probably bumped on more than a few of them while working before the accords, and joined forces to stop whatever threat that was going on.

People he met in college: this one probably gonna be a little harder, but if your character has the same age as him or close, maybe they could have met when he was in college.

People that watched one of his gigs: even before going to Sokovia, he played and sang in a bar, so if they lived in Fawcett City or visited it, maybe they could have watched he sing? 

CHARACTER BIO — tw alcoholism, vomit, death

Sometimes people that are parents, shouldn’t have become one. Billy Batson was born in Fawcett City, he never met his dad, because he left before the boy was born, so growing up without a dad was already hard, on top of that, his mother was not the greatest one. She drank, a lot. He had seen many times her either sleeping on the couch, with a bunch of empty bottles on the floor, or in the bathroom throwing up. It was hard to deal with it, he was just a kid, he was supposed to be enjoying his childhood, instead he had to take care of a woman that didn’t know when to stop. He had to be an adult, while his friends were outside playing.

She was a mess, which was why no one was surprised when her son was taken away from her and placed in an orphanage. Not that he was that thrilled about it, but he could finally rest. It was exhausting having to look after his mom, many times he had to clean her vomit off her bed or the floor. Maybe he could finally be a kid. He was lucky to be part of an orphanage filled with lovely people. Not all of them were like that, but the staff, they treated him well, however, he didn’t feel like they were a family. Speaking of it, took him a long time to find one that wanted to keep him. He went to one foster house to another, no one wanted him. Couples usually adopted a kid with this perfect image of a family in their head, and Billy just wasn’t the kind of kid that fit into that narrative. He was constantly getting himself into trouble, and running away from their home. He was a problematic kid, because staying 8 years in a home like the one he grew up in, scarred him. He got better as he got older, but it took him to finally find a loving family, and until nowadays, he had to deal with the aftermath of the things he had to face as a kid.

No one was ready to deal with him, so usually they gave up, except for one family. The moment that he met the Vasquez family, he could already notice that there was something different about them, the other families were also sweet at first, sure, but they were different, he could feel just how much they seemed to love him already, and since they had 5 other kids that they also adopted, it was hard to see them as bad people, still, the mere thought of them disappointing him, made him try to run away. It was in that day, that his life would stop being ordinary.

One moment he was in a subway, in the other he was in some kind of cave. He thought that he was dreaming for a moment, who would think that something like that was possible? Especially since there was a wizard there who gave him powers and told him that he was the chosen one. In a blink of an eye, he was an adult, or at least seemed to be in the body of one. After getting out of that cave, he started to freak out, talking out loud to no one in particular, mumbling about how on earth was he supposed to fix this? And why the heck it had to happen to him from all the people in that city? He knew that he would need someone’s help, and the first person that came to mind was Freddy.

Despite the fact that he was planning to run away and never look back, he knew that the boy would help him without hesitating, and for his delight, he did. It was hard to find out how he could go back to his fourteen year old self, but eventually they did. It was so simple, all he had to do was yell the same name that he had to yell in the cave, and shortly after, he was back to his normal self. That didn’t really take away his powers, he could go back to being Shazam at any moment he wanted, so he stayed in the Vasquez home, and his new foster brother helped him to train.

It wasn’t easy, and honestly, he was clearly not ready to be a hero, but he had to be, there was an evil man that he needed to defeat, he was strong. At first he didn’t want to, he didn’t think he would win, he was scared to die, but the moment that he threatened his new family, which after some time really grew on him, it awoke something in him, but the guy was stronger, he would need help. He had to give his siblings powers, the same way that the wizard did to him, together they were unstoppable. They were able to stop Sivana.

After that, Billy’s vigilante duty didn’t end, he continued it, and so did his siblings. Many threats came, and they stopped them all, they were making the world a better place. They could not be capable of changing the whole world, but a small part was still something. As time passed by, Billy had to juggle his secret life with his social and academic one. Found himself a girlfriend, finished high school, started college. It wasn’t an easy task, but he refused to give up of his mundane life or his vigilante one. He continued, and after some time he successfully graduated in music. He found a job in that area, a small little bar that needed a singer for the band that played there.

He had a girlfriend, a job he loved, and a family that were always there for him, not to mention plenty of friends that he never thought he would be able to even meet. Three big heroes that clearly adored him, Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman. Not only he could call them friends, but they were one of the biggest reasons why he had the strength to continue, he met Superman when he was only fourteen and still new to the whole hero thing, he guided him, the three of them did. They taught him so much, he felt like he owes them for the rest of his life, they were his second family.

His life could not have been the best, but at that moment in his life, he could say that it was almost perfect. It had downs like anyone else’s life, like when his best friend died, because he was in the wrong time, in the wrong place, Billy blamed himself for it, as he passed because the bullets that ricocheted him, went straight to the other boy.  He learned to deal with the guilt, but there were many days that he still thinks about it, and if it was really his fault. Another thing that he blames himself for, was the end of his relationship, wonders if it could have lasted if he was a better boyfriend.

Things slowly started to get better, but like mentioned, life had many downs. What happened in Sokovia, the accords,  it definitely affected him in such a huge way. Not just because he didn’t think that it was fair, but because he found out that one of the people that he trusted the most, Clark Kent, signed it. It infuriated him, how could he do such thing?! He thought he knew him, but apparently he didn’t.

He stayed months trying to decide whether he would move there or not, one more hero is never a bad thing. No matter how dangerous the situation was, he was willing to take the risk. He texted both Bruce and Diana almost daily, both because he missed them, and because he wanted to make sure they were safe and sound. He was still mad at Clark, but he still cared about him, he thought about texting him, he wrote a variety of them, but never sent it.

Months later, he finally decided that he should move, it would be hard to be away from his family, but he knew this was for a greater good, he had to be strong, so in 2018, he packed his things, and went to Sokovia. Without thinking twice, he became a member of the group that they were calling the Nomads, it was time to save that city.

#bio #srisingintro #tw death #tw vomit #tw alchoholism

[seasonsofeverlark]

Oktoberfest Effect

Author: @alliswell21​

Prompt: Town boys (drunk?) dare each other to venture into woods (Halloween night? [Oktoberfest]). Katniss saves Peeta (from peacekeepers? storm?) by pulling him into a cave for the night. (Drunk Peeta talks too much and is cuddly?) [submitted by @567inpanem​] 

Rating: Teen (for drunkenness)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @mandelion82 for lending me her beta services, and being a generally awesome cheerleader! Thank you @567inpanem for the prompt, I hope it brings you joy! Thank y’all for reading! 

Oktoberfest, originally from Munich, Germany, is a two week folkloric festival, celebrated between the third Sunday of September and the first Sunday of October. Copious amounts of beer get served worldwide to celebrate Oktoberfest…👀this fic doesn’t reflected the cultural richness of the festival and or what it represents!👀

Tags: In Panem AU; No Games AU; Not representative of Oktoberfest; Drunken Shenanigans; Thunder storms; Snarky!Everlark; Humor; Blink-and-you-Miss-it fluff. One Shot.

———————

Oktoberfest is one of my least favorite festivals in the small repertory of celebrations my District is allowed. 

It’s usually held in the beginning of October, after the first showers of Fall, and tends to last all day long, severely cutting into my hunting time in the woods, which comprises the bulk of my family’s livelihood. My mother is a healer, but people used to struggle to pay for her services back in the day, so she stopped charging anyone; people gave her what they could: rations, produce from their squalid gardens, old clothes and such. You’d think people would pay with coins, now that things have improved for common folks, but some habits die hard.

It’s probably the same reason we keep observing a holiday that’s real meaning has been lost to Panem since before the Dark Days; people just know that at some point, Oktoberfest was celebrated around this time, and people ate and drank ale by the bucketfuls, so that’s what they do today. 

By the same token, it’s the most popular festivity in District 12, since it’s the only day of the year in which drinking is sanctioned and even encouraged by the higher-ups of government. Trains come carrying ale, spiked ciders, and even hard liquor for the celebration. People like Ms. Ripper, who sells moonshine and white liquor in our black market, better known as The Hob, have free range to sell their wares openly, without suffering repercussions. 

The meek, dull denizens of District 12 drink the spirits by the gallons, just for the one day, and pass out in the most unseemly places around town, like savages. If something had become clear to me with the passing years, it’s that people tend to enjoy drunkenness to soothe their woes away, so it’s natural everyone embraces Oktoberfest.

But, as with everything, things aren’t as bleak as I tend to see them myself.

“Katniss!” My sister, Prim, calls breathlessly from the maypole circle, beckoning me over with one hand, while holding a bright, yellow ribbon in her other, “There still are a few ribbons left!” She shouts excitedly, her meaning plain: she wants me to join in the festivities.

Normally I’d shy away from any and all activities that would have me interacting directly with the townsfolk. It’s nothing personal against them, I’m just not used to being touched by anyone, except for my family, and weaving ribbons around the maypole practically ensures I’d be brushing up against any number of strangers …but, there are worse games to play, and I could never deny my sister anything, not even this. 

I make my way to Prim and reluctantly snatch up a pale blue ribbon from the ground. My sister’s smile is so bright I almost relax when the music starts, and the dancers take to moving in and out around the pole. 

It isn’t as bad as I was dreading it to be. The music is lively; the fiddler follows the dancers while the rest of the band plays on the makeshift stage a few feet away, and the pole is relatively short and moderately wide, so we make quick work of braiding a pretty pattern in one go. Also, people are at a respectable distance from one another, and most everyone feels as awkward around me as I feel around them, so they just give a wide berth when they pass me by.

Prim and I are laughing when the song comes to an end, and we take a minute to admire the pole’s multicolored design. 

There’s a line of smiling people waiting in the fringes to take the ribbons the opposite direction to unravel them and weave them together again. 

I pull Prim into a hug and kiss her blonde head, fondly. “Let’s give somebody else a turn, Little Duck.” Prim narrows her eyes just a smidge; she’s almost 16 and doesn’t appreciate the nickname as much anymore. “Let’s put some warm apple cider into you, yes?” 

Joy returns to her baby blues immediately. “Yes! We should go find Mother as well!” she says excitedly. 

“Let’s go then!” 

After finding our mother in the crowd, and haggling over three cups of cider and one bag of boiled peanuts, our mother suggests we go home early, before the party gets rowdy. 

An unfortunate byproduct of Oktoberfest with all the unchecked drinking is men get loud, bold and stupid. Better to clear out before that happens, because while crimes aren’t tolerated— under the influence or sober—people tend to get belligerent when alcohol is involved. 

President Snow died years ago, when I was Prim’s age. Many things changed drastically, like the abolishment of the Hunger Games, and a slightly better salary for miners, but the seemingly tolerant new government of Panem gives men a strange leave to criticize the Capitol while drunk…which technically, is still a crime in today’s Panem, just not as mortally dangerous anymore. Still, women try to haul their spouses home before they can say something incriminating and land themselves in prison.

Nothing can be done about the youngsters, though. 

With women trying to keep a leash and muzzle over the men, the teenagers have unhindered access to alcohol and close to no supervision; although spirits are supposedly only served to people 17 and older, I wouldn’t put it past the vendors to look the other way if a group of merchant kids pass a few extra coins across the table, when nobody is watching. 

If grown up men are loud, bold and stupid while drunk, teen and young adult men are even worse, and that’s without a gaggle of equally intoxicated girls egging them on.

This year— as in every Oktoberfest— the electric fence surrounding the district lays dormant and harmless, lest one of the hundreds of inebriated fools roaming the meadow fall into the wires and fry themselves upon accident.

Not that the Capitol cares if a few malnourished— probably discontented— miners fall dead during a district festival; people in 12 used to keel over from starvation all the time back under Snow’s regime, but those deaths were usually chalked up to any number of unrelated causes: pneumonia, heart weakness, black lung disease…anything, except starvation. But dying electrocuted on the very fence that’s supposed to keep us safe in our little district is unthinkable! The fence is there to keep dangerous beasts— and nutritious game alike— away from us.

District 12 remains that enduring jewel of Panem, where you can starve in safety! All we need is to drink the memory of our empty pantries away for another year, and everyone is happy. I sigh. At least they did away with the Hunger Games; now we have singing contests and trivia challenges playing on national television instead of the blood shed of innocent teenagers, which is certainly an improvement. Somehow it’s still not a fair bargain, but district folk will never complain about this particular trade; our children are safe, and we get to watch Capitol people make fools of themselves in front of everyone.

Mother, Prim and I make it home early enough to make a quick supper of roasted potatoes, salted fish and the last of the bakery bread I traded for this week. I make a mental note to bring down a couple squirrels to trade with the baker for more bread. The man is one of the few I can regularly count on to trade fairly with, so I always save him the best of my squirrels. 

By the time dinner is being cleared off the table, I can hear the murmur of families returning home from the meadow. A surge of nervous energy takes over me. I start bouncing my leg restlessly, peeking at the old clock hanging on the wall. 

“Are you going out again?” asks my mother. Her tone is light and her eyes focused on the heap of plates and forks she’s balancing in her hands. I know better than to believe she’s alright with me leaving again. 

“For a while,” I answer. 

“You could get stuck out there!” says Prim, clearly displeased. 

“I’ve been working on a shelter, just in case. I’ll be back before dawn if I can help it,” I say, brokering no arguments.

“Be careful,” Prim mumbles, her blue eyes pleading.

I stand up from my chair and plant a kiss on the crown of her blonde head. “I promise. Now, go make sure Lady is secured before I leave. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas seeing a goat loose out there.” Not that anyone would cross me knowingly, but people get a lot dumber while drunk. 

The sun set on the horizon long ago, but all my years sneaking around urge me to blend instantly with the river of dark-haired children trailing their dark-haired mothers and fathers all over The Seam. It certainly is an entertaining sight; the children are immensely happier than their parents, of course, bouncing and giggling, carrying in their spindly arms their Oktoberfest bounty of apples and freshly picked ears of corn stuffed into old burlap sacks, prizes given to them by the Capitol for every one of those silly games they played at the festival. At least they know supper won’t consist of tesserae bread tonight.

Reaching the fence will be trickier now that the meadow is crawling with blond merchants and peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter of the fence ‘for our safety’. A few miners remain, helping with the cleanup process to earn some extra money, but they are so few I can’t use our physical similarities to hide in plain sight. The merchants, meandering around the meadow, throwing nervous glances at the fence every so often, pretending they don’t care the thing is off, certainly hinders my ability to sneak around. 

I wasn’t the only person who ventured outside the fence by any means. Historically, people have snuck under the barbed wire links in the past to steal apples and berries, when the hunger pains were scarier than the bears and wild dogs roaming the woods; necessity is a great incentive, it either makes you very brave or very reckless…but the few merchants still hanging out here only linger ‘cause an alcohol-fueled thrill holds them captive. Tomorrow, when they’re home nursing a head-splitting hangover, they’ll go back to cowering at the sight of the fence. 

There’s a group of towheaded youngsters, singing obnoxiously, near the edge of the meadow. 

I roll my eyes and try to ignore them for the time being. Meanwhile, I skirt around the maypole, pretending I’m admiring the workers’ effort, pulling the pole out of the ground to haul it into storage until next year. It’s a massive effort, but all I can do is lament how now there’s gonna be a soft spot in the ground for a while there, even after they fill it back with dirt and rocks. 

I curse darkly under my breath when I startle at the sight of two peacekeepers passing by the merchant boys.

The singing stops while the townies nod politely at the albino buzzards. The boys stare at the peacekeepers until they disappear at a bend behind a big, tall retention wall where the fence stops into a jagged corner, and then the young merchants do something very peculiar…they start a round of ‘Row Your Boat’, holding up their fingers in some sort of countdown. Their voices are so shrill and out of tune, everyone around covers their ears and looks the opposite way.

I cock my head, studying the boys. They’re clearly intoxicated: red noses and ears, laughing at nonsense, and the biggest telltale, a bottle of white liquor passing around their misshapen circle. I realize, they’re not all teenagers. A few of them I recognize from my days in school, and I know for a fact two of them are married, and at least one of them has a child on the way already. 

I roll my eyes at their childish behavior. 

The peacekeepers appear again in the distance, and the singers stop their song abruptly. One of the older guys lifts his fingers up, showing all ten digits; he closes his fists quickly and opens them again, now showing seven fingers. They all giggle like lunatics, and I lose interest in them.

I round the cleaning crew closest to the fence, but suddenly, one of the townies stands up and starts calling at the top of his lungs, startling me.

“Hey, you! The girl with the braid!”

I whip around, because I’m 99% sure he’s talking to me! I’ve worn my dark, Seam hair in a single braid down my back for the last 8 years or so; it’s practical, really, to keep it that way. But that’s besides the point.

I wear my fiercest scowl on my face, and I get an uncomfortable jolt to the stomach when I realize I know this guy, the one waving at me while his companions guffaw around him, still intoning their childish ditty. 

Peeta Mellark, the baker’s youngest son, a boy I owe the biggest debt of my entire life, and for the first time since I can remember, he’s meeting my gaze without wavering. 

Debt or not, I have half a mind to stomp his way, grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest tree in retaliation. My mouth opens to ask him what his problem is, when out of nowhere a pair of peacekeepers pop up from behind the retention wall, walking in the opposite direction of the previous set of guards. 

“Did you know it takes about a minute and a half to sing ‘Row Your Boat’ seventeen times?” Peeta Mellark chuckles, pink cheeks and nose, tilting his head towards the fence, and then his blue, sparkly eyes flit to the peacekeepers passing by; all the boys stop singing and nod at them in greeting. “Then, it takes like five minutes to sing something else, until we go back to Row Your Boat!” 

These guards must’ve crossed the other ones at some point while out of sight without me noticing. If I hadn’t been distracted by Peeta calling out to me, I would’ve run right into them on my way to the fence, if not flat out caught red-handed crossing into the woods, and how would I explain myself then?! Everyone in District 12 knows of my poaching proclivities, peacekeepers included, but that doesn’t mean I should go flaunting around my intention to trespass. Panem is still not completely free and whether people should have the right to escape into the woods for sustenance is still a murky topic…I’m not too keen on finding out if hunting is still a punishable crime by today’s parameters.

I turn my eyes back to Peeta, but he’s already singing and joking with his buddies, and although he seems to be invested in whatever shenanigans they’re doing, I’m not too sure he’s oblivious to me.  After all, he had to be watching me pretty closely to accurately guess I was close to being discovered. 

I huff. My debt to Peeta just increased, and I have no idea how to start paying him back for it. 

The peacekeepers are again out of sight; the merchants are singing again, and like before, people look away from their ruckus. There’s one boy with his fingers up…counting. 

Peeta’s watching me; he lifts 4 fingers offhandedly and turns to face his friends. 

Clever!

It’s a code, I gather. 

They’re timing the passing of the peacekeepers into the ‘blind spot’ with one song, then start a different one to predict when the keepers will be back on the retention wall.

I shake my head to clear off the hint of a smile taking over my face. The silly drunks aren’t as stupid as I thought, I guess. 

I make sure no one is looking my way; I also check the kid counting how many boats they’ve rowed, and leap closer to the spot I know there’s a loose link. I only have ten rows before the peacekeepers come back, so I make quick work out of the wires and slip to the other side fast. 

The drunk boys break into hoots and cheers once I’m in the woods, and despite myself, I look in their direction just to make sure nobody saw me scurrying out. I’m partially hidden by a tree, and should be safe now.

The cheering isn’t because I slipped out of the districteffectively; the boys are either harshly ruffling Peeta’s hair, or slapping him on the back. They’re all laughing and crowing something I can’t make out, but soon I see the glint of white uniforms out of the corner of my eyes, and hide deeper into the woods. 

I decide to check on my snares around here and head home right away. This was perhaps the worst entrance I’ve made into the woods, and too many know I’m out here as it is, but, if the townies are gonna act as a siren of sorts, better to use their system to my advantage. 

Then…I need to figure out how to finally speak to Peeta Mellark and start getting my ledger even with him. 

It’s completely dark by the time I reach my snares. I look at the sky and scowl. The stars are obscured, and the moon has a hazy ring around it. Clouds are rolling in too fast for my liking. Rain is coming, soon. So I make haste and run my fingers along the first wire I find. 

My snare wields two rabbits, and I bag them without resetting the traps. I figure one of these will be enough to hold my family over for a couple of days. I can make some coins out of the second rabbit, which should be enough until Oktoberfest has died down and business resumes as normal. It’s a good plan if I say so myself.

A peal of thunder breaks in the distance, and I grunt lowly. This night keeps getting worse by the minute; it’s good that I’m almost back to my entry point. I head back to the fence, where I can still hear the faint howls of laughter of the merchant boys. 

I’m 30 yards from the fence when another clap of thunder roars overhead, loud enough to reverberate in my bones; people beyond the fence shriek. I’ve only taken a step forward when lightning strikes, and I know the storm is hot on my heels. 

The chanting of the merchants is getting louder. I never thought I’d think this, but it’s a relief, knowing I can count on them to distract the patrols while I sneak back into the district. 

They’re egging and heckling each other like a bunch of rowdy hoodlums. 

“Go on! Ten coins says you won’t last a second!” 

“I say fifteen, if he brings back proof he was there!” 

Somebody belches loudly, making the rest giggle like school kids. 

I roll my eyes and try to concentrate on finding my loose wire in the distance. I’m only a few feet away from the fence, but it’s dark and windy. 

“Seeriouslee, though,” hiccups another, mispronouncing his words. “Gwhat should he…” hiccup, “bring?” Hiccup.

“Don’t know. A berry maybe,” 

“Or a bear bite!” cackles another. They all laugh boisterously. 

I wonder what they’re up to now. The fools! Don’t they know they should be running home for cover? The first raindrops are already falling. 

“Fine! Okay…I’ll do it! But I wanna see all that money now!” slurs a voice I recognize, because I heard it calling me less than twenty minutes ago. “Pay up!”

No! Not him! I think, feeling my stomach drop. Whatever it is they’re doing, doesn’t sound very smart. 

“Dis it?!” Peeta Mellark groans, “I’m taking all your money, so I can buy me a hen house! Dis not even ‘nough to buy me chicken feed!”

I hear grumbling nearby, and the clicking of metal, suspiciously similar to how coins sound falling on each other. I assume they’re shedding the rest of their money for Peeta to see. 

“‘Kay…‘Kay…better now. Okay. Imma go now. Hold me money, Rye…and don’t spend any of it! I counted it… it’s me money! Don’t steal it, or I tell Lavender you were smooching girls a week before you got married!” 

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t steal me money!”

“Fine!”

“Fine! And don’t tell father ‘bout dis either!”

Somebody yells, “Mellark, stop stalling!”

“Yeah! Get—“ hiccup, “on with it al—“ hiccup, “…ready!”

“Goin’, I’m goin’!” I hear a few murmurs.

I swear, Peeta Mellark! If you set foot in my woods, I’ll shoot you in the toes! 

I’m close enough to the fence to see a few lights flicking close by, but then another thunder drums, with a lightning to boot, and the rain droplets fall heavier. 

“Wait! White helmets!” hisses someone, and even I drop to the ground to hide. 

“Evenin,’ officers!” says Peeta. 

I can picture him in my mind’s eye, smiling the same way he used to in school when covering for one of his friends to the teachers. 

“Evening? It’s almost nine o’clock, boys!” says a woman. I’m not quite familiar with her voice, but I can surmise she’s one of the peacekeepers on patrol. “Curfew starts in 30 minutes, and a storm’s on its way. I suggest you all head to your houses.” 

“Yeah, we will finish pickin’ up our garbage and head right home, officer!” says Peeta, all polite and pleasant like. 

“Very well. You better clear out by the time we return, or we’ll have you spend the night in a cozy cell at the Justice Building,” says a gruff male voice, most likely the second peacekeeper. “Now, get on with the cleaning, gentlemen.” 

There’s a chorus of voices murmuring stuff like “Right away, sir!” and “Of course, officer.” A lot of movement and hushed conversations go on for a minute or so while I lay on my stomach like an idiot. 

I can only assume the peacekeepers are out of earshot when Peeta exclaims happily, “Aight! I’m goin’ in!” 

The others start fussing and protesting, talking over each other frantically: “You can’t go in!”, “Are you crazy?! You heard them, there’s a storm coming!”, “Stop being a damned hero, Mellark! You already showed us up, by speaking to Everdeen!” 

Peeta calls out, “Guys! Shut up! She’s the reason I wanna go in there! She ain’t back yet!” 

I frown. 

“Everdeen? Dude, she’s probably stalking a deer or somethin’…she’s fine!” says who I believe is his brother. 

“Well…but what if she needs help? Shouldn’t some’ne go get ‘er?” He sounds concerned and strangely hopeful. 

My stomach does a strange little flip at Peeta’s words, and then I have to shake my head to stop myself from being grateful for his concern. Outside of my family, Peeta Mellark seems to be the only person in this entire district who cares about me. 

“No! That girl’s half feral! All them wild things in the woods are probably more afraid of her than we are!” says Peeta’s brother. 

I find myself nodding in agreement, but scowling at the same time, because I’m not feral! I just hunt and enjoy the respect— bordering on fear— people have for me. 

It doesn’t matter, though! Right now I feel almost as silly as they sound, and I just want them to take Peeta home, so I can climb back into the district and go home myself.

“I’m still goin’ in!” I realize Peeta is looking for the spot I used to come into the woods, and I hear muttering and hissing trying to dissuade him from coming in, but he’s already pulling the wire the same way I did, and a moment later, he’s wiggling his broad frame under the fence like an inchworm rolling on salt. 

“No!” I huff under my breath, scrambling to get up, to push him back in the other direction, but then somebody is whispering harshly. 

“White helmets!” 

I’m not even surprised to hear Peeta’s so-called friends run away then. Coward merchants the lot of them!

A thunder booms above us, and I see Peeta struggling to pull through under the flash of the lightning that follows. It’s a miracle the peacekeepers haven’t seen him, splashing in the muddy pool forming rapidly under his body. 

“Ugh!” I finally find my feet and practically throw myself on top of his arms, to pull him in. 

Peeta shrieks, startled by my sudden appearance, so I slap a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. 

“Hush! Or they’ll find us!” 

I pull him further out from under the wire. He seems to realize what I’m trying to do and relaxes his muscles, letting me guide him forward while propelling himself with the toe of his boots. 

There’s a bush just two feet away from us. I drag him with me on all fours and crouch behind it until the peacekeepers’ flashlights disappear. 

“Hi!” says Peeta.

“Shush!” 

“Sorry!” he whispers…loudly.

“Quiet!” I hiss, bringing a finger to my mouth, as if I was dealing with a toddler instead of a 20-year-old man. 

“‘Kay,” he responds, this time in an actual whisper. 

I still roll my eyes at him. 

Thunder and lightning and cold, stabbing rain fall from the sky unrelenting. 

“Listen, we can’t stay here too long; we need to crawl back into the district!” I tell him, peeking from behind our hiding spot to make sure we are alone. I can’t see very far ahead, but it’s obvious the meadow is empty now. 

“What?!” he calls loudly. 

“For goodness sakes!” I mutter in frustration. “We need to crawl back into the district, or we’re gonna drown out here!” I’m having to yell so he can hear me over the rain.

“Oh! O-kay!” he says, smiling beguilingly at me. “I came to get you!” he yells. 

I look at him, trying to convey all the annoyance I’m feeling towards him right now with just my facial expression, but I guess the moonlight is so minimal he can’t see me, because all he does is smile back at me.

“You’re welcome!” he yells after a second in a self-satisfied tone.

“For what?” I snap.

“For rescuing you, of course!” 

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Rescuing— you…  what?!” I screech.

More thunder and lighting make it impossible to keep doing this where we are. And thanks to the storm, it’s too risky trying to crawl under the fence, too. Negotiating Peeta’s humongous body back under the railings in these conditions is just calling for trouble; we’ll either get found by the peacekeepers— if they’re still patrolling— or get hit by lightning; after all, the fence is meant to conduct electricity and fry whatever touches it. 

I’m lost in my head, thinking about our options at this point, when a bright flash cracks overhead, so strong, it makes everything look like it’s day time, and I fall back on my butt for how close Peeta’s face is to mine. 

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Wow! Has anyone ever told you, you have freckles over the bridge of your nose?” He asks, placing his two paw-like hands on my shoulders, pulling me back onto my haunches. “From close up, your face is as pretty as the night sky with all its coteslations!” 

“Hmm…no—nobody’s ever said…” I huff. “Come on. We can’t stay here.” I tell him, pulling him by the hem of his coat’s sleeve. “I think you meant ‘constellations’ by the way. Alcohol really messes up your speech, you know.” 

I think he says something, but I’m not sure, since the storm is swallowing up all the sounds around us. 

The going is slow, because we have to wait for lightning to illuminate our way, and once, I realized we were straying onto a different path from the place I have in mind. Plus, I have to keep trying to untangle myself from Peeta’s grasp, so I can feel around the way with my feet. Peeta talks too much…nonstop, and I think it’s mostly the alcohol talking, but ugh! Would it kill him to just be quiet for a second?!

He’s awfully clingy for such a big man. I mean, he’s grown a few inches since we were in school, and he used to be stocky and broad-shouldered, even as a teenager, on account of him being wrestling champion two years in a row, plus having to handle those heavy trays in the bakery and whatnot. 

I forgot where I was going with this?

Anyway, I hope the alcohol clears his system soon. He seems like an overgrown puppy at times, the way he trails after me and touches the end of my braid, which I guess he might be using as some kind of leash or rope to tether himself to me. Surprisingly, I don’t find it as annoying as I should. In fact, I find the warmth of his fingers… reassuring. 

“Stop!” I tell him, when I hear rustling nearby I know isn’t from the rain. 

A wild dog jumps in front of us, and I curse loudly. I should’ve grabbed my bow on our way out here, but I didn’t want Peeta to see my hiding spot; not that he’ll remember how to get to it, but he was able to find my loose chain in the fence, so…

I think the dog is coming after us. But before I can tell Peeta to run, he pulls me flush with his chest and somehow lifts me over his head like I weigh nothing. The dog is momentarily confused, and I take the chance to chuck one of my rabbits past it. The dumb animal looks at us curiously, but after a second, loses interest and goes for the easier, smaller prey.

I just got reminded of how strong Peeta is. 

“Thank you!” I call out when he lowers me back to his chest. “You can let go of me now. The dog’s gone, but there might be more around.” 

Peeta nods. His blue eyes are wide and alarmed, his cheeks, ruddy with booze just a few minutes ago, are drained of color. “Alright!” he gasps, clearly shaken.

I grab his arm and squeeze, leading him away from the spot. 

It’s times like these when I miss my old hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne; for starters, he would’ve had a bow on him…he would’ve shot and killed the dog. He would’ve had my back… but Peeta had my back this time, and he surely is no seasoned hunter, not even an outdoorsman, yet it was his quick thinking and sheer brute strength that saved my hide.

It’s also the reason Gale and I broke our partnership to begin with. Given the chance, he would’ve left Peeta stranded out here, instead of finding him shelter. But that’s his style, not mine, and Peeta has shown his worth twice tonight, inebriated as he is. 

I release a sigh of relief when I see the opening of a burrow on the side of a small hill. It’s not truly a cave; it’s much too shallow to be called that, but, I found it about a year ago, and have been carving it out little by little for these kinds of emergencies, when I need shelter on the run, and the concrete little shack by the lake is too far, and I want to stay close to the fence, anyway. 

“Oooh! Is this a cave? Is it abandoned? We ain’t gonna walk into some bear den or somethin’?” Peeta asks, bumping into my back when I stop to remove a few branches from the entrance of my little hiding spot. 

“Get in!” I command him, and he obeys at once. 

I take a few minutes to rearrange the branches at the mouth of the cave, just to keep the water from splashing inside, although we are soaked through our jackets. 

“Sit,” I tell him, bumping into him again when I turn to feel round the wall of the cave for my provisions. The little hollow is only 5 ft wide by 6 feet deep, so there isn’t much room to wiggle for two people even if we were both my size. 

Peeta has to hunch down as it is.

He’s quiet for the time being. My fingers touch the cool glass of the oil lamp I was feeling for, and right next to it, is a box of matches. I can finally breathe! 

I make quick work of the lamp, and we are finally in better shape than we were a moment ago. Peeta blinks owlishly at the lamp, and I can tell he’s surprised, but blinded by the sudden light. 

“Where are we?” Peeta asks in awe.

“It’s my emergency shelter,” I tell him, kicking a log from the back of the cave towards him. “Here, you don’t have to sit on the ground.” I tell him, watching him sitting almost directly in front of the entrance with his legs crossed.

“You have a shelter out here? I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were a genius!” 

My cheeks heat up for some reason. “Nah. It’s just common sense. Too many experiences out there without one. Whatever. Intelligence has nothing to do with this, really.” 

“So…do animals come in here?” he asks, turning his head around to study the place, not as nervously as before.

“No. It’s too small for a big animal’s den, and too big for a small critter’s burrow. It’s ‘me’ size because I’ve been digging it out little by little, and putting stuff in it for when I find myself in the same predicament we are in right now.” 

Peeta shifts to his knees and slowly stands up, hunching a smidge, ‘cause the cave ceiling is too low for him. He lumbers to the log I offered him earlier and sits on it heavily. 

“This place is great!” he states, looking at the crude shelving carved into the dirt where I keep the lamp, matches, a couple of cans of food I’ve agonized about leaving here because it feels like a waste, and things like spare arrowheads and fletchings; things that’d be useful in a pinch. 

I have a knife hidden inside the very log Peeta’s sitting on, but I’m not about to divulge that secret. It’s my last line of defense, and since I don’t have my bow on me, I feel safer knowing there’s at least one weapon in the cave I can count on. I need to bring a bow here at some point; I just haven’t found a good way to camouflage…yet.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. 

“Um, you can sit here,” says Peeta after a long moment passes in silence. “Plenty of room!” He motions to the log, scooting to free up some space.

It looks ridiculous, because there truly isn’t any room left on that log for me to sit. Peeta looks like a smushed rag-doll, sitting on a match box, and all the room he’s leaving next to him, is only big enough to accommodate a toothpick. 

“It’s okay,” I tell him, with a reluctant smile. “I’ll stand for now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, biting his lip guiltily. 

“Yeah. Let me be a generous host.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry,” he rushes to say. “You wouldn’t have to be playing host in your lovely cave if it wasn’t for me. Sorry I was so stupid,” he says sheepishly, “I should’ve known you had it under control before I tried coming in after you.”

“Oh…it’s alright. It was…touching. All those things you said back there.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. 

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he says, sounding almost sober. 

Another long minute goes by in silence. “Was that a wolf out there?” he asks suddenly. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought about kicking it, but I was afraid it would mangle up my leg, and then I’d get blood poisoned and since medicine is hard to come by, I probably would’ve lost my leg, and I’m not sure I’d be able to master a fake one…unless it was like a Capitol grade thing with robotic nerve connectors and the such… I read some man in District 3 figured out how to make prosthetics that you can control with a chip implanted in your brain!” 

I find myself laughing at his nonsense. And he seems to enjoy my laugh, because he keeps saying outrageous things, I can’t tell if he’s just making them up on the fly, or if he really read about them somewhere. 

I slide against the wall after a while, until I’m crouching close to the wet floor. Our clothes cling to our bodies, but most of the water has leaked off of us already, which is good, since I can’t light a fire inside the cave. 

“Are you hungry?” I ask him, interrupting his musings about how chewing gum is inherently evil, since we don’t have dentistry accessible in the districts. The boy really talks too much!

Peeta cranes his neck to glare at my game bag, which I recently placed by my feet. 

“What do you have there?” He asks, interested. 

“A rabbit. But we can’t eat that raw. We’d get sick with fever if we try. I wouldn’t recommend it,” I tell him. “But I have canned fruit we can share,” I offer. 

He makes an agreeing noise at the back of his throat. “I could eat.” 

“Fine. Um…close your eyes for a second. And don’t peek!” I chide. 

As with everything else I’ve commanded today, Peeta obeys without questioning, and soon I’m darting my hand into the end of the log, retrieving my knife. 

“Open your eyes,” I say. 

“Where did you get that from?!” he screeches, staring open-mouthed at my knife. 

“Secret compartment,” I deadpan.

“Well…I hope you’re not planning on stabbing me with that thing. That blade is bound to be dull now that you hacked into that can with it.”

“What does it matter if the blade’s dull?” I ask, exasperated.

“It’ll tear up my skin if you try stabbing me with it!” Peeta answers, arms moving in exaggerated arches,  “I much rather get a clean cut through, thank you very much!” 

What’s wrong with this boy?! He’s acting like discussing his own potential stabbing is an everyday thing.

“For your information, I’m pretty adept at sharpening things! And…Eww! Gross! Why would I wanna stab you?” I shudder. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do wounds, and I don’t do blood.” I pull a face, shivering.

“You kill things for a living!” He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Why, the inside of your bag is covered in dried blood from those bunnies right now!”

“Animals! I hunt animals! I don’t do people’s blood and stuff…gross!”

“You’re kinda squeamish for such a lethal thing, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up and eat your pears!” I shove the open can into his hands, and he stares suspiciously at me for a minute before digging in.

Peeta moves over a few more inches, and the toothpick space widens to a Katniss’-rearside-size spot. This time, I take his offer gratefully and sit down next to him. He passes the can to me when he’s done. 

“You know…this is the first time we’ve done something normal together,” he says, pensive.

“It’s the first time we’ve done anything together, Peeta, period!” 

Peeta gasps, and there’s silence for a second. “You’re amazing!” He says, staring and blinking at me while I chew, as if I truly was some extraordinary sight to behold.

I scowl. “Why? Because I fed you canned food in a torrential storm in the middle of the woods?” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. 

“Yeah…” he says dreamily, then scowls, then shakes his head. “Nah! You’re just…amazing! Even my mother says that you’re a survivor and the only thing District 12 has of worth…a better version of Haymitch Abernathy!”

Haymitch Abernathy is District 12’s one, and only living, Hunger Games Victor. He’s also a grumpy hermit, and a drunk, and the richest person in the district. Like me, he was born in the miners’ sector, nicknamed the Seam. People say Haymitch used to be smart as a whip, and a looker too, but now he’s just a paunchy, middle aged man, with anger issues. 

“Well, that’s not much of a compliment, is it?” I wrinkle my nose.

Peeta laughs, brushing his shoulder against mine…but that’s to be expected, he’s a giant after all, and the cave is practically a tall dresser. 

“No, I guess it’s not. But father always gushes about your squirrels. Says you never hit the pelt. You always shoot them right through the eye!” 

“Well, anyone can do that with enough practice.” I shrug.

Peeta snorts, and his knee presses against mine. “I wish I could do even half of the stuff you do. You’re an amazing hunter, and smart, and so pretty, and you can bring down deer, and the way you are with your sister…well, my big brothers have never been doting with me as you are with Primrose.” He sighs, looking at the flickering flame of the oil lamp. “You are something else!” 

“I— that’s not…” I’m frustrated and embarrassed, so I snap, “I wouldn’t have been able to do, or be, any of those things without your help, so…there!”

He scoots closer to me. His body is strangely warm, even under the layers of wet clothes. There’s bewilderment in his blue eyes, and for some reason, I can’t look away from the way his hair is all matted to his forehead. He looks boyish. Kinda cute. 

“What do you mean?” He asks in a small voice. 

I chuff. “Well, it was like today,” I start, leaning back, averting my eyes. He smells of spirits, but weirdly enough, I’m not repulsed by the scent. “You called out to me in the meadow, and I was about to rip you a new one, but then I realized you were trying to help me. Then, you save me from a wild dog, by doing something as simple as lifting me over your head, like I weighed nothing.” I feel small, all of eleven years old, and the fact that I’m wet to the bone and cold to the marrow doesn’t help my case. My voice comes out tiny, “You fed me when we were kids. I’ve never been able to even thank you for that!” I purse my lips to keep them from trembling, and blink some 28 times to keep from crying. 

Peeta sidles up against me. “Oh, Katniss,” he says low and reverently. I realize with a jolt, that it’s the first time he’s said my name. “You’re talking about the bread when we were kids?” His eyes glass over. “You can let that go now… after saving my ass tonight from the storm and the peacekeepers, I think you can count us even.” 

“How can you say that?” I demand, “You keep saving me, and I don’t know why?!”

“Really?” he asks, cocking his head sideways, scrunching his face, and shutting one eye like he can’t quite see me clearly with both eyes open; his tone isn’t malicious, just surprised. “You know why…at least, I think you should,” he says, shrugging and leaning closer. “I thought you’d notice how all of my friends were roasting me because I finally said something to you, and all I said was something lame about Row Your Boat.” He chuckles. “Fifteen years I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you, and when I finally do, I call you ‘ Hey, girl with the braid’ like an idiot!” He practically leans into me.  

“Fifteen years?” I ask, bewildered. 

“Yeah…” he trails off, his ears turning cherry red. “I seem to have harbored a crush on you since the first day of school, when we were five.” He slumps back against the wall, and suddenly I wish he was still draped over me, warming me up. 

“Really?” I ask, because this story seems far-fetched. 

“Oh yes! It’s a whole thing! Me being a goner from the moment I heard you singing that very first day…remind me to tell you all the gory details some day.” 

“You betcha,” I say, amused. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a dork, but hey! At least imma buy me some chickens to sell eggs, and save, to buy my father’s bakery one day, and then I’m gonna ask you out on a date or somethin’.”

“Uh— what? Really?!” I chuckle. 

Peeta yawns. “Yeah, Imma take you somewhere nice for a picnic, like Victor’s Village or something, and I’m gonna bring good bread this time! None of that burnt, soggy crap I threw at you when we were kids, but real, freshly baked bread. With butter. And probably canned pears, ‘cause those are my favorites now!”

“Okay,” I tell him, not completely sure why I’m agreeing to this. After all, I decided a long time ago I was never getting married or having any children, at least, not as long as the Hunger Games loomed over me; I won’t be stringing Peeta along either. Gale accused me of doing just that once, which I don’t think I did? The accusation still stung. 

Right now, it feels nice to think I could go on a date with this crazy merchant boy; and who knows?! 

“Buttered bread sounds nice,” I say, sinking next to him. 

“This is nice!” Says Peeta, sleepily, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah…it is,” I agree, realizing just how steady and warm his arms are, even encased in wet clothing.

“Will you go out on a picnic with me, then?” He asks hopefully, yawning again. His eyes drooping with sleep. 

“I think I might,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this safe in anyone’s embrace since my father died when I was 11 and I stopped trusting my mother. “I think I will,”

I’m beginning to think that the alcohol fumes clinging to Peeta have gone to my head, and left me as simple minded as all the intoxicated people back home, maybe I have it wrong, and Oktoberfest does have its charm, because despite myself, it feels right to indulge in that fantasy tonight. After all, Peeta was the only person in the district back then, that cared enough about me and my family dying of hunger, to do anything about it. He gave me bread he purposely burned for me, all he gained was a bruised eye from his mother, and my inability to repay his kindness, for his generous gesture. 

“Good! Just a heads up, though, I’ll prolly propose to you at that picnic, ” he says. His eyes are already closed, and I roll mine in response. “What you think my odds are of you saying yes?” He snuggles up to me, his head falls onto my shoulder. 

“The odds might be in your favor,” I tell him softly; I’m not so sure I say that to humor him, though. I am really tired, and sleeping in his arms does sound like a luxury right now, so I’m gonna blame it on the ‘Oktoberfest effect’ in the morning. Plead sleep depravation insanity or something. “Night, Peeta,”

He mumbles a response, which turns into a slow snore. 

I close my eyes, smiling. 

I’ll indulge in the drunken ramblings of Peeta tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, and if the saying is right, the sun shines brightest after a storm…maybe it’s time I bask in the rays. 

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #autumn #prompt

[fangirlovestuff]

Cycle - Steve Rogers x reader ch.1

a/n- Hey lovely people! this was a one shot idea that spiralled into a multi-part series, and i am very very excited to post this! i actually identify with steve’s situation more than the reader’s, but we all have imaginations😂 also i suck at summaries but give it a chance! the divider is by the amazing @whimsicalrogers​, thank you so much! Enjoy<3

Summary: You want a relationship but keep getting tangled up in one night stands, while Steve just keeps getting himself friendzoned. When pollar opposites with the same desires meet, will you change each other’s lives? Will you break the cycle?

Word Count: ~2,420

Warnings: bad language, mentions of sex

The music was thumping in Steve's ears, way too loud as always but he learned to manage it. He tried tuning back in to Bucky and Sam's conversation, but his thoughts kept pulling him away. He liked going out with his friends, he really did, it's just that lately, life wasn't exactly working out the way he expected it to. Which is normal, I mean, no one's life is exactly like they imagined, but at this point it was getting ridiculous.

A pretty blonde was coming up to them, and Sam and Bucky elbowed Steve, drawing his attention towards her. His overly-supportive friends were, of course, nagging him to "get some" for a while now, and honestly, it wasn't Steve's fault he didn't. It wasn't for a lack of trying.

It's just that, well, Steve was a really nice guy. That was just who he is – sweet, attentive, caring. And he wanted to love someone, physically but also emotionally. But his character kept getting in his way. You see, he had many opportunities to get a girlfriend or even just a one-night stand, even though he wasn't that kinda guy. Plenty of beautiful women came up to him, he was Captain America for gosh sake. He was told he's also very good looking, but that's a matter of opinions. To himself, he still seemed like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn, just that he obviously didn't look the same. Still, none of Steve's thoughts about himself can change the fact he was a catch.

But every time he'd go on a date, or meet someone at a bar, he somehow said exactly the right things. So right in fact, that the women in front of him ended up confessing their secrets to him, opening up to him, trusting him immediately. One time the girl even started crying, a full-on sob session in the middle of the restaurant they were in. And of course, he'd comfort them, rubbing soothing circles across their backs, nodding in that understanding way of his, listening to them with genuine interest in his eyes, because that's just who he is.

And at the end of the night, when he asked, "can I see you again?" or "can I get your number?" they'd answer: "You're so sweet… but I think we would be better as friends, you know?"

He'd swallow a disappointed groan, smiling politely and saying "sure, that'd be nice."

And that's the story of how Steve Rogers ended up with tons of friends who were girls, but not one girlfriend to spare. Honestly, it was kind of sad that a man who listens gets automatically labeled as a friend who doesn't want to date the girl in front of him.

But it was getting sadder that he wasn't, as his friends so delicately put it, "getting some."

Presently, the blonde came up to them, waving and looking at Steve with interest in her eyes. "I'm Sharon," she introduced herself, "Wanna dance?" she smirked. From the corners of his eyes, he could see his friends glaring daggers at him, as if saying "if you say no, I will kick your ass so hard."

"Sure," he said, getting up. He took Sharon's hand and led their way to the dance floor. They danced for a while, moving against each other to the beat. They didn't talk much, because the music was so loud on the dance floor. After some time, Sharon pointed towards the bar and he nodded, feeling hopeful for the first time in a while.

They ordered their drinks, Steve insisting to pay for hers. From their place at the barstools, the music was still loud but bearable, so they could hear what the other was saying.

"So, what do you do?" Steve asked her.

"Well, I actually work at S.H.I.E.L.D," she smiled a little. "I saw you a couple of times but you seemed busy so I didn't come say hello," she shrugged apologetically.

This, of course, would be the time to say something smooth like "I'm never too busy for such a pretty woman." Except that, well, Steve worried that might be a little objectifying, so instead he opted for: "Well, you can come say hello whenever."

She giggled a little and sipped her drink. "I bet you've got some interesting stories though, right? I mean, bring an Avenger and all must make for some adventures."

"Oh, it does." Steve chuckled. "Do you know about the time when, uh, Loki disguised himself as Fury?"

Sharon sent him a quizzical look, prompting him to continue. "He thought he could access some weapons like that. The funny thing is, he almost did it, but Tony fell asleep while making a waffle and nearly burned the kitchen. When Fury didn't appear the moment the fire alarm went off, we realized something was seriously wrong."

She laughed. "Yeah, I can see how that would be alarming, pun intended," she grinned. "Honestly, Fury's great at his job, but he is a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. I mean, that one time he told me off when my holster was on the wrong side, but we were in the office! What the hell would I even need a gun for?"

They continued to talk about work, and conversation flowed easily. At one point though, the conversation took a more personal turn.

"You know what…" Sharon said, "being in S.H.I.E.L.D is great, but sometimes I wish I would have taken a different path. I always thought that being an agent was my destiny, but honestly there are a thousand other things I could've done," she sighed. "Like, I don't know, be an architect or… a vet. When you're a kid you have all these dreams and then you just end up taking the practical job."

Steve's eyes filled with understanding. He reached out and put his palm on her arm, rubbing it soothingly. If he would've glanced at his friends, he would see them facepalming violently, aware that Steve's getting himself friendzoned, again, but Steve didn't notice. Instead, he told Sharon, "Hey, you're great at what you do as an agent. But It's never too late to change it up. I mean, I thought I wasn't gonna have a chance to fight in the war and here I am," he chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she said, a pensive look on her face. "Thank you, Steve. For the drinks and everything." She smiled and got up, taking her bag with her.

"Wait," Steve said, "can I get your number?"

"Oh," Sharon's brows furrowed for a second before she fixed her expression. "I just figured we'd see each other at work or something, you know, now that we're friends and all."

"Yeah, sure, you're right," Steve said, disappointment settling in his stomach. "See you around, Sharon."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Bye Steve," she said before getting up and walking away, exiting the club while Steve ordered another shot and got back to his friends' table, who took one look at his face and guessed what happened, thus were cackling and giggling like crazy.

He sat down, downing his drink and grumbling, "I miss Asgardian mead." Which only sent Sam and Bucky into another laughing fit.

Later that night Steve plopped down on his bed. He tried to sleep, but his thoughts were keeping him awake. What was he doing wrong? What was it about him that pushed women away? But should he change in order to get someone to like him?

He tossed and turned like that for a while, not finding a good answer to any of his questions. But when finally, after a couple of hours he managed to drift off, he closed his eyes with a resolution in mind.

I'm gonna break this cycle.

You looked around the small café, searching for… Josh. Yeah, that was his name, you were sure of it. Pretty sure anyway.

You sighed in frustration and checked your phone once more. Sure enough, he texted you he'll be this address in five minutes. It was definitely this address.

But it's been nearly an hour and he wasn't here, not texting anything else either. The waitress was giving you weird looks, so you had ordered your own coffee in the meantime.

You met Josh two nights prior, when you were out with your friends. You felt numerous eyes on you as you and your friends were dancing, the alcohol sending a pleasant buzz through your body. Josh was the only one who caught your eye, so when he came by offering to dance with you, you said yes.

Now, this is probably the place to mention you weren't having a lot of luck with guys lately. You liked to divide the guys you met into four catagories, so; pretty much every guy you met has either:

a)      Used you for sex

b)      Blew you off

c)      Gave you a wrong number, probably on purpose, or

d)      "was looking for something casual and it seemed like you were too"

So, your dating life was a little shitty to say the least. You knew that you were hot, or at least that guys considered you to be even though you didn't most of the time. But it's not like you were looking for "something casual." Quite the opposite actually, you were more than ready to date, have a serious relationship like most of your friends did.

But apparently, guys didn't really get that memo. Some days you wondered if you were a douche magnet, or was it maybe tattooed on your forehead that "I am a slut! Fuckboys, assemble!"

It wasn't that, but you couldn't say it didn't sting a little every time you were sent straight to voicemail, or every morning you woke up and found that he snuck out.

To be fair, you enjoyed some of it. The clubbing, the energy you feel when you cross eyes with someone across the room, the occasionally good sex. But for a long time now, it wasn't what you really wanted. You wanted to be sent flowers, not "u up;)" messages.

It wasn't like you didn't have other hobbies as well, and a job you were great at. So great in fact, you were offered to work with the Avengers, starting next week, because the position was open and they knew you were that good. You were a well-rounded person for fuck's sake, not a one-night-fantasy.

But the night you met Josh you really thought he could be different. You both talked, danced, had a lot of fun. And then, you know, went to his place, and argued about if he should put on a condom, which you won because he was way too drunk and horny to argue that stupid opinion, then fucked. At that point you realized no matter how much fun you had; he was a jerk for thinking he shouldn't put on a condom when you asked him to. So, you waited for him to fall asleep and then quietly gathered your belongings and left his apartment, thinking you'd never hear from him again.

The next day your fingered hovered above the "delete contact" on your phone. When you exchanged numbers last night you saved him as "cute guy<3" and you kinda hated your drunk self for that, but what's done is done. You were just about to delete his number when he shot you a message apologizing for last night, saying he didn't mean it, and asking you if you were free tomorrow to meet him at this small café which was "totally great".

So, wanting to give him another chance, you accepted.

Which brings us here, to said little café you were currently sitting in, waiting for the guy you were pretty sure was named Josh and questioning all of your life choices.

You finished your coffee, which had already gotten to be at room temperature and it wasn't even that good in the first place, so it was bad. But hey, you already paid for it, so you downed the rest of it and left the café, wandering into the warm, humid street.

Once you were back home from the commute, which was a terrible experience due to the humidity, you quickly shed your clothes, taking a nice cold shower to wash off the sticky sweat from your skin. You dried off, putting on a pair of shorts and a tank top before checking your phone, just to be sure, and—

Yep, still no message from Josh. You resisted the sudden urge to throw your phone across the room, taking a deep breath before shooting him one last text – "sayonara, dipshit" – before finally deleting his number from your phone, like you should've done yesterday.

You put your phone away for the rest of the day, going on your computer to do some chores – reply to your emails, settle some stuff before your start at the Avengers compound, closing things in your old workplace.

When evening arrived, you opened your phone to messages from your friends asking how your date with Jason, and it took you a minute to realize who they're talking about. You chuckled bitterly before telling them he stood you up.

They were very sympathetic, telling you you're going to find the right guy and that Jason wasn't worth it anyway. You agreed with the latter sentiment, but you weren't sure how much you agreed with the first one.

You had dinner on your own, scrolling through social media and mindlessly pecking your food. You spent the rest of your evening thinking about… life.

The thing is, you were tired. Tired of being treated like you're only good for sex, tired of pretentious assholes apparently named Jason who play you just so they can feed their own ego by having the last word, but most of all – tired of being alone.

You were ready for a change. You needed a change. You spent the rest of your evening planning it all in your head, resolving to stop giving into guys because they're fun or cute. You're not actually looking for cute fun, and it's time to start acting like it.

When you're on your own, this all seems like a given to you; that you're a strong woman, that you want romance. But somehow when you're actually around guys you forget all about it and become impulsive. Living in the moment is great, but so is having a future.

Well, your future starts tomorrow, because before you went to sleep you made up your mind –

Tomorrow, I break the cycle.

Hope you liked it! this was a bit more of an introduction, but i still really liked writing it :) i don’t know exactly when the next one’ll be out cause school and stuff but i promise to do my best... if you have any ideas/requests please feel free to tell me about them!

thank you again @whimsicalrogers​ for the magical divider <3

next chapter teaser: “It's a new week, and you're getting a new start.” 

Chris Taglist: @swatson06 @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @phoebe-21-99 @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​ @wanessalopesueiros @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @darkwitchfromthesouth @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal

if you wanna join / be removed from the taglist, comment/message me! this is a taglist for Chris and his characters. much love <3

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x female reader #chris evans x female reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut

[thecagedbird]

tldr: treatment has been shit and i don’t think i’m any better than when i started

my treatment experience has been...an arduous process. the residential facility i transferred to after inpatient was not at all what i expected or was promised. the alleged ‘dual-diagnosis’ component (eating disorders & substance use) was virtually non-existent save for the occasional patient-led 12 step meeting which, in my opinion, is ineffective. not only am i not entirely sold on the 12-step model, i don’t think a 12-step meeting should be run by patients, newly in recovery with limited, if any, experience going to 12-step meetings. furthermore, people are able to engage in ED behaviors with limited consequences. although my meal plan likely should have been increase, my RD wouldn’t do so because i was restriction and/or purging so she couldn’t assess the ‘real’ impact of my meal plan on my body/the weight restoration process. while i appreciate that (a higher meal plan would have been anxiety-provoking and given my inability to follow my existing meal plan, i’d likely be unable to follow a higher one. but there was no intervention to encourage me to increase completion/decrease behaviors. sure, i was supplemented for incomplete meals, but could easily refuse the supplement and continue on my merry way. a week or two ago i had a treatment team intervention where my RD, therapist, and the program clinical director sat me down to try to figure out what i needed/how to help increase motivation. their big idea-play more so i can connect to my body and emotions. not entirely effective, maybe because i’m so cynical and difficult. my therapist wasn’t all that great either; she mostly talked about her own experiences in ED/alcoholism and how similar i am to her during her addictions (debatable). she was also super high energy and all over the place, so i don’t really feel like we ever actively worked on any one thing nor did she help to constructively reduce my behaviors, or increase my motivation or self-worth. i like the therapist here at PHP much better but [hopefully] i’ll only be here for two weeks so i doubt i’ll get too much done. 

the support staff/behavioral health techs at res were a lot less personable and supportive than in previous experiences i’ve had at other facilities. i didn’t particularly feel like they were people i could talk to or ask for support from, and they didn’t engage with us much other than meal supervision. they were supposed to run filler groups occasionally but never took charge and actually did anything. they also seemed unable to do their job with respect to helping struggling patients. i talked several peers down from panic attacks on more than one occasion, which i didn’t really mind, except for the fact that that’s not my responsibility, nor should it be when we need to be prioritizing ourselves in treatment.

last week my insurance cut me from res and essentially i was told that they wouldn’t clear me to return to work unless i agreed to go to PHP for two weeks. the PHP level here is significantly more lax. we’re in charge of planning/preparing/portioning our own meals, and no one checks that we’ve met all our exchanges [i think we’re supposed to tell the staff but no one really asks or does that]. bathrooms are unlocked at all times and there’s no monitoring or supervision after meals. although i appreciate this level of autonomy and freedom, i’m not entirely sure why i couldn’t have just gone home. other than ‘therapeutic groups’ there’s no major difference between being here and being home, as far as i can tell. we only get weighed twice a week, which makes me super nervous-i’m worried about gaining too much weight too quickly and if it’s not monitored daily, how can the RD adjust my meal plan appropriately? similarly, if i’m not gaining weight [less of a fear although i know logically it’s problematic], i’ll be delayed in restoring since adjustments can only realistically be made a couple of times per week. i also hear the RD here is an idiot, so not exactly looking forward to that.

overall, i’m happy to be somewhat back in the ‘real’ world-with access to my phone, social media, the ability to go outside, go for walks, practice meal prep/portioning, watch TV, listen to music, etc. and i’m looking forward to going home in the near future. am i any more motivated than i was when i started? not really. am i doing more than i want to be doing? yes. am i doing everything i need to be? no.

what’s new with you all? what have i missed in the world of tumblr, your lives, and/or the world?

#personal #rant #treatment #treatment update #eating disorder #eating disorder treatment #eating disorder recovery #alcohol #alcoholism #anorexia #bulimia #ednos #osfed #residential #residential treatment #partial hospitalization #partial hospitalization program #php #insurance #health insurance #dietician #therapist #weight #weight restoration #meal plan #actuallyanorexia #actuallybulimia #actuallyED #actuallyalcoholic #edulting

[gingermcl]

Raising personal frequency and why it matters.

I am not a love and light person. As in we must be positive all the time and negative feelings can’t exist. No. As someone who can literally feel a persons energy, I will say that negatively charged energy has a heavier feel to it. You literally can feel the density in the air in a room shift when an extremely negative person walks in. There is some truth in all programming. Even in psychological operations like the new age movement. The new cage movement. Earth is a realm of duality; good and bad exist here. In a realm of duality, the goal is balance. One must innerstand darkness does exist in all of us and that is ok! Too many people want to pretend darkness doesn’t exist and by ignoring evil, it grows. Don’t let the darkness control you. Anyone pushing that we have to make the darkness go completely away or that it shouldn’t exist is misinformed and I would be cautious listening to advice from said person. I would be leery of anyone attempting to tell another how to live. Pushing your will on another is the definition of black magic. With anything I ever discuss, if you don’t agree that’s cool. I’m always open to hearing new ideas and perspectives; please don’t approach me in a nasty manner. I won’t engage someone unable to have an calm conversation. Engaging and regularly interacting with negativity or negative people is a good way to lower your own frequency. We often tend to carry a frequency similar to our friends, this is why so many outgrow friends after having a spiritual awakening. We literally outgrow people on an energetic level. 

Raising personal frequency is important. Lower vibrational energies literally cannot affect folks on a higher frequency. I made a conscious effort 7 years ago to change who I was. A girl in a rehab therapy group told me about myself and I did not like what I heard. She said I was one of the most negative people she had ever met and as I began to examine my behaviors and my words, I realized she was right. It took a couple years of conscious effort to change my mindset from negative to positive. I can say today the results have been priceless. I am very appreciative of her giving me a wake up call.

If what we are told is correct and atoms are in fact what compose matter; everything in this universe is sound. Atoms are said to be made of waves and vibrations. At the molecular level atoms don’t actually touch. Atoms get extremely close to one another but they never fully touch. They’re independent energy fields and when densely packed together atoms form matter. Matter is dense....which goes along with my observation of negatively charged energy being heavier. Higher dimensions are said to be heavenly and they also do not have dense physical matter. I’m not entirely certain that physical existence isn’t a prison for the spirit. Our bodies are made of cells, prisoners are put in cells. It is blatantly obvious that those in control of this realm would like humanity on the lowest frequency possible. One intention of mind control programming is to lower the frequency of mankind, keep man in a angry, fearful, depressed, lower vibrational state. It is highly likely there are malevolent beings harvesting humanity’s soul energy. This energy is called loosh. All emotions create loosh; for some reason negative emotions generate more or more desirable energy.

The negative humans and other unseen beings/energies who have been in control of this realm for thousands of years now feed on what is known as loosh. Loosh is the life force energy created by humans when they experience emotions. Low vibrational emotions such as anger, sadness, depression, and even apathy are preferred by these negative energies than the loosh generated by positive emotions. Feeding these malevolent energies is why so much programming is done to divide the people, to make us hate our lives and ourselves, to blame mankind for the evil here, and many other trauma based mind control tactics are in place to keep humanity in a lowered state of existence. There are individuals who feel a deep seeded guilt in the heart just for being born due to this programming! The moon is thought to be emitting a low frequency in order to mind control humanity. Hence why when at full power a.k.a. a full moon humans act crazier and even violent. A full moon is when the Saturn moon matrix broadcasts the strongest signal.

If you are a person who has discovered that evil is running this realm, the best thing you can do is to do the exact opposite of what the controllers want; work on making your life peaceful, exposing the evil, healing your trauma and reprogramming yourself, disengage from the “matrix” every way you can. Be mindful of where you spend money, try not to use money, watch your words, push out negative thoughts, and love yourself. Anyone “awake” should absolutely strive for a higher frequency, honestly everyone should strive for a higher frequency. Existence is much more enjoyable and calmer when you are on a higher frequency. The law of attraction is legitimate. We attract back to us exactly what we put out into this world. Putting out positivity attracts pleasant situations and focusing on negativity creates unpleasantries.

Extremely high and extremely low vibrations do not mix, they tend to separate themselves from one another instead. Society is currently being divided. Those who are fearful are going one way and those of us who want unity are going another. How this ultimately will play out, time will tell.  

Sleep paralysis is potentially based solely on frequency. Sleep paralysis occurs when your frequency is too low. I’ve heard folks say sleep paralysis is necessary for astral projection; that is not true. Sleep paralysis is unnatural and caused by a weapon of some kind. A frequency weapon. Those on a too high frequency cannot be manipulated by such technology.

In my opinion being on a higher frequency is better is because you have access to more spiritual information and any metaphysical ability you possess functions exponentially better on a higher frequency. When my frequency goes too low, certain abilities vanish. Frequency fluctuates regularly. It typically stays in a a range normal for you, but extraordinary events like a crisis or confrontation can dramatically drop one’s frequency; it can take days, weeks, or even months to recover from some circumstances. Recognizing how important frequency is and learning how to raise your frequency are important to spiritual development. When on a higher frequency you have a better connection with your intuition, are less susceptible to mind control programming, and psychic attack.

How to raise frequency.

Meditate regularly - at least three times a week for 15 minutes to start

Spend as much time as possible outside in nature

Daily Grounding/Earthing. Walking barefoot on the earth for 15 minutes every day. Weather permitting.

Positive thoughts, actions, words, and deeds. Developing positive mantras to repeat throughout the day is helpful.

Breath work

Engage in as little conflict and negativity as you can.

Avoid alcohol and prescription drugs.

Don’t be too serious or have too many expectations for this will create resentments. Events will never unfold as we expect them to, people are much better served by going with the flow and observing how events unfold as they happen; don’t anticipate events ahead of them occurring.

Work on conquering fears. Especially the fear of death.

Practice compassion, empathy, and kindness towards everyone. Humans are equal; one isn’t better than another. Our life choices and luck is often the only thing that separates us.

Laugh

Exercise. Make sure you do something you find fun, not something you dread. Any kind of physical activity where one is having fun will raise his vibe. Dancing is a personal favorite.

Take a break from technology

Be mindful of how much time you spend on technology. Put the phone down during dinner or when you should be engaging with the people literally in front of you.

Wear and decorate with crystals. Black tourmaline and obsidian are good for negativity.

Decorate with high vibrational plants jasmine, aloe vera, or a snake plant

Be mindful of what information you watch and listen to. Movies, TV, music, social media, etc. It is best to just turn off the TV for good. Television is a weapon. Be very conscious of what information you allow to enter your mind.

Minimize interaction with toxic people. Keep conversations short, topics shallow, and have an exit plan if at an event where the environment may get unpleasant. For example drive your own car, have a friend or the babysitter call and oops I have to go….boundaries to protect your energy aren’t bad.😉

Thank your food for its life and sustenance prior to consuming it (plant or animal.) Doing this changes the food into higher vibrational intake.

Regularly cleanse negative energy from your personal spaces. Energy cleansing methods are decluttering, letting fresh air and light in, clapping loudly in the corners of a room to move stagnant energy, smudging, epsom salt baths.

Aura cleansing, visualization, cord cutting meditations

The above tips will have a positive effect on your frequency. Remember your thoughts create your reality and you get back what you put out into the universe. If your thoughts are consistently negative be prepared to have negative experiences. If you are hopeful, have faith in your ability to manifest & the universe’s ability to make things happen for you, have generally positive and laid-back nature, you will reap great rewards and experience feelings of happiness, contentment, and abundance.

I feel it is obvious by the state of the world today that humanity has been in a very negative state of mind for quite some time. There are millions of us (if not billions) that are here to change this reality, not to adapt to it. We have been called Starseeds, indigo children, and light workers; regardless of label the intent is the same - to create a positive reality on earth, to rid this place of evil, to liberate humanity from enslavement, and teach them a new way to think. We are here to help humanity realize humans are powerful creator beings and these powers have been stripped away by literal genetic manipulation. It is time for the devolution of mankind to end and for humanity to begin ascending back to the higher dimensional consciousness we once were.

[nautiscarader]

Smutember day 6 - swap

So, I tried writing prompt number 7 yesterday, but I ran into an issue where I couldn’t imagine either of the couples you have suggested into a believable swap scenario. So, I decided to call a mulligan and choose my own... especially ince I couldn’t find an ask/cc ask of one of those other pairings anyway. As a result, this might be less polished than I wanted it to be.

Smutember day 6, swap, Alyadrien + Ninette, E, 1.8k

(Ao3)

If you liked my story, here’s a Ko-fi link if you’d be so kind ❤️.    

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

The logs in the fireplace crackled with delicate noises, but none of them reached the ears of the four inhabitants of a winter lodge in the Alps. For once, they would have to rival with the sensual music, seeping from the phone, and providing relaxing background. Second obstacle would be the sound of mattress springs, having to withstand the weight and rapid movements of four young, horny adults that, despite spending a day skiing still had energy for anything, let alone love-making. And finally, they would have to defeat the cries and moans of four miraculous bearers, engulfed in a furious storm of passion.

It was difficult to think that when Alya, Nino, Marinette and Adrien arrived at the cabin once belonging Adrien's mother four days ago, the two couples were intending to stay as innocent as possible, especially given limited space. Was it the fondue, coupled with a bottle of excellent wine that loosened their tongues and their clothes? Or was it the excellent understanding the four developed over the years of fighting crime, real and supernatural.  

Neither of them knew, and neither of them cared. The two beds were pressed together to create one massive space, large enough for the four creative young adults to frolic without any restraints. One one side, Marinette mewled with every gentle move of Adrien's hips, letting out short moans in between, unless his mouth wasn't currently occupied with kissing her. Her legs and her right arm were closed tightly around his back, while the fingers of her left hand were intertwined with those of Alya's, whom she could observe as she was bouncing next to her.

Keen to establish dominance, Alya used all of her power to ride her boyfriend, first his mouth, and then his cock, with an aim to drain him of his seed, and so far, it looked like she was on a right track. Her hips moved seductively up and down, as well back and forth, as if Alya was dancing to some erotic, carnal rhythm, and that in turn only made Nino's grip on her waist tighter.

It wasn't the first time for the four miraculous bearers to have sex together, though they've never shared the same bed. What started as double dates, quickly turned into double visits to the beach, double trips to the changing booths, double renting of hotel rooms, and finally to double sex on the rooftops of Paris, as the superheroines found themselves particularly attracted to love-making in the open air.

The warmth of the air inside the cozy lodge, combined with the heat of the alcohol in their bodies and the fire that kept burning between their loins made the girls tighten the grip of their fingers, as they both felt they were edging closer and closer to their climaxes. To the surprise of everyone, Alya arched her back and cried Nino's name first, collapsing on top of him with her body shivering and quaking as if she was left in the freezing blizzard outside. Her orgasm dragged Nino with her, and his low grunts continued to dominate their side of the bed with every portion of seed he deposited inside her. When Alya lifted her leg, for a split of a second Marinette saw the huge dollop of cum leaking out of her pussy, and that was the drop that pushed her over the edge. She dug her nails into Adrien's back and mewled his name, surrendering herself to him.

Adrien wanted to prolong Marinette's pleasure, by extending his slow and tender love-making, but having now not one, but three spectators of his athletic skills, he lost it too, hilting himself inside her one last time, flooding her womb with his cum, as a final note of the quartet's performance.

Adrien's lips found Marinette's at once, as the two coiled around each other in a soothing afterglow, rolling from side to side, and only when the couple collided with Alya and Nino, the delicate atmosphere broke down, as the four fell into a fit of giggles, enjoying each other's nudity and the carnal mix of scents that surrounded the bed.

The boys gave their ladies quick pecks, before they went to visit the toilet, and as Marinette handled Alya a box of tissues to clean up after their virile boyfriends, their fingertips brushed, and for a moment, the two shared a knowing look. Marinette raised her eyebrows, and Alya, in turn lowered hers and shot her with a sly smirk.

When Adrien and Nino came back a minute later, at first, in their hazed, post-orgasmic state, they didn't notice anything different, until Alya pointed it out to them.

- Come on, boys, you know which side is yours.

And the fact that she said it from Adrien's bed fully uncovered her plan, especially when Marinette smiled at Nino and spread her legs, massaging her still twitching pussy in a deeply erotic, welcoming gesture.

Adrien and Nimo shared a quick look, and the girls didn't have to ask twice, before they slid into their arms and met their lips.

There was no need for setting rules, or boundaries, no exchanging of mutual permissions between the partners. The years of friendship have cemented the bonds between the four to the point where they didn't have to say anything to understand each other. And it was that instantaneous understanding that made their second round of love-making so passionate.  

For a moment, Alya wished she wasn't naked, just so she could experience Adrien's hands and fingers undoing her blouse, or, if he was a bit more desperate, tearing it apart. But on the other hand, it meant the he didn't have to worry about access to her breasts, though, as expected for a gentleman, he started by sucking the air out her lungs with a long, passionate kiss.

Next to them, Nino was experiencing a similar situation, as Marinette peppered his mouth and jawline with shorter kisses, while her hands impatiently travelled around his waist, eager to bring him over her. Unlike Alya, Marinette let Nino take the lead, and when Nino leaned over her, she surrendered herself to him. She let out a moan when she felt his fingers sliding back and forth alongside her pussy, and properly moaned when he utilised his palm and thumb to cover as much of her sex as possible. Like a record he was playing, Nino expertly toyed with her sex, to the point where she arched her back and reached for his neck, just so she could kiss him.

But their kiss was short-lived, as her legs were swiftly pressed against her body, exposing her sex that Nino was so meticulously caressing a while ago. A wide smile appeared on his face as he lined up his cock against her entrance and effortlessly slid inside, thanks to the combination of her own juices he's managed to produce and his friend's seed still present inside her. Marinette yelped when he hilted himself inside her, burying his cock deep inside her in a stark contrast to his sweet and tender caresses from earlier. Marinette closer her arms around his neck, bringing him just an inch closer to her, babbling with each push of his hips. Amongst the broken bits of his name, Nino could hear how Marinette was congratulating Alya for her boyfriend.

But her friend couldn't respond to her kind words, as her mouth was a bit preoccupied, being ruthlessly used by Adrien's cock. Glasses on her nose bounced each time Adrien buried himself inside her mouth, managing to slide a few millimetres further with each push. With his quickened rhythm, Alya had to control her breathing, smelling in his musky scent that slowly turned her mind blank, strengthened when he reached his hand behind and toyed with her pussy. Her eyes bulged out, and not just because he managed to hit her throat, but as his thumb slid across her clit, Adrien could clearly hear her moans, vibrating around his cock.

Feeling his position was slightly uncomfortable, Alya reached her own hand and took over him, allowing her aggressive lover to concentrate on fucking her face, and with her blessing, he did exactly that. It wasn't long until his hands were buried in her ruffled hair and his balls were slapping against Alya's chin, and a minute later for the first time her lips touched the base of his cock, signifying he has fit inside her mouth completely.

Adrien observed not just Alya, but also Marinette, both wearing the same, dreamy and blissful faces, though only Marinette could allow her tongue out in a shameless exhibition of being fucked silly by his best friend. Alya's moans continued, just as her fingers rubbed against her pussy faster and faster, and her breathless begging told Adrien exactly when to stop using her mouth. When she came, Alya let out a cry as her back arched and her legs thrashed against he bed, and at the same time, her face and glasses were covered with a fountain of cum that erupted from Adrien's cock. Some of the globs fell into her open mouth, just like he thought, and that quickly lead to Alya closing her lips around him, hoping to catch more of the salty baby batter.

The sight of her best friend slobbering over her boyfriend's cock was the final straw for Marinette. She cried Nino's name as her walls closed around his cock, begging him to milk him for his cum. And Nino gladly provided it a second later, collapsing on her, while his hips and leg moved on their own, trying to outdo his friend in terms of virility. The two heard Alya's loud gasp when she was sure Adrien's balls have been emptied, though it was Marinette, who dragged her finger across her friend's breasts with the last glob of it, which Alya quickly licked off.

The four young adults basked in the shared afterglow, their erratic breathing slowly becoming normal, until Marinette first managed to find strength to voice her thoughts.

- We should have done that sooner.

The four nodded, and the cabin was filled with sounds of giggles and kisses, as the best friends continued their carnal night. The cork of another bottle flew into the air as another bottle of wine was open, and the four started looking for new combinations they haven't found yet.  

#miraculust #mlnsfw #lemon #alyadrien #ninette #adrinette #djwifi #nautiscaraderfics #smutember

[deathlikesdeep-dish]

The Razr (Zoro AU Scenario)

Hi guys!

I’m so flattered that I’ve had some people join me here on this fun writing journey!! I truly truly do a little happy dance every time I get a follow. :D 

I keep meaning to just sit down and write a quick lil somethin somethin, but it always ends up longer than I intend 😅

This is a headcanon I came up with about Zoro having a crazy outdated flip phone that he refused to get rid of and his friends finally forced him to get a smartphone so he could use GPS. 

It turned out a little more serious and emotional than I originally intended, but I’m pretty pleased with it!! Would love to get y’alls feedback. 

xx

Warnings: obscene amounts of fluff, language 

Word Count: 1862

“Zoro, where the fuck are you??” Nami yelled on the other end of the phone. He could hear the irritation in her voice.

He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. “I really don’t know, Nami. I think I made a wrong turn,” He paused and sighed. “Or two? Shit, I don’t know.”

Zoro could hear Nami yelling on the other end of the line, and he placed his phone in the cup holder, knowing that this might be a while. He hit his head a few times on the steering wheel of his car, closing his eyes as he waited for her to finish screeching. He was used to this. He knew that he wasn’t the most directionally adept member of his friend group, but he got by….when others were around.

What made matters worse is that Zoro absolutely refused to get rid of his ancient, bulky flip phone, a fact that Nami never failed to bring up in situations just like this. He didn’t see a point in getting a new phone when his old one worked just fine. He thought back to a conversation he’d had about it just the other day with his friends.

-

“Bro, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Their newest friend Franky said upon seeing Zoro pull his phone out of his pocket. “A fucking Motorola Razr? That thing has gotta be 10 years old!”

“It’s actually 12 years old,” Luffy chimed in with a laugh. “It was Kuina’s before it was Zoro’s.”

“Kuina? Who’s Kuina?” Franky asked. Zoro tensed up at the mention of her name, and the room went silent. Even Luffy noticed that he’d made a mistake in bringing her up. Zoro squeezed the phone tightly in his pocket.

Kuina was Zoro’s older sister. Five years his senior, Kuina had used the phone as her own for several years before she upgraded and passed it to Zoro. At first, he resented that she always got the newest stuff, and that he got the hand-me-downs. Now, he wouldn’t dream of letting it go. Kuina had died in a tragic accident just a couple years back. She was only 25. This phone was one of the only things that she had ever given him that was hers, along with the family katana that had been passed down for generations.

“Sorry, Zoro,” Luffy murmured, stuffing a bite of food into his mouth uncomfortably. Zoro simply grumbled in response with a shrug.

“Still,” Nami ventured tentatively. “Maybe it would be helpful for you to get a smartphone sometime soon. They all come with GPS systems built in.”

“And what’s wrong with a map?” Zoro snapped back.

“Well, nothing…” Nami said.

“Unless you can’t actually read it!” Luffy shouted out, not able to help himself. He cackled. Zoro shot him a glare, and he laughed even more. He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Yeah, well whatever. Next time I get lost, I’ll get a fucking smartphone. Deal?” Zoro said, to get them off his back more than anything.

Nami’s eyes lit up conspiratorially. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you mean it, Zoro.”

Zoro waved her off. They all knew that he certainly wasn’t going to purchase his own phone, so it was a moot point. It worked perfectly fine. Plus, it was hers. He’d keep it as long as it worked.

-

He was pulled from his reverie by Nami yelling his name.

“ZORO,” She yelled. He picked his phone back up and placed it at his ear.

“Goddamn it, Nami. I fucking know I suck at directions, please stop bitching at me,” He growled.

She started to say something, but stopped herself with a sigh. “Ugh. You exhaust me.” She replied.

“What else is new?” He snapped back.

“Whatever, Zoro. I just can’t believe you got lost on the way to your own birthday party.”

“Like I even care about this shit anyway,” He said. “It’s you and Luffy that always insist on throwing a party in the first place.”

“Hey man, don’t pretend like you don’t like eating food and getting shit-faced.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He knew he didn’t have an argument there.

“Can you see a street sign anywhere?” Nami finally asked after a few moments when there was no reply.

Zoro looked up towards the streetlight and squinted at a sign in the distance. “Yeah, it looks like I’m at the corner of Alabasta and Logue Town drive.”

“Thank Christ,” Nami sighed. “You’re not that far. I’ll send Franky and Sanji to go get you.”

Zoro groaned. “Why does Sanji have to come? Doesn’t he have a fucking cake to bake or something?”

“They need to go out and get a few things from the store,” Nami said. “Listen, you’re the one that’s lost. Suck it up.”

“Ugh. Fine. See you soon.” He hung up, not wanting to hear anything else.

It took Franky and Sanji about 10 minutes to get to him.Thankfully, they just decided to have Zoro follow behind them in his car rather than ride together. Zoro wasn’t sure he could stop himself from punching that jackass directly in the face if he said anything to him.

They finally got back to Robin’s house where they were having the party. Robin was for sure the most adult out of any of them. She’d already bought this crazy historic home and had a job at an archeology firm while everybody else was living in shitty, thrown-together apartment complexes, eating pizza rolls and beer for every meal.

Sanji had looked like he was going to start some shit when they got out of the car, but decided against it when Zoro gave him a look. Plus, Sanji thought, it’s the guy’s birthday. Probably should lay off for one night.

Everyone was pleased to see him, and only gave him a moderately hard time about getting lost on the way to his own party. And despite himself, Zoro gave in to the jovial atmosphere. A few beers certainly helped. By the time he and Luffy had teamed up to play beer pong against Law and Usopp (“Sniper-king, my ass,” Zoro had thought to himself on Usopp’s third consecutive loss), Zoro was feeling pretty damn good. These were his people. They’d been the ones that were there for him. Even when new friends were added to the group, they’d always fit in. Luffy was the usual recruiter, and he somehow managed to find some cool-ass people.

The best time to give Zoro any gifts, Nami had discovered, was when he was sufficiently plastered enough to not object to them. Zoro was always more affectionate and willing to be the recipient of attention when he was drunk.

“Alright!” Nami announced over the blare of the music. “It’s present time, you degenerates! Sit your asses down!”

Franky turned the music down from his smartwatch, lowering it to a dull roar. Zoro was feeling warm and smiley, so he didn’t object when Robin lead him to the couch in the middle of the living room to receive his gift.

“What did y’all fuckers get me this time?” Zoro laughed, slurring a bit as he talked.

Nami rolled her eyes and Luffy just bounced excitedly from the armchair across the room. No matter how much he had to drink, it would seem, Luffy was always one big ball of energy.

“Remember,” Nami said, handing him a small, delicately wrapped box. “You promised.”

Zoro furrowed his brow, confusedly. “I promised?” He started to open the box, a bit nervous all of a sudden about what he would find under the shiny paper.

When he finally finished unwrapping the box, he froze. In his hand, he found a brand new iPhone. He looked up at his friends, knowing how much something like this cost.

“Guys, this is ridiculous,” He said, not knowing exactly how he felt.

“Stop,” Nami said, holding a hand up.

“Yeah, we all pitched in! Even Sanji!” Luffy grinned from his chair. “So no take backsies!”

He looked up at the room full of expectant faces, flushed from the alcohol and the good company. There was a pit in his stomach. On the one hand, he was angry. They knew how he felt about his phone. They knew what it meant to him. It wasn’t just a stupid phone. On the other hand, he was touched. Touched that his friends had come together to help him out. He found himself putting his hand in his pocket, thumbing over the ancient flip-phone that had once been hers.

“Guys, my phone works perfectly well,” He managed after swallowing. “This is completely unnecessary.”

“C’mon man,” Usopp clapped his hand on his shoulder. “You know it isn’t unnecessary. Do you need a reminder that you got lost on the way to your own party tonight?” He laughed.

Zoro remained silent, one hand gripping the new phone, and the other deep in the pocket of his pants.

“So, of course, we figured that you’d feel this way,” Robin chimed in. “So, that’s only one part of the gift.”

Zoro snapped his head towards Robin, the crease in his brow deepening. She pulled out another box from behind her back and handed it to him. This one was slightly larger, and a bit heavier. He peeled back the wrapping paper.

“It’s a shadow box,” Franky said. “So you can still keep your old phone, too.”

“Just on display on the shelf,” Nami said. “Instead of in your pocket.”

“We know how much it means to you, mosshead,” Sanji grumbled from the doorway. “You don’t have to get rid of the old phone. So, just accept the gift already.”

Zoro felt himself get teary-eyed. He told himself it was the alcohol as he wiped his hand over his eyes before tears could fall down his cheeks. “Thanks guys,” Was all he could manage.

Knowing that he needed the attention off of him, his friends just laughed and cheered, turning the music up to get back to the party. Franky spent the rest of the evening helping set up Zoro’s phone and showing him all of the functions that he would have access to. Zoro was still so overwhelmed, but he tried to make himself pay attention. Finally, and most importantly, Franky downloaded Google Maps and showed him how to use it. Zoro pocketed the phone with a slight smile and a ‘thank you.’ It felt heavy and big in the back pocket of his jeans. His heart felt heavy too. He couldn’t help but feel like this was the end of something. But somewhere, he knew that Kuina would be looking down on him, so happy that he had found such thoughtful friends.

Luffy raised his glass for a toast. “To Zoro! And never getting lost again!”

The rest of them raised their glasses, looking over to Zoro expectantly as they waited for him to raise his glass too. He reached for his beer and raised it slightly with a smirk.

“You motherfuckers are gonna regret this,” He grinned finally. “Getting lost was my only character defect. Now I’ll be unstoppable.”

#roronoazoro #zoro #one piece #one piece scenario #scenario #writing #fanfiction #au #headcanon #au headcanon #fluff #straw hats #luffy #nami #sanji #franky #ugh zoro is so cute #onepiece #headcanons #trafalgar law #hcs #anime

[soulsuckrrs]

Basic Information

Full Name: Rebecca Willow Needmore Nickname: Becca, Bec Age: 22-26 Date of Birth: October 16th Species: Witch Powers: zoolingualism, pyrokinesis, telekinesis, energy & aura reading/sensing, light manipulation, advanced healing & potion magic, defensive magic, is learning teleportation & flight. Hometown: Whitefish, Montana Current Location: States | | New Orleans | |Thread dependent Nationality: American Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her/Hers Orientation: Bisexual & Biromantic Religion: N/A Occupation: "Supernatural Police” | part of a coven that moderates what other supernatural beings do | Student  Living Arrangements: outside of a small apartment in New Orleans, Becca a has access to several locations and campuses thanks to her school but she also still goes to her grandfather’s ranch every so often to visit and stay with her mother Language(s) Spoken: English, Latin, Italian, French, and German

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Olivia Holt Hair Color: Blonde Eye Color: Hazel Height: 5′2 Weight: 125 Build: petite, fit, agile Tattoos: has a small sun on her right wrist with her mother & grandfathers birthdays in black ink, a little blue butterfly on the left side of her collarbone, tiny daisy behind her right ear, has carpe diem on her right shoulder blade. Piercings: earlobes, nose stud in left nostril. Clothing Style: mostly wears what is comfortable but gravitates towards lighter and brighter colors.  Usual Expression: friendly and accepting, perhaps a little too happy sometimes

Health

Sleeping Habits: Becca makes it a point to get the sleep she needs to perform the best, she’s an early to bed and early to rise sort of person thanks to being raised on a ranch.  Eating Habits: despite how petite and tiny her frame is Becca loves to eat and will do so the appropriate three times a day and she is a proud vegan since she was five years old. coincidentally at the same time she started speaking to the animals. Exercise Habits: she’s a fit little thing, often jogging or working out in the gym at least three to four times a week. Emotional Stability: Becca is an honest person and doesn’t have much issue with expressing her true feelings but that doesn’t mean she’s impulsive with sharing such things, she’ll assess the situation and whether or not she should say what she feels or thinks in that moment but she is an emotional person as well. Passionate perhaps, but not as naive as most would think, not when it comes to her emotions. Sociability: she loves meeting new people and would be considered an extrovert to most despite her somewhat shy nature in most social settings Body Temperature: the average body temperature of a human. Drug Use: a purist, Becca has never tried drugs and likely would stay clear of anything harder than cannabis.  Alcohol Use: she’s by no means a drinker but in a social setting or due to peer pressure Becca would drink, likely fruity little trash drinks but could perhaps be talked into beer or wine. however, just because she doesn’t drink too often doesn’t mean she doesn’t like alcohol.  Scent: sunshine and warm vanilla.

Personality

Label: The Optimistic  Positive Traits: cheerful, intelligent, passionate, compassionate Negative Traits: naive, know-it-all, self-sacrificing Goals/Desires: wants to become a powerful witch and advance her skills further than anyone believes her capable, even if that means she study dark magic to balance out her other powers. her ultimate goal would be to help those that need it with her magic and potentially becoming a vet Fears: losing the people she cares for or not being able to protect and help those she loves Hobbies: reading (lots and lots and lots of books!!), drawing, singing & listening to music, running, cooking (vegan goodness),  Habits: giggles and blushes when she’s being shy or is slightly embarrassed, blushes pretty much for anything Kinks: choking/hands around her throat, butt plugs/anal play, collaring/chokers, bondage, spanking/impact play, being marked/bit/bruised, double penetration, gagging, oral, fingering/handjobs, public, orgasm control/denial, being called dirty names, exhibitionism/watching herself get fucked in a mirror, suspended positions/being held up while fucked, being absolutely ruined, hair pulling, doggy style. Position: Submissive

Favorites

Weather: summer & spring Color: yellow & pink  Music: indie & fleetwood mac/stevie nicks. harry styles. isaac dunbar. Movies: princess bride, 13 going on 30, princess diaries, thelma & louise, most musicals Sport: baseball Beverage: coke, water, whisky or some fruity drink if she’s having alcohol Food: vegan; fruits, vegetables, all the delicious ways they can be put together. Animal: cat

#file: stats #file: stats - Rebecca

[albyfm]

˙✫*ﾟ YUNGBLUD  ,  DEMIBOY  ,  HE/THEY  :･ did  you  hear  alby miller  is  joining  the  cast  of  exposed  after  their habit of facilitating drugs at events, festivals & awards shows  was  revealed  ?  the  twenty-three  year  old  bass guitarist  with 500k followers is  trying  to  clear  their  name  .  they've  become  known  as  the  resident  juvenile  in  the  mansion  ,  and  it's  clear  that's  spot  on  because  they're  quite -  recalcitrant & -  stuck in their ways ,  but  also +  charismatic &  +  outspoken .  you  know  they're  heading  to  the  confession  booth  if  you  hear  lonely boy  by  the black keys  blasting  ,  most  likely  talking  about  how  they're  more  than disheveled outfits of black leather & denim, talking way too candidly to the press, smashed lenses of paparazzi cameras that got too close, an unmistakable mischievous grin & an inability to express real feelings.

hey !! finally getting around to posting this. you can call me aries, i’m 23 and in the bst ( uk ) timezone. my pronouns are she / her. i’m a little lost art school grad with a lot of student debt, a taste for red wine and an unhealthy obsession with arctic monkeys. not gonna lie, i whipped this kiddo up specifically for this rp so i’m still getting used to them, but hopefully with this intro you’ll get a feel for what they’re about. without further ado, here’s alby—

trigger warnings & disclaimer: mentions of hard drugs, alcohol, anger issues, destructive tendencies. my intention writing this intro was not to glamorize or romanticize these things in any way but if anything i have written comes across that way, please lmk!

smash that ♡ to plot or hit me up on discord @ chaotic aries#5793 !!

‘and this is how it starts...’ ( the basics )

name: alby fox miller age: twenty-three gender: non-binary ( demi-boy ) pronouns: he / him & they / them date of birth: may 24th 1997 zodiac: gemini sun, pisces moon, aries rising orientation: pansexual occupation: bassist for drive like i do career claim: ross macdonald ( the 1975 ) genre: alt-pop, pop-rock

‘it’s the way we are, we were smoking by eleven & knocking ‘round town...’ ( background )

you’re born in 1997, in the north west of england. wilmslow, to be exact. a quaint and affluent town, just south of manchester. the family you’re born into is a comfortable one. not quite living lavishly, but not at all struggling, either. your parents both work in business out in the city. you go to a good school. but... all is not how you exactly want it to be.

see, your parents are quite pushy. they expect you to live how they want, rather than how you do. at the all boy’s academy they enroll you in as a teenager, they expect you to pick what they deem as intellectual subjects, such as foreign languages, further mathematics and computer science. there’s a focus on you becoming someone that makes a lot of money, rather than someone who is happy.

but you’re... not the kind of person that can be molded so easily. you’re a fairly happy-go-lucky kid, but also a rebellious one. your parents’ strict ways of trying to force you down their chosen path, only encourages you more heavily to choose your own. 

at fourteen, you meet the guys. lennox, jovi & jasper. they’re some of the only kids at school who can be bothered to be around you, with your high energy and bolshy attitude. really, they’re the only people who embrace you for who you are. they encourage your weirdness and outspokenness. it’s not long before you find yourself wanting to do everything together. it’s not long before the four of you are inseparable.

from there, you fully detach from everything your parents want you to be. you embrace your individuality. you also find the courage and bravery to come out to your parents as non-binary at the age of sixteen. there’s not a single person’s opinion that you’re afraid of, or even care about. 

it’s not all rainbows & sunshine, though. you struggle somewhat with anger issues, and a bit of depression. you’re also practically addicted to getting into trouble: picking fights with bullies at school, selling weed & pills to your friends around town, underaged drinking... you get the gist. though you keep your fears internal, you sometimes worry you’ll get nowhere in life.

so of course, the second the boys are talking about starting a band, you’re all in. imagine if you made it big someday? wouldn’t that be sick? you’re immediately drawn to bass guitar, and use a month’s worth of saved up pocket money to pick one up from the big music store in the city. thankfully, you pick it up quite quickly, because before you can even realize it, things are getting so... real. by sixteen, you don’t feel you have the option to stick around at school for sixth form, because drive like i do is already playing local venues and working on its first album.

you’re just seventeen when the album is released. somehow, the climb to fame is faster than you could have ever imagined. it seems like yesterday you were still watching bass tutorials on youtube in your bedroom and practicing in your friend’s garage after school. first is some notoriety across the uk, but before you know it — boom! global stardom. the fame is a heavy weight for someone so young to carry... but fuck it, it’s gonna be fun, and you know it.

you’re twenty-three now, and days are gone of pipedreams formed in your parent’s shoebox room. you split your time between manchester, london, and LA — and that’s just during rare moments of downtime from your world tours. your band is 4 albums in, and whoever hasn’t heard of you might as well have been living under a rock. is it narcissistic to think like that? maybe, but you don’t care. this is rock n’ roll, baby. this is the life.

naturally, all eyes are mostly on your very outspoken frontman. he’s controversial, but the media can’t get enough of him. as for you? to them, you’re... the band’s problem child. while you argue that your behavior is no different than that of your friend, he’s got the lead singer charm. they don’t seem to like you as much. why? well...

‘drink, fall, spew...’ ( troublesome tendencies & exposed secret )

you never really coped as well as you acted like you did, did you? while you were grateful for the fame, everything was... a lot, and it was all at once. you didn’t even get the chance to process it. 

take four twenty-somethings and add constant prying journalists, paparazzi, and constantly full schedules into the mix. and why not pepper in some typical rockstar vices, too? alcohol, drugs, parties, throwaway sex. things are destined to get a little rocky. though you tried at first not to show it to your fans, your destructive behavior soon got the better of you, and you became known to drunkenly lash out at paps, smash cameras and storm out of interviews when the questions got too personal. 

this all came to a head when you were caught on camera several times distributing acid tabs, cocaine and mdma at events, music festivals & awards shows. the press gave the band a pretty bad time over this, and given the other members’ controversies and lennon’s similar link to drugs, it wasn’t a good look for any of you. 

it didn’t matter that you had a side to you that was good, pure. that you were always kind and loving and down-to-earth towards your fans and friends. you were a bad seed, and you wound up on exposed with the rest of your bandmates. hopefully you can prove there’s more to you than what the media shows...

‘oh & you say, i’m such a cliche...’ ( personality )

immm gonna rush thru this section & write less formally bc those other parts too me WAY too long

basically a literal toddler. loves a laugh, loves a good time, but get on his bad side and he WILL throw a tantrum

it’s mainly people like press & paps he lets his anger out on. the band’s fans and people he’s close with on a personal level know he’s a good person underneath it all

loves a bit of mischief / rebellion / drama

king of hiding insecurities....

literal softie.... like... who allowed this binch to be so soft. he’s so open about how much he loves his friends (particularly his bandmates) and will platonically kiss and hug and love people all the time, particularly on the show bc he’s trying to show the cameras his softer side dfjghdfdfg

so excitable like WHERE does this kid get all his energy...

( tw drugs ) will probably struggle a bit on the show without access to drugs, but ( tw addiction mention ) he has never really been addicted or dependent on them, just a frequent user.

outspoken as fuck, has no filter sometimes oops

very flamboyant, in line with the general aesthetic of his band but also on a personal level. sports a kind of soft gothic/punk/early 2000s emo look. always paints his nails and wears makeup etc

sleeps around a lot but has never really been able to find a lasting relationship, has just had a bunch of short-lived flings???? but lowkey develops crushes at the drop of a hat and would love to properly fall in love with someone who could be with him forever & accept him for all his flaws, but he highly doubts that will ever happen fgjdhsfg

‘why don’t you figure my heart out?...’ ( wanted connections )

exes on good terms

exes on bad terms ( maybe someone who actually really wanted to stay with him but couldnt deal with his bullshit and now resents him? )

 someone who loves the band’s music & inflates his ego ab it

 someone he hasn’t seen for years that he’s reunited on the show & maybe they’re revisiting old feelings for each other??? and he wants it to be DIFFERENT this time but also theres shit tons of fucking cameras and shit which... makes things difficult...

first friend he made in LA or in the states in general, someone who showed him the ropes

someone who hates him / hates the band like PLEASE

and also just a straight up enemy maybe?? someone who finds him annoying as fuck??

FRIENDS!!!

literally anything just hmu and lay an idea on me and theres 90% chance ill be down

#exposed.intro #fucking FINALLY

[fheythfully]

TITLE: oh i beg you, can i follow (AO3 link) SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SHB The true question lies on the tip of her tongue, unwilling to be spoken: Is a tempered, light filled girl still mortal, Thancred? . . . The Crystarium is celebrating the return of darkness, but the guest of honour is nowhere to be found.

She’s nestled between a shipping crate and the cold steel of a resting cannon when the footsteps come to find her. Thancred’s, going by the purposefully heavy tread; there may be a gunblade on his back now but he was a rogue first, and his loudly telegraphed steps are an easily recognizable offer: withdraw further into her hiding spot and he will pretend to have never seen her, or remain as she is and make due with his company.

It’s a tempting thought, to be left alone in the night with only herself and her troubled mind. Her body tenses and she almost does it, but Ardbert’s face flashes before her eyes. He wouldn’t have wanted her to be alone in a time like this. He would have remained stubbornly at her side, staring out at the same scenery she was and offering his words of support. She can’t have him with her, not anymore, but she can easily imagine his disappointment if she were to push away the Scions after everything they had been through.

Her heart still hurts any time she thinks of the other Warrior and the hole he’d left behind. She feels both bereft of a dear friend and warm, an aching gap in her soul that is empty yet mended at the same time.

The footsteps draw closer and Lia forces herself to relax and remain as she is, sprawled out under the clear night sky blanketing the Crystarium. Out of the corner of her eye she watches Thancred make the corner and she turns, greeting him with one brow raised. It is a silent question of why he’d felt it was necessary to leave the on-going festivities of the Crystarium to come seek her out. Undoubtedly, there was much drinking and merriment to be had below; she had partaken in it for a bell or two before retreating to her spot. And after everything that’s happened, she had not expected to see Thancred until well past the dawn, and probably nursing a killer hangover to boot.

“Quite the place you have here,” he says in lieu of answering her. He glances about him—she’s hidden away at one of the highest points in the city accessible, unless one decided to scale the towering pillars and crystalline roofs. There is faint music from the markets and the Wandering Stairs where the heart of celebration is, but other than that, there is only the silence of the glimmering stars and the distant mountains on the horizon. 

It is both peaceful and lonely here in equal measure.

It is precisely what she’d wanted.

Lia remains silent but shifts to make room for him. “Why’d you come?” She asks the moment he’s settled down. At some point in the night he’d lost his coat (possibly to Ryne; she wouldn’t be surprised to find the girl snoozing on a bench somewhere) and the bare skin of his arm brushes up against hers. She can’t help the shivers that come across her body at the thought of someone touching her so casually after she’d nearly become a Warden. The body Thancred now so casually allows beside him had nearly twisted into a cruel mess of limbs and flesh and light, eager to turn them just the same. 

The thought of it makes bile rise to her mouth and her heart skips beats, terrified and distraught and ashamed.

She’s withdrawn into herself before she can even acknowledge the motions, body chasing her own warmth in lieu of someone else’s. It makes her wish once more that Ardbert yet remained with her, untouchable yet relentless and comforting.

There had been no running away from the man dogging her steps. It had irked her plenty when he first appeared in her inn room, and then again the second time; but as the weeks passed she had grown to accept it. She had grown to expect it, even; glimpses of him out in the field, and their conversations in the safety of the Pendants’ apartment. Unlike with the others, speaking with Ardbert did not make her feel judged or as if she was in danger of disappointing their perception of the vaunted Warrior of Light. When she spoke with Ardbert it was with a man her equal, one who had been just as responsible for his world as she has been with the Source. 

By the gods, she missed Ardbert. She’d last seen this view of Lakeland with him at her side and now she was alone and one shard closer to a whole. It did not seem like a fair trade: a friend for a fragment of her soul. She would choose the former in every choice given, in every life lived. 

“Well, when the guest of honour disappears from the reveleries, the attendees are bound to notice.” Startled, Lia drops her gaze from the horizon and to Thancred’s face. But he only smiles at her, amusement clear in his eyes. “I kid, I kid. We noticed though, and grew concerned.”

Ah. Y’Shtola must have sent him then. “Sorry to hear you got babysitting duty,” Lia grumbles, drawing her knees up close to her chest. She rests her chin on them and gazes once more out into the darkness of the distant mountains. Has Bismarck returned? She cannot help but wonder. Her mind does not let her rest from that time in Amaurot, of Emet-Selch and Hades and Ardbert. She knows that things are meant to be over, at least for now—but they never truly were . Somewhere, Elidibus was no doubt growing stronger in his hate for her; somewhere, the Empire was making ready to march. 

And the Warrior of Light was sitting here, not even on her own planet , brooding about things she could not change. Things that had been left out of her control when she should have been down there celebrating her victory with the rest of them, instead of caving to her own fears and misgivings and grief over a man who had been both her and not. 

She flinches in surprise when an unexpected hand makes contact with her arm and turns back to Thancred. “I’d volunteered,” he corrects her. The lingering smile on his face is soft in the starlight cast above them, and she’s almost managed to forget that his real body still rests in the Source. Too long hair and a face in need of a shave, with a bandana the others had teased him over; that is how she remembers him and had seen him last. But for him, it had been five years since he’s seen her last—and on the First his body had reformed alongside his soul’s image, in which he was young once more and untouched by the hands of Lahabrea or his trip through the Lifestream.

It was like looking at a memory with the First-hardened Thancred imposed over it. It was strange, but then again, what hadn’t been lately?

The hand on her arm sets Lia’s teeth on edge, having someone touch her so casually only days after she had white ichor running through her veins, burning up marble and wood whenever it spewed forth from her lips. She itches to shake it off. 

“Did Ryne go to sleep?” She asks. The girl had energy aplenty in the wake of their success, but she was still young and tired from all she had done. The healing she had done on Lia alone, prior to their trip to the Tempest, had left her pale faced and sunken-eyed and the guilt and gratitude both bubble within Lia’s chest, adding on further to the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

The hand is withdrawn as Thancred chuckles. His eyes find the stars above them and his posture is as relaxed as Lia’s seen him since—well, since a very long time. “She did. Fell asleep right next to the twins, though thankfully not for the same reasons.” At her pointed silence, his smile notches up into a grin. “I’m afraid those two are nowhere near as close to holding their alcohol as well as they think they are. Out like babes, and now safely in their rooms for the remainder of the night.” 

“Where you should be,” Lia is quick to point out. “Your injuries from Ran’jit were surely strained in—well.” She trails off, unable to say the name dancing on her tongue. Hades . She has not finished processing yet, has not managed to file away the ghostly recreation of Amaurot or Emet-Selch’s genuine request at the end of it all. It will all fall away somewhere within her in time, laid to rest alongside all the other bones of things she does not wish to think about. 

If Ardbert were here, he’d tell that she should. That it was unhealthy to bury them under the earth of her thoughts, where she only encountered them in the grips of a nightmare.

“I’m faring fine,” Thancred replies and she can feel his eyes on her again. His gaze feels just as heavy as his hand had been. “It is you, my dear, that should be the one taking her rest. It’s well-deserved, wouldn’t you say?”

The endearment is old and familiar and makes her want to curl up even further into herself, build walls of Garlean steel outside her body so as to not let anyone in. It reminds her of a hot desert too long ago, of a smile she hasn’t seen on Thancred’s face since. Of a camaraderie they haven’t had since she carried his limp body on the back of a stolen magitek from the blazing, crumbling ruins of a Garlean stronghold. 

It’s enough to break her, out here in the lonely night with the both of them staring at the same stars and the faint sound of music coming from below. For so long she had managed to fare alone, to rely on no one but herself to shoulder her hopes and fears, and then Ardbert had come along and it was as if her soul had recognized its missing part, even before the mysterious words of the long-dead Amaurotine in the long-dead city. It had made her want to actually open up herself to someone, made her heart in her chest flutter with desire to not be alone, not anymore. For so long her mantra had been that the Warrior of Light does not get lonely, especially not in the wake of her victory; that the Warrior of Light is a woman of force and steel, of victory and surety. 

And the deepest secret she’s been holding for days now, close to her chest and barely even shared with Ardbert—

That the Warrior of Light assuredly, did not, for the briefest of hours on a long, light filled night, wish to run away and die in peace as a monster. 

“Is it?” Slips out from her mouth. The music from the markets has struck up a cheerful tune in stark contrast to the turmoil she struggles to contain from leaking into her words. “I nearly killed you all. Nearly became a monster myself. It was only luck that led to the light within me settling.” 

Luck , by which she means, of course, the death of Emet-Selch. The moment between her last thought on him and the one right now has not afforded her the clarity she seeks on how it makes her feel. There is no satisfaction in it, not like there had been with Thordan or Zenos. 

There should be. He wanted to Rejoin the First to the Source through genocide, she knows this, and yet.

Yet . 

Something sad and old within her that she has no name for is grieving.

The hand on her arm is back again and she tilts her head to peer at Thancred. “Hey,” he says quietly, the smile gone from his face. In its place is an earnest appeal, a trust she feels is undeserved considering she was moments away from eating them all. “But you didn’t turn. You’re still mortal. You’re still you .” The hand on her arm moves to cover her hair in a move similar she’s seen both Urianger and him do with Ryne; a motion of comfort, and for a brief second she’s bitterly amused at being comforted like a child. But Thancred’s fingers do not linger in one spot and he smoothes back the flyaway strands around her forehead, then runs them gently over the thin skin of her ears. 

For a heartbeat, she looks at him and lets herself be swallowed by the tidal wave of fear that has been cresting at the edges of her sanity. “Am I?” she asks. Uncurling herself she faces him fully and brings the hand he’s laid upon her to her face, not bothering for once to hide the trembling in her limbs. “Am I mortal, Thancred? Or am I—” the words tangles on her tongue, sharp and painful. “—Ascian? Lightwarden? Do I still look mortal to you ?”

The world has thrown so many things at her and she had bested them all, had overcome their attempts at taking her life. She’d chalked it up to Hydaelyn’s blessing before, but now with the knowledge that her Mother was a primal —and she’d believed Emet-Selch on this, the truth settling in her breast as if she’d always known—then what did that make Her Warrior of Light? 

The true question lies on the tip of her tongue, unwilling to be spoken: Is a tempered, light filled girl still mortal, Thancred?

She’d only taken his hand in a moment of uncertainty, in a desire for someone else to feel her skin and tell her that the blood within was warm and not the sizzling heat of light. But he moves his fingers over her cheek and then to the corners of her eyes, gentle in a way she’s never seen before. “You do,” he says quietly. She’s trembling before him, heart beating like a bird’s and pupils blown wide in fear. “You’re still you, Lia.” 

His fingers ghost over her lips and for a second it feels as if time stops, as if they’re the only two in the world awake in the new-old and brilliant night. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d let herself be this vulnerable with another, had let them see the fears which drew breath within the pit of her stomach and crawled through her bloodstream. It almost makes her sob in inexplicable relief—she swallows down the feelings rising in her chest and closes her eyes as a few tears fall anyway, caught only by Thancred’s other hand rising up to sweep them away. 

He lets her collect herself in silence, until her eyes are open again and she’s staring into his own. Lia’s lips part beneath his feather-light touch and she can’t help the shaky inhale, the feeling that gets stuck somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. “Promise, Thancred?” She whispers against his skin, the calluses on his fingers rough against her lips. “Do you promise me that I am me ? That you won’t ever let me become a monster?”

She hadn’t had to speak the words with Ardbert. He had already known, had seen the thoughts through the emotions grappling on her face when she had woken up blinded and in light-fuelled agony. But Ardbert was gone—had never really been there—and she cannot expect those not of her own soul to recognize what she needs, to know the things to say when she hides her fears so well.

If she wanted the weight on her shoulders to lift—truly, eagerly wanted it—then she had to be the one to reach out. To bring down the walls of stone and steel around her heart and recognize the figures of the Scions burning bright around her, willing to walk with her until her last breath.

In the darkness and the starlight of the night, the expression on Thancred’s face shifts. He looks as serious as he did before they braved the fires of the ghostly Amaurot, when he thanked her for all she’d done for him and vowed to always have her back. “I promise,” he says and sweeps the pads of his fingers over her bottom lip, before moving to gently cradle her chin in a reassuring grip. “And if you ever doubt it—if you ever think that you are anything but the kind, brave person you are—then look to me.” His other hand cards through her hair now and the tears are coming again, falling fast over her cheeks and onto the stone beneath them. 

“I will be right there at your side, reminding you again and again.”

Something in her chest breaks and she exhales, leans further into his warmth and grip on her. “Okay,” she says, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall freely now. “I will. I will .”

#HAPPY #THANCRED #APPRECIATION #LIFE #!!! #this is my second time ever writing thancred and the first time he was not so sad yet #click the read more to see Lia being sad and learning how to make friends #what else is new #my writing #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #thancred waters

[alwayschoosechocolate]

Are we even speaking the same language? (Part 17)

Sophie moves to Seoul to become a language assistant at one of Seouls biggest music companies. Even though her Korean is far from perfect, she quickly seems to get along with some of the biggest stars in the company. But the language might not be the only barrier, she has to overcome. 

Characters: All seven members of BTS, paring between Namjoon x main character

Word count: 2800

Genre: romance, angst, fluff 

Warnings: struggles with mental health, physical abuse, mental abuse, heavy manipulation

Comments: The part written in cursive is a flashback. 

Masterpost with the other parts of the story, can be found here (x)

A/N: This one is a tough one, loves. It’s taken me ages to write and it’s not even that long. All I can say is, that next part will be longer. But thanks to everyone who waited patiently for me. Enjoy! Read, like, reblog, comment, write me!

Tag list:  @lidda @spookidema @we-found-wonderland-in-1989

When they walked into her apartment that afternoon, Sophie quickly put her stuff away before making a pot of coffee to calm her nerves. She had thought about this all day, debating back and forth if now was the right time. She knew, that despite the stories it entailed, she owed it to him to tell him the truth. It had huge implications for the future, and he deserved to know, what he was getting into.

Namjoon observed her from the doorway to the kitchen. He hadn’t been oblivious to her unusually quiet state and the crease between her eyebrows, that always appeared, when she was nervous. Watching her fidget with the coffee pot, he sighed deeply, trying to figure out, when was bothering her. Pushing himself off the door frame, he padded across the kitchen to snake his arms around her waist and pull her close to his chest. Nuzzling his face against her neck, he failed to draw the usual giggle from her lips, that he loved so much.

“What’s wrong, babe?”, he mumbled against her shoulder as he tightened his grip on her.

She tensed a bit at his touch but willed her body to relax. This could be the last embrace she got from him.

“Nothing,” she sighed, breathing in his scent and holding back the tears threatening to fall.

Despite how much she had fought against it, she had gotten frighteningly used to having him around, and although she hadn’t told him, she did love him. But she knew his love for her was based on a lie. All he knew, was what she let him know. But this was something he deserved to know. It wasn’t fair to keep it from him anymore.

Drawing a shaky breath, she turned around in his arms, making herself small against his chest, and silencing her brain, which screamed for her to get away from him. To not trust him. To throw him out of her life. Shaking her head to get rid of the screaming, she squinted her eyes and hid her face in his sweatshirt.

Namjoon could do nothing but hold her close, feeling how her breathing shook both herself and him. It ached him to see her like this. Fighting against her own mind. He wanted to help, to fight whoever was making her feel like this. But the walls she had built around herself were too thick, and she had only realized too late, that the enemy she had build them for, resided between them. Namjoon was left to stand outside the walls, hearing the echoes of the fight happening within.

“I need to tell you something,” she whispered against his chest, her eyes still squinted shut. “But I need you to promise me, that you won’t pity me.”

Furrowing his eyebrows at her words, he pulled back to look at her face. Sophies eyes were wide open and they were pleading wordlessly with him to accept her premise. It was a fight he would always loose.

“Depends on what you tell me…”

“No.” Her voice, strong and stubborn despite her state, cut him off. “You can get angry. You can blame me. You can tell me it’s not so bad. But don’t pity me.” Voice breaking at the last sentence, he saw the uncertainty in her eyes, as she both stared him down and tried to hide from him at the same time.

Left without at choice Namjoon leaned down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, before pulling her close to his heart again.  

“Okay, Sophie. I promise.”

The coffee machine beeped to signal that it was done, and Sophie withdrew from his embrace to pour them a cup of coffee each, before taking his hand and leading him to the living room.

When he sat down on the couch, she stayed on her feet a few moments as if accessing the situation, before sitting down on the floor. Mentally rolling his eyes at her constant habit of distancing herself from him, he let himself slide down on the floor as well, making Sophie look at him with confusion written all over her face.

“I can’t pity you, remember?”, he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t want to be looking down on you. Whatever it is you’re about to tell me, I want you to know, that I’m here with you. I would never look down on you.”

Sending her a reassuring smile, Sophie felt herself relax a bit. He had never given her reason not to trust him before, so why shouldn’t she trust him now?

Fidgeting with the sweater paws that Namjoons borrowed sweater made on her, she started talking. Opening up about a chapter of her story that she always hid furthest away from other people’s light, her voice was hesitant at first, but slowly got stronger.  

Two years ago - Berlin

“Your moms’ genes are in your body, and this is the only way you can make sure that you don’t turn into her. You already have her face, her temper and her wide hips. I know, you fight against yourself every day to not be like her. This would only help you, princess.”

They had been lying in bed together that night, Sophie too spent to say anything. She had had three panic attacks that day. After the second panic attack, she had opted for alcohol to dull her senses. Her mom’s surprise visit that morning had flung Sophie completely off course, and instead of attending the classes she had that day, she had hid herself against the side of the bed turning away from the kitchen – the only place in the apartment out of view from the front door.

When he came home and found her, he simply sighed before pulling her up off the floor, and placing her in his lap.

“What was it this time?”, he asked, an impatient snark to his tone. “Are your courses too hard? I told you, it would be better for you, if you dropped out. Not everyone is smart enough to make it through university, and you’re crazy enough to attempt it in a different language than your native one.”

Drawing a shaky breath at his words, she considered lying to him and just blame her courses. But she couldn’t. They always told each other the truth. Good or bad.

“It’s my mom,” she whispered, whimpering slightly when she felt his hands against her sensitive skin. He liked holding her close, when she was feeling vulnerable.

“What about her?”

Looking for the strength to keep her tears back, it took her a few seconds to answer, making him impatient and give her a soft shake.

“Hey, I asked you a question?” Moving his head closer to her face, he suddenly pulled back with a scrunched-up face. “Arh, you’ve been drinking? Why can’t you deal with this some other way? Every time you get drunk, I have to take care of you,” he huffed in annoyance, pushing her back on the bed and getting up. “I have a life too, you know.”

Mumbling under his breath, he slammed the door shut on his way out, leaving Sophie alone to deal with her mind, as the guilt of burdening him overtook her.

-           

She learned to hide it from him. Making sure he wouldn’t see. He shouldn’t deal with her. He had enough trouble as it was, being the only source of income in the house. The least she could do was to not burden him further. It was tough though, and in order for her to save her positive energy for him, she cut down on seeing her friends, decreasing the outings she had.

When he commented on her being home all the time, she said they had stopped inviting her.

“Aw, babe,” he smirked. “You’re so lucky, you have me to take care of you.”

“I know,” she smiled over dinner.

And she did. After all, who else would love someone as incapable as her? He reminded her daily of how much he did for her. How he reminded her to cook healthy, so she wouldn’t get fat. How he walked her everywhere she went, to make sure she was safe. How he warned her about her friends, when they got jealous about their relationship. How he didn’t allow her any sweets, because she couldn’t handle the temptation.

He took care of her, and she felt loved with him.

-           

“Don’t you think that would be better for us?”, he mumbled against Sophies neck, as he pressed sweet kisses there. “You always said, you didn’t want kids, and this way we don’t have to worry about contraception.”

He was right. If there was one thing she knew, it was that she didn’t want kids. It was something they had discussed several times always with the same end - sterilization. It made sense. He wasn’t sure, if he would want kids later, but Sophie had always known, that she didn’t want kids. She didn’t want to end up like her mom. He agreed.

“Even if your aware of her mistakes, it’s still in your genes, and you’ll probably end up being exactly like her,” he would always end the discussion with a shrug. He was right. He always was.

Looking at the screen in front of them with the information about the procedure, Sophie felt her stomach turn at the idea. Even with his sweet reassuring, kisses and cuddles, the procedure still seemed scary.

“Hey,” he grabbed her chin and tilted her head towards him. “Do you remember the pregnancy scare you had last year?”

Nodding meekly at his words, Sophie recalled the panic attacks it had triggered, and how he had been forced to slap her to make her see straight again. He mirrored her nods. “You don’t want that again, do you? I don’t wanna have to do that to you again, baby.”

Closing her eyes, Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat, before nodding again.

“I’ll do it.”

Less than a week later she got sterilized. She remembered the smell of hospital, the coarse material of the hospital gown and the mask with the anesthesia. Waking up a few hours later, it felt like someone had torn out her womb. Both physically and methaphorically. Lying in the hospital bed, she had never felt more alone. For the first time ever, she found herself wanting her mother by her side. Closing her eyes to keep the tears at bay, she tried to remember her boyfriend’s words, repeating them like mantra to herself.

“She is your mom. You carry her in your genes. The only thing you can do, is to make sure not to bring another kid with those genes into the world.”

“How did you get out?”, Namjoon spoke quietly almost a whole minute after she stopped talking. 

He had never been so angry at a person he didn’t know. The thought of Sophie living in such a relationship for so long made his heart ache and his blood boil. He felt the sudden urge to travel to Germany and find this guy, just so he could beat him up. Seeing Sophie on the floor, pressed against the sofa as she told him the story of her ex, he had fought every urge he had to pull her into his embrace. To protect her. To help her. To do anything really. But instead he had remained seated on the floor, while every muscle in his body screamed at him to hold her.

“You remember my friend who visited me a few weeks ago?”, she asked in a tired voice. “He picked me up from the hospital that day, because my ex was working. But instead of taking me home, he took me to his place. He told me that if I went back to my ex’s place, he would come with me. So I stayed.” Fidgeting with her sweater, she let out a sarcastic laugh. “My ex didn’t like Daniel either. I was afraid he would beat him up, if he saw him in our apartment.”

Seeing her joke about what had happened almost hurt more than hearing about it, and if possible, he clenched his jaw even tighter, making his teeth hurt.

“I never told him about any of the things that happened, but I think he knew. When I called to ask him to pick me up, he didn’t even question it. He told me later, that he thought my ex had beaten me.”

“Did he?”

Namjoon could barely hear his own words over the thumbing of his heart in his ears, so scared of unpacking more about her past.

Shrugging with an unreadable expression, she shook her head faintly.

“Not really. Besides that one time, he never hurt me.”

“Maybe not physically, but he sounds like a manipulating asshole,” Namjoon huffed out in a mixture of annoyance at her ex for treating her like that, and exasperation at Sophie for not realizing how bad she had been treated.

Letting out a tired laugh at his words, she leaned closer to him, making Namjoon tense up. She always moved away from him, when she was upset.

“Do you want me to hold you?”, he asked hesitantly, holding his breath as if him breathing would scare her off.

“Would you? Just not too tight, please.”

As she ducked under his arm and closer to his chest, he hurriedly draped his arm over her shoulder, keeping her close.

“I just want to feel you,” she whispered. “Even if you’re mad at me for not telling you.”

Confusion etched itself into Namjoons features, as he took a few heartbeats to let her words sink in.

“Why would I be mad at you? It sounds like an awful time of your life. I don’t blame you for not wanting to relive that.” His soft voice only made Sophie huff out in irritation.

“You promised, you wouldn’t pity me,” she scolded with a pout, not even bothering to raise her voice.

For now, pity would have to do. Once he really understood, what she had just told him, he would leave anyway.

“I’m not pitying you. I have compassion for you,” he retorted.

“Don’t use big words with me. You don’t fool me, Namjoon. And I am not some charity case, okay?”

Despite her harsh tone and clear annoyance with him, she only pressed closer to him, seeping up every bit of warmth and comfort she could find with him. Any second now he would leave and never come back. Hopefully, he would forget about the hoodie she was wearing, so she could keep it as a memory.

“Soph.” Namjoons voice was scolding, and yet full of love. “I feel awful that you had to through what you did. I feel helpless, because I can’t do anything to change it. And I am mad at your ex for treating you like dirt under his heel, when I see you as a flower meant to be in the sun, always admired and growing stronger.” His hand started carting through her hair, making her let out a sigh of contentment despite her nerves being on edge. “But I would never leave you.”

Sophie huffed out a strained laugh. Laughing was easier than crying. It gave her a sense of control. She wasn’t surprised at what was about to happen. Actually, she saw it coming. So she was able to laugh at all the things Namjoon was saying, which she knew he would disprove in a few minutes, if not mere seconds. He just needed to fully understand the implications of what she had just told him.

“Didn’t you hear me, Namjoon?”, she spat.

She was getting annoyed now. He wasn’t normally this dense. Why on earth did he have to be it now.

“Of course, I heard you. I heard all of it.”

Namjoons voice was still soft, his embrace softer. It made Sophies insides twitch, and she felt the irritation in the pit of her stomach.

“Namjoon, stop!”

Pushing away his arms and moving apart from him, Sophie sent him an exasperated look, only to be met with his pout at her exclamation.

“What is it, you’re not getting here?” – Namjoon simply shook his head in confusion, making Sophie roll her eyes in annoyance - “Namjoon, I got sterilized. I can’t have children.”

Namjoon sent her a soft smile and tried to pull her into his arms again, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, when she refused to move.

“Yeah, but that’s reversible, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean…”

“No, Namjoon.” Sophie let out a sigh of defeat. This was it. “It can’t be reversed. There is less than a 1% chance of me getting pregnant. Ever.”

// Part 18 //

#are we even speaking the same language #bts #bangtan #bangtan imagines #bangtan reactions #bangtan fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon romance #kim seokjin #min yoongi #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #jhope #rm #jin #suga #ot7 #bts romance #bangtan boys #abuse #manipulation

[frstbiitten]

Trigger warning: alcohol, death mention, drugs.

That same night she almost didn't get any sleep, Lewis insisted on leaving her in his apartment and coming back in the early morning while Clarissa refused and wanted Snowflake to rest in her room for tonight, she could sleep that night on the couch, preferred for her to be under surveillance before leaving her alone. Before letting the young girl into her own room, the environment erupted into an argument caused by Clarissa that followed for a few more hours.

"Tell me, how old are you really?" She had drunk enough to start standing in a more relaxed manner but her face wouldn't let go of the recent worry.

"I told you she's 21!" Lewis was in much the same condition, with a beer bottle in his hand and a smell of sweat that was unbearable, sitting next to the wooden table close to the wall.

"Stop. Lying. Asshole!"

"I'm 16 years old... is that what you want to know? Well yes, I'm not 21, I'm 16, do you have anything against me for not being the age you expected?" An unbroken silence fell over them for a few seconds only, but it still seemed like the minutes have been enlarged. Clarissa approached the girl as she struggled to maintain her balance, her eyes were bright and narrow, placed a hand on her shoulder but she had to remove it since the girl's skin was so cold.

"No... there's nothing against that... just that you're in a lot of trouble... A lot of trouble, believe me... you have to take care of yourself." Those were obvious words but they were meaningful, couldn't take it lightly if she wanted to survive and win another day, and those were words packed with experience. It did her good to hear what others more familiar with the subject might have to say.

"Well, you can't exactly s-solve it, obviously they don't let minors fight like that, it's already been done and it's extremely dangerous." Lewis paused, actually, he had to burp to be able to continue talking. "Clarissa, do you remember?" The sister laid her pale eyes on her brother's face, tilted her head to the right and a sound of broken glass burst in the room. Her strength was slightly dulled by the alcohol in her blood, throwing the bottle that had been in her hand without much effort, Lewis threw himself to the floor before the bottle hit his face, laughing at the reaction... the young woman in the room didn't understand what was happening exactly, running to the safety of the room and closing the door behind her.

It would have been better not to know what happened before, but one could have noticed the tension that night before the fight because of Clarissa's presence there among the spectators. Lewis told Snowflake the next days that in reality his sister was technically not allowed to be there, the last time she fought in the cage she had such bad luck that her rival was a fifteen-year-old girl, she lived in the streets since she was a child and that night she wanted to try her luck before dying of hunger. The show was short-lived, as it is very unlikely that a non-professional who is not well nourished can beat someone who is far more experienced. But that was not all, because Clarissa could not kill her properly, although she had broken her spine and suffocated her for several minutes, the girl did not perish, it seemed impossible that at that point she refused to die but her body resisted even in its weakest moment. It was a scandal, many thought that she did it on purpose to create a reputation that would give others a reason to be afraid of her, but she did not. It was never under her own control and refused to continue fighting.

She could not sleep that night, not only because of the argument the siblings were having in the other room but for the fear of closing her eyes and not knowing what she would find once she begins to dream. In the darkness of the night, as it gradually invaded her head, the moonlight transported her to an unknown place, the only light coming from the starry sky above her head, and filtering through dry branches like spiders weaving threads of darkness. She was unsure if she's walking or flying, she's moving forward, is she? Her destination was an unreal scenario as well as it was horrific, she wanted to scream but something was squeezing her neck, her own hands around her neck.

A naked body was raised about 4 meters above the ground but it was pierced by several icy formations as giant needles from the ground, two in the legs, one in the stomach, another in the chest, and one in the head, was the thinnest but seemed the most lethal. The girl could hear the blood dripping and staining the stone floor, her arms were immobile and noticed they were missing, only exposed bones and muscles in shreds where her hands should be. She came a little closer, could not see who was this woman suffering this horrible death, but it was freezing her blood to listen to her suffer, her jaw was quivering and tried to breathe through her mouth. Could see her but she couldn't do anything to save her, and there was nothing left to do, however, it wouldn't be the last time they would encounter in her dreams.

The image appeared again for 15 days, they were not consecutive but she remained in the same place, elevated while gazing at the sky, sometimes the young girl saw the female figure shivering and a couple of times she heard her scream, one time she thought she was shedding tears, that's when she realized she was crying while screaming for mercy. Her sobbing was heartbreaking and her tears created a pond big enough to reach Snowflake... Eirwen, there was no need to use stupid nicknames here. The water fused with the blood reached for her toes and thought to see more gigantic needles of ice piercing the body. When she had fully recovered from her broken bones, that image disappeared from her head, felt relieved when no longer saw the image in the middle of the night, and when it finally left her she could breathe better than before, with less ache in her body.

The night of her return was as glorious as the first, no, better than the first, the strangers who did not know her at first seemed to be enchanted by the brutality of the young woman, from the outside it was the most spectacular carnage. Inside, she sensed that with each blow some unknown part of herself was leaving, the punches were incessant, that night she heard thunderous drums beating against her skull every time she hit the other rival, the fury took over her senses and she was not even a spectator of what was happening, she was confined to be a puppet of the emotions that scorched inside her chest. The sound of the drums dissolved into echoes in the midst of a dark room in the middle of the night, her skin trembled under her clothes as she watched the door close, the door opening soon after, her bones paralyzed. It was fear, it grew inside her, it rotted her insides and now it was she who paralyzed those who stared at her.

Then there was calm but did not last long as it came with headaches and physical pain of spending so much energy in a night of fighting. She had succeeded, she had earned money and taken the chance to live another day, would have to be satisfied with her achievement tonight, it was not like that. Cleaning the body after the fight was becoming a silent ritual that only she could understand, she saw the dry red spots become liquid once again as the shower water came down over her head, gently cleansing her skin. It was a relief that they had showers in that building, how the hell did it hold up after all? Is still confused about this illegal world that many people know about but none of them seemed better than her, one could say that judging by their looks and way of talking they were as ruined as she was.

"We should celebrate your return and victory, don't you think?" Clarissa could only think of relaxing after a long night like that, there were places that, even though they didn't look good, offered loud music, drinks and more things that the girl still couldn't access to right now due to her age.

"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" It was enough to know that if she wanted to continue with the night, they'd have to go back to the siblings' apartment and borrow some clothes. She wasn't sure if a tight dress would fit her at all or if it was appropriate for her age, she preferred not to wear heels, but shoes that could be considered 'nice' and comfortable, as well as braiding her hair and forming a bun. Well... didn't know if she looked that bad in front of Clarissa's mirror, or that uncomfortable.

"By the way, be careful with what you drink." It is what Clarissa mentioned before forcing the girl to sit down on the mattress and applying a light foundation on the pale skin, it seemed to create an illusion, adding years to her features. Dark lipstick and eye shadow to match with the rest of her look. Needed to remember that advice once or twice through their trip in Lewis' car.

**

There are certain rules to follow when you want to enjoy the rest of the night until you are fed up. She has never had the opportunity to visit a place to have fun with the simple objective of forgetting anything that happened during the day. The fists still echoed with the pain of the hits, but with the passing of the night, they would alleviate very soon. That and a few drinks in between.

"Don't drink too much, you have money but we don't want you to spend it on drinking and then get lost in the crowd." Even though Lewis had said no, he finally agreed to give her something to drink, could she bear it? Sure, it was illegal, what wasn't illegal at this point? They lived under no rules and who would dare to forbid them, although with the makeup on her face she gave the impression to be a young adult and not a teenager. The first rule, she couldn't be apart from them much.

"Watch the glass, keep it with you at all time." It was the second time Clarissa insisted on watching what she was taking. What kind of paranoia was that? Could something wrong happen to her? She did not ask questions of any kind, for she preferred to sip on a sweet daiquiri, at first she found it awful, then it was softer and more bearable for her throat, felt as if her neck would catch fire if she drank again, but she was soothed after the fourth sip.

It was a good idea to come with comfortable shoes, the figures around her after a few minutes -or hours?- began to dissipate in the atmosphere, the lights were too dimmed and the crowd occupied almost the entire compound, it seemed that many people came to this place but could not imagine where they came from exactly. Hours -or minutes?- passed and not even Clarissa or Lewis would dance with her, they were sitting in a remote area under a red light, there were seats around a glass table with half-empty glasses and cigarettes still lit placed on it. She didn’t want to let them out of her sight, although her glass was with them now, hers was completely empty without any liquid. Looked closely at the faces of strangers who were coming into her field of vision, people who were disappearing into the darkness and the lights, attempted to imitate the movements of the others, was she really enjoying it? What exactly was she doing here?

It came to a point in which she couldn’t see the two siblings, in fact, she could no longer see the entrance or the part of the bar, only listened to the noisy music coming from the speakers, the bodies around her led her to an area where she seemed to be in the center of a black hole, around her everyone was dancing to a disappearing rhythm. One of her arms ached slightly, she gradually lost feeling in one of them, right or left? What's more, her body was asking to be able to sleep and rest, the young girl was exhausted... She pulled both hands to her face and grunted against her palms, nobody seemed to notice her behavior or how she is feeling, her own feet moved in an unknown direction, north or south? Needed to get out of there, somewhere, anywhere.

Eirwen never collapsed against the ground, no matter how much she thought about being inside of a dream or a nightmare.

#novel #((yup... now is starting to get blurry)) #alcohol tw #death mention tw #drugs tw

[hpconsentfest]

That’s  a Wrap!

It’s been nearly 7 months since the idea of a consent themed fest was born from a discussion in the Drarry Squad discord. It’s been said before, but it bears repeating: when we the mods first began planning the fest in earnest we discussed how 5 ficlets would be a success (and that’s with two of us writing!).

After just over 6 weeks of posting, the HD Consent Fest AO3 collection hosts:

-55 different writers and artists, including 11 who identified themselves as writing in a fest for the first time

-56 submissions

-50 fics

- > 800,915 words (words embedded in comics and graphic novels not counted); average word count = 16018

-6  beautiful works of visual art, including 2 comics and a graphic novel

And these stats don’t even account for all the HYPE that followers of the fest shared—keeping the fest buzzing on AO3, tumblr, and discord via recs, chat, comments, kudos, likes, and reblogs.

Needless to say, mates, we are chuffed. You have done more than blow away our wildest hopes; you have strapped them to a rocket and shot the rock into outer space.

To everyone who submitted fic or art or both, we are staggered, humbled, and beyond grateful for all of the thought, energy, time, love, and sweat you poured into your submissions.

To everyone who read along, whether you read something every week or looked at even 1 work—thank you.

Finishing posting feels not unlike crossing the finishing line after a marathon: we’re high on fandom endorphins, elated, excited about what this community accomplished together and how much fun we had doing it, but we’re also ready for a nap!

Below is the Reveals Master List. We encourage everyone to lavish these fan work creators with love!

ART:

Breaths Against Skin by @carpemermaidtales/ carpemermaid,  Mature Summary: Harry has picked up a habit of breathing "May I?" against Draco's skin.

Can I Kiss You? By @ano-ka-ba /anokaba, Mature Summary: can I kiss you?

Harry: *staring longingly at Draco's thighs*

Draco: *raises eyebrow, reaches for Harry's glasses*

Harry: *finally drags eyes up*

Draco: *pulls towards and wraps legs around*

Harry: *grabs bum*

Suits and Serenity, by @illuminatedweasel, Teen Summary: “You looked hot out there today.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Mhm, can I kiss you now?”

“I thought you’d never ask”

Worth In the Wait by @sailorslash /SailorSlash, Teen Summary: A short comic about the night of Harry and Draco's wedding.

You're the only exception and I'm on my way to believe it. By @mea-momento/mea_momento, General Summary: While stuck in a convoluted fake dating plot, the boys have to keep checking with each other for consent to do things like pretend to kiss in public for the sake of their ruse.

ART & FIC:

It's a Plan by @torrancelim /Marshview, Teen Summary: Harry and Draco are in a relationship, but Draco was raped in the past, and cannot kiss Harry on the lips or have sex. He does enjoy forehead kisses, cuddles, and showing affection. Harry understands, and gives Draco the kind of love and support Draco needs.

The Shetland Demon by @owlpostart/Owlpostart (Charlotte_Bird), Mature Summary: Draco Malfoy of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has been sent to a remote Scottish island to handle the post-mortem and clean up of a washed up magical beast. The Scottish Auror office have also sent one of theirs, Harry Potter, somebody Draco hasn’t seen in several years, but with whom he shares a romantic history. Draco quickly finds himself slipping back into old habits while struggling to maintain his own agency and professionalism. Is it the beast’s malevolent influence or genuine yet long buried affection for Harry that’s behind their slide back into physical and emotional intimacy?

FIC:

5A by @neveranygoodupthere/neveranygoodupthere, Mature Summary: It’s his twenty fifth visit to the flat. A posh spot in midtown Manhattan with updated appliances, rooftop access, and a snooty doorman. A spot that five years ago would have been inconceivable to its resident. But war and death and time all wreak their changes.

About Time by @reginaagr0na/LadyOfTheAttic, Teen Summary: Harry opens his big mouth and must pretend to date Draco Malfoy to keep things from blowing up in his face even further.

Arseholes by@postjentacular/postjentacular, Explicit Summary: In which words and actions don't mean the same thing.

Asking For It by @gold-from-straw/Lynds, Teen Summary: Fill for post 109 on the Consent Fest: Draco tells Scorpius about his own experience of sexual abuse when teaching him about consent, and becomes involved with helping other parents teach their children about consent, and dealing with lad culture.

Beautiful Eyes and Dark Blue Skies by @foularcadebanana/Yesimawriter, Teen Summary: Everybody knew about the rivalry that brewed between the two kings living in neighbouring kingdoms and not much changed after one of them died. This surely meant that when their children met at the age of sixteen, both princes and heirs to their respective thrones, they would develop a deep all-consuming hatred for each other as well. Surely they would not happen to like one another. Surely not.

Bed Music by @lower-east-side/LowerEastSide, Explicit Summary: The new call-in sex advice show on the WWN is Very Inappropriate, Harry thinks. But he finds himself spending more and more time with Malfoy anyways. Will Draco be able to convince him of the necessity of open discourse on sex, consent, and intimacy? And what are the Greengrass sisters plotting? Caller, go ahead!

Bloody Tease by ENCHANTED_JAE, Explicit Summary: Draco wants to be sure that Harry is willing. Very, very sure.

Brick by Brick by @agentmoppet/agentmoppet, Explicit Summary: There’s something between the two of them, something that builds beneath the smoky lights of the club and grows stronger during midnight conversations held on a rooftop high above the streets of London. But Draco wants to wait.

Cherished by @acciotomriddle/leontina (Leontina), Explicit Summary: Ever since Draco was turned into a vampire he hasn’t touched Harry, and Harry desperately wants to know why. When they finally turn, surprising revelations are made.

Cold Like Fire by @queenofthyme/QueenofThyme, Mature Summary: Head Auror, Harry Potter, had no problem with mandatory consent training for his team. He’d actually been looking forward to it, that is until he discovered who the teacher was. Now, he had no idea how he was going to get through the training without throwing a hex at Draco Malfoy. Or a punch.

Come Inside by @vaguedisclaimer-ao3/VagueDisclaimer, Explicit Summary: “Can I come inside you?" Harry asks, his voice a breathy whisper.

And Draco nods, just once, ever so slightly, biting his plump bottom lip and looking deeply into Harry's eyes.

At least, that’s how Harry imagined it going.

Communication Is Key (For A Happy Ending) by @articcat621/articcat621, Mature Summary: Draco can tell that there's something on Harry's mind.

A Day in the Life by @unadulteratedstorycollector/unadulteratedstorycollector, Explicit Summary: Harry and Draco have been together for years. They have a great sex life. Great and perfectly normal. Sometimes they have sex, sometimes they don't. Sometimes it takes a little persuasion... but not really that much. Ok, barely any.

Everything That Happens is From Now On by @thusspoketrish/trishjames, Explicit Summary: After surviving a brutal assault, Draco tries to navigate the tumultuous waters of his mind, and embrace a bit of love and trust in his life. After all, the smallest steps forward can begin to heal the most fractured of souls.

A Gift for Draco by @norelationtoatticus /SquadOfCats, Explicit Summary:Though their new relationship is going well, both Harry and Draco have trouble communicating and are holding back from taking things to the next level–both emotionally and sexually. When Harry decides he is ready for more, he stumbles over how to start the conversation, but figures out a plan with the help of his friends. He comes up with the perfect Valentine’s Day gift to show Draco trust, commitment, and desire: sexy pictures of his naked arse. Thankfully, Pansy Parkinson has a camera and is willing to help…

A Hag, a Hex, a Tale of Redemption by @aibidil/aibidil, Explicit Summary: A fuck-or-die fairytale in which Draco Malfoy lives a despicable and unapologetic life — that is, until he’s cursed to die unless he can fall in love with and fuck Harry Potter.

Have Me Then by crazyparakiss, Explicit Summary: In Draco’s world, women are expected to be demure, non-lusting creatures. They are expected to be devoted while their husbands cater to base desires with women of the evening. All passions they are permitted lie between dusty, well-worn pages of romance novels. Draco doesn’t want to be that woman, but as she spends her days—unfulfilled—in the arms of a boring lover she dreams of more. Potter is so much more than she could imagine.

Highly (in)Compatible by @callingdrarry/gracie137, Explicit Summary: Draco’s been shagging The Prat Who Lived on and off for a few months when his soul mark starts to change. Draco’s had to accept a lot of adjustments to his life, but accepting that Harry Potter could be his soulmate is one step too far. It can’t be true? Can it?

I Don't Want This to Be a Mistake by @maraudersaffair/maraudersaffair, Explicit Summary: Consent can be tricky when Harry is Scorpius’ professor.

In the Ways That Matter by @FleetofShippyShips/FleetofShippyShips, Mature Summary:  Falling asleep with Harry Potter mid-argument, while completely pissed, was something Draco could never have predicted happening when he returned for his repeat seventh-year at Hogwarts. But it happened. And then it happened again. And again. At some point the alcohol was gone, and they were just falling asleep side by side night after night, escaping nightmares together.

It isn't anything more than that, even if sometimes it really feels like it is.

It's Been Draco For Awhile by @oceaxereturns/oceaxe, Explicit Summary: What harm can a love potion do if you're already in love?

In which Harry finds out that it's not a love potion but it can do quite a lot of harm, and Draco finds out how fiendishly difficult it is to fend off his flatmate's advances when all he wants is to give in to them.

just drink this and we can do whatever you want by @must-love-drarry/Juh_Nunes, General Summary: Harry was tired of people trying to dose him with love potions, so he decided to create a charm to counter it. Now he only need to test it, unfortunately (or not) it doesn’t work as he was expecting.

Kiss Me on the Mouth (and set me free) by @nerdherderette/PalenDrome (nerdherderette),  Explicit Summary: Finding a partner to sate his needs has never presented a dilemma for Draco. That is, until he encounters the fit and willing Head Auror.

Luck Is What You Make It by @starlillie/starlillie, Teen Summary: Liquid Luck. Warning! May cause giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence.

Draco should really read the labels on these things.

The Magic Cat by dot_the_writer,  Explicit Summary:  When Harry sees Draco Malfoy with painted nails and wearing an oversized jumper covered in cat fur, his obsession from school comes back in full force. Featuring supportive friends, cute cats and lots of Harry figuring out what he wants.

Malfoy’s Anatomy by @novareblogs/Novaa, Teen Summary:  Healer interns are nothing short of a bunch of little children running around with wands and severed limbs, having inappropriate sex in inappropriate places. What's the worst that could happen, really?

Missing-him-thing by @thealmostrhetoricalquestion/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion, General Summary: "Did you miss me?" Draco asks.

He’s teasing. Teasing and amused, and he doesn’t mean it, doesn’t expect a serious answer, or an answer at all, so Harry feels quite within his rights to shove Draco away, scoffing. Draco laughs, and it’s not the snide, mocking sound from their childhood, the laugh that used to make rage bubble in every delicate vein, as fierce and forceful as dragon-fire.

Did you miss me?

Every damn day, Harry doesn’t say.

(Harry and Draco teach their kids about consent, and fall in love along the way.)

Mixed Drinks and Crossed Wires by @korlaena/ korlaena, Explicit Summary: Draco is a handsy drunk. Harry is okay with it, really. They’re friends, so it doesn’t mean anything.

Oblivious by @gregqoyle/lealamalfoy, Explicit Summary: One potions class leaves Harry questioning everything. And it seems that there is only one other person that seems willing to question it too.

Orbit by @henrymercury/HenryMercury, Explicit Summary: "The classical problem of celestial mechanics, perhaps of all Newtonian mechanics, involves the motion of one body about another under the influence of their mutual gravitation."

*

They don't like each other. They're not friends. There's not even a ceasefire of any sort because they're fighting as much as ever—but there's definitely something different about it. An added layer of self-awareness they don't dare identify, but which colours every Scared, Potter? and Do your worst; each You wouldn't dare and Then prove it.

Perfectly Imperfect by @astronomicalblaise/pansypxrkinson, Teen Summary: What is going on with Potter? Draco doesn’t know. He’s too busy worrying about Salazar and choking on Pansy’s cucumber sandwiches. Now Potter’s owl is out for blood and Blaise has to be stopped.

All things considered, it’s hard being an investigative journalist and a crazy person at the same time.

Proper by @violetclarity/violetclarity, Explicit Summary: Draco sighs. “What kind of absolute twit has the chance to have sex with the Chosen One and can’t go through with it?” // In which Draco studies with Gryffindors, learns a new spell, and navigates the difficulty of being in a not-so-casual secret relationship with his childhood nemesis.

Purity Control by @frnklymrshnkly/frnklymrshnkly, Teen Summary: In which Harry tries to ignore his trauma with fantasy Quidditch but Malfoy's Thereness is distracting and all his classmates want to talk about is unicorns, virginity, and Muggle music.

Say The Words (Say Them Out Loud) by @goldentruth813/GoldenTruth813, Explicit Summary:  When Draco gets assigned as the Auror to guard Harry Potter day and night, he is sure nothing good will come of it. But as the days go on Draco is forced to evaluate himself and things he thought to be true about Potter and relationships. Sometimes it's not love at first sight. Sometimes, first, it's miscommunication and misunderstanding. A story in which Harry and Draco learn to accept the things they want from themselves and from each other.

Show Me by @bangyababy/bangyababy, Explicit Summary: On Harry and Draco's anniversary, they decide to try something new, but Draco won't do anything he isn't 100% sure Harry wants. So Harry tells him, every step of the way.

Silenced by the night by @parkkate/parkkate, Mature Summary: After a spell goes horribly wrong, Harry has to deal with the loss of his eyesight. It’s such terrible timing, too, because how is he supposed to find out what Malfoy has been up to in the Room of Requirement? It’s not like he can ask the git, not only because it’s Malfoy, but also because the Slytherin has suddenly lost his voice. While they’re both trapped in the hospital wing, however, Harry discovers there’s so much he didn’t know about Malfoy, and it’s highly intriguing, but also a bit alarming. Where did all these confusing feelings come from all of a sudden? And what is Harry going to do about them?

Start a Revolution (From My Bed) by @untilourapathy/untilourapathy (gwendolen_lotte), Teen Summary: Harry’s coming of age starts at breakfast. A peek into the lives of the Eighth Years as they become bona fide feminists over jam and croquet. Featuring the fear of growing apart, Blur and a pink cravat.

the strength in letting go by @candybarrnerd/icarusinflight, Teen Summary: Some relationships will end. This is something that everyone should be aware of, and there is no shame in ending a relationship. These things happen, and certainly, no one should stay in an unhappy relationship. We don’t want to have people learning to maintain their suffering here—only fix what can be fixed.

In which Harry and Ginny seek counselling when their marriage is on the rocks—it just doesn’t work out quite like Harry’s wanted it to.

Teach Me by @xxthedarklordxx/XxTheDarkLordxX, Mature Summary: "If you can’t learn Occlumency, then you can’t become an Auror.”

No. All of this couldn’t be for nothing. Harry hadn’t spent so much time proving himself, proving that he was more than just a famous name for all of this to go to shite. “This can’t be the end.”

"I have someone in mind that could teach you if you are willing, but I can't guarantee he will teach you, especially considering your... past."

"You don't mean Malfoy, do you?"

Team Slytherdor by @gingertodgers/GingerTodgers, Teen Summary: Rolanda Hooch takes the Slytherdor Quidditch team to the Sheffield Central Travelodge for some team bonding.

Tell Me How You Like It by @phd-mama/phdmama, Explicit Summary: It's a beautiful sunny day, and when Ron is laid up in the common room with a broken ankle, he gets more of a glimpse into his best friend's private life than he ever might have wanted!

Ten Thousand Reasons Why Not by @lqtraintracks/lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill), Explicit Summary: Harry and Draco are stand-ins for the usual witch who gives the workplace harassment and sexual consent talk to the Auror trainees. Or, a little tale in which Harry consents to be sexually harassed by Draco Malfoy.

That's What You Get For Waking Up by @alpha-exodus/alpha_exodus, Explicit Summary: Draco wakes up in the morning hungover and with someone in his bed. He never could've dreamed it would be Harry Potter.

To Hear You Say It by @drarrymylove/jeni_andtheafterthought, Explicit Summary: Hogwarts has put together an eighth year in order to allow all students a chance to complete their N.E.W.T.'s.  Harry and the other "eighth year" students come back to a much different Hogwarts.  Harry could get used to a new dormitory, harder classes, even his new roommate.  He could even get used to all the new rules and expectations.  Making is bed? How hard could it be?

Trapped by @foularcadebanana/Yesimawriter, Mature Summary: Harry was stuck in an enclosed space with no way to get out, and he just happened to have been stuck in there with Malfoy.

Treat Your Body Like A Temple by @rose-grangerweasleyisbae/donnarafiki, Mature  Summary: It hadn't been easy, and it hadn't been fast, but after many years Harry had finally gained Draco's trust. Now he woke up next to him every day, and he knew just the way to show the Slytherin how grateful he was for that.

We Sleep In Pairs by @protegototalvm/darkestbliss, Mature Summary: We do not blame flowers for their death. But when Draco’s magic dies after the War, he struggles to forgive himself, and it’s going to take far more than striking up a companionship with Harry Potter for him to heal.

When Nightmares Lead to Day Dreams by @drarryismymuse/Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn), Explicit Summary: Harry Potter didn’t want to return to Hogwarts for 8th year, concerned that the castle held too many terrible memories. Lacking any other plan, though, he agreed. He soon discovered how right AND how wrong he was.

Wing It, Baby! I Want to Fly with You by @sliceosunshine/ SliceOSunshine, Teen Summary: Harry finds him in a ditch. He never expected the life of a Superhero to be easy. But showing your enemies mercy is so hard

Still looking for more great HP fanfic? The following fests are or will soon be posting:

HP Horror Fest/@hphorrorfest (Posting April 30 - May 13)

HDS Beltane/@hdsbeltane (Posting starts May 1)

HD-Remix/@hd-remix (Posting starts May 28)

#wrap up