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should-know-better · 3 months

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I put this interview through a translator - it’s a bit clunky in places but readable.

“If things were like when I started, right now I would be a billionaire"

With "One Man Band" (Modern Sky, 23) the one from Liverpool returned this summer to the direct, optimistic and resounding chorus songs he carries in his soul.

Through Zoom Miles Kane sounds exactly like his songs, or more specifically like his latest video, where he spends a great sunny day with his dog on the promenade of Brighton: a sympathetic and unmistakably British euphoria, as contagious as he is unpretentious stains his answers.

It is not that sophistication has not been an integral part of who is still half of The Last Shadow Puppets, but these days it's time to go back to the essentials. That in addition, one thing does not take away the other. In a few days he begins an extensive tour that will take him in March to Spain in an unprecedented format: electric but solo. It will be the 5th in Barcelona (Sala Bóveda), 6 in Bilbao (Kafe Antzokia), 7 in Madrid (Jaguar) and 8 in Valencia (16 Tons). Kane is excited both for the novelty and for returning to our country. And it's nice to talk to him.

We should start by talking about the title of the album and the song of the same name, which is one of the most representative.

Yes, it was the first one I composed for the album. With it I was proving to myself a little that I am good enough, that I am going to lead the way of my own trip, do you understand me? And with a lyric like that I sing about the good times and leave the bad out. It's a pretty positive song that gave me confidence to make the rest of the album.

It is full of a luminous and optimistic energy. What did you have in mind when you started recording it?

Well, exactly that! I fell in love with the guitar again. I was loving playing it again, and I wanted to make an animated rock album. With words that had a meaning, but in a simple way. Put my guitar in front with the catchy lyrics and melodies and look at the plan. That's the heart of my sound, so we got down to work. The idea was to make Miles Kane's ultimate album.

Did you get tired of the guitar, then?

A little yes, before making this album. I think there are times when it can happen to you. I love Motown, soul and that kind of thing. And I love what we do in The Last Shadow Puppets, with all the strings and the woodwind that gives it a rather cinematic air, of a soundtrack. All that freaks me out. The songs have layers, and they end up having a dramatic tone. But I think you can keep the drama in a simpler way. In this case I wanted my guitar to be there. It may not sound so sophisticated, but I think you still have that feeling. And that's what I've tried to do, strip everything, remove all the strings, the pianos and have only guitar, bass, drums and voice.

Do you think people have a hard time making optimistic music? I say it because there is a lot of dark music out there, it seems that it has more prestige.

Well, I write about how I feel. And I think people identify themselves because it's real. I write from my experiences. I'm already looking back at my life, love, friendship or the classic material that I suppose everyone composes on. It's just that. I do it my way, I really tell what is happening to me in every moment. That's what I've always done. I think my best songs come from there.

The second side of the disc is softer and more delicate. Why did you structure it like that?

The album begins with a song called "Troubled Son" but is very animated and heavy. And it ends with a song titled "Scared of Love" and it's just the voice and an acoustic guitar. For me it's the perfect ending of an album: we started very high, kicking the door down. And then I tried to take a trip between those two songs that summarise everything. I think it makes a lot of sense to start like this, then to end with "Scared of Love". It's like starting with the fifth gear and then going down to the first, I don't know if I can explain.

For your new single "Time of Your Life" (song included in a seven-inch that accompanied the special edition of the LP) you have made a great video. It's Brighton, isn't it?

Yes, it's Brighton.

There you are with your dog, enjoying time on the promenade, in the clothing store, eating "fish and chips", that is, enjoying the small pleasures of life. It has caught my attention because we are used to having only the negative, miserable image of your country.

Honestly, all I wanted was to drive to Brighton, spend the day there and take the opportunity to make the video. I took my dog. I wanted it to be very simple. I like the mod atmosphere of Brighton and we combined these ideas without thinking too much. In 3 hours we had recorded the video. Me with my dog, walking. I like fish and chips and I'm a mod, so it's a day in my life. That simple, no nonsense. It's basically what I like.

It's just that many times we tend to wallow in the mud, don't we?

Yes, we all have our moments of depression, don't we? I get it. I have them myself. Of course. It's normal. But it's an animated song, and I wanted a video that was very simple and animated, very much from real life.

I guess that in this world many people are afraid to look cheesy, I don't know.

Yes, because I imagine it can happen. There may be people who think that the video is. And that the song is sugary. But if you think about it, well, I don't care. I like it and that's what matters. And yes, I think you have to have balls to do it. The people who will seem cheesy are probably sitting at home spending the day miserably. And it seems very good to me, that they are still there.

In January you start a huge tour with dozens of dates. You start in the United Kingdom, don't you?

Yes, I start with my band in January and February. But the tour I'm going to do in Spain I do alone, which is completely new to me. I'm going to play with drum loops and my electric guitar. It's not going to be something acoustic, but hard, a little like Sleaford Mods. But I wear my guitar, so I will play my riffis and stuff. It's something new, but I think I can move it forward. And it hits with the name of the album, "One Man Band". I want to go out and test myself.

I guess it's quite a challenge. How do you make it work?

It's a challenge, yes. It's very difficult to know what it will be like because it's the first time I've done it. I've always had the idea in my head to do a little Sleaford Mods-like thing, with drum loops and playing my guitar on top. You will still have the Miles Kane experience. It sounds a little cheesy, but it's going to be sugary. I did a test when the album came out, a bit like a teaser. And next week I'm going to do a solo like this in Sheffield with the same format as when I go to Spain and the rest of Europe. I think it works and I'm working to take the format to another level. I think it's going to be super fun, it's going to be stuck and it's going to be rocking. I haven't played solo in Spain for centuries, so I really feel like it. I think it's something completely new, and that's why it's very exciting. It seems to me that in Madrid all the tickets were sold and the concert was moved to a larger hall. I'm looking forward to getting to Spain. It's an honour.

And in those solo concerts are you going to play a little of everything?

Yes, a little bit of everything. I'm going to play my best songs. The good thing about this album is that many of these songs have connected and I still have to play them. I haven't played in Spain for years. But I think some of the venues are already sold out. They are going to be small, but I really feel like it. And this album is very fun to perform live. And I will also play the old hits, so it's going to be a full-blown party.

How has getting on a stage changed for you?

Performing is what I like most in the world. Sometimes life makes it hard precisely because I can't perform. You have to wait, you can't play every night. I still have the same tingling as when I started playing the fucking guitar at school, as a child. When I grab the guitar and go on stage, I don't care if there are ten or thousands of people. I love it.

That's the attitude. And it shows: recently I watched Youtube how you faced "The Back of Love" by Echo and The Bunnymen, live in a studio and I told myself: this is how a version is made.

Do you like them? I love them.

I'm freaking out. But it's a very hairy song, with that sharp guitar and the crazy drum beat. Why did you choose it?

I love making versions. I have done a lot throughout my career. Especially live, I like to play versions. And Echo and The Bunnymen is one of my favourite bands ever. There are many songs I could have chosen, but I still remember when I heard that song in Liverpool for the first time. It's quite unusual, isn't it? You have a crazy battery and it's like very epic. It has something from Scott Walker and also a surfing side. And it's very rocky. So it seemed appropriate to me. When I recorded it in Liverpool with my cousins we remembered when we were younger and how much we liked it. We started to do it, and it's true that there are times when it doesn't work. But in this case we decided to make a punk version, it went well and it sounds very cool.

And how do you see the Liverpool scene these days? From here we have the impression that there are always things happening throughout the United Kingdom.

It's fine. There are many young bands knocking on the door. There will always be kids in the bedroom wanting to be stars or making songs, and it often depends on the attention you put on them. But I think it never disappears, it depends on whether people look or not.

You yourself started very young in this world, but things have changed a lot, haven't they?

Yes. Obviously, if things were like when I started, right now I would be a billionaire. Streaming doesn't seem fair to me, it's hard how things have been put. It can be hard. But I am grateful to be able to still be here after twenty years. It is true that it is becoming more and more difficult, but this album has brought me back to where I wanted to be. What is difficult after being in this for so long is that you already know how things are. But it reached the 5th position. It is the highest position that a solo album of mine has reached. So I'm freaking out with it. As a 37-year-old man I feel like I'm in a good place, let's cross our fingers. For me, going out and doing these shows next year is going to be super special, I have never wanted to do something so much in my life.

By the way, do you have plans to do new things with Alex (Turner)?

Not at the moment, but never say never again...

#miles kane #omb tour #january 2024

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fruit-of-infidelity · 1 year

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♱ DIABOLIK LOVERS: Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sakamaki Ryuuto | Dark 04 ♱

⌜ Scene: Classroom ⌟

― There is some chatter in the classroom as the bell rings. ―

Yui: Pwah… Finally, home-time.

( This is impossible to get used to! )

Female Student #1: Excuse me?

Yui: ( I don’t know how the other students do it… )

( Keeping up with the routine of a night academy is one thing, but always looking over my shoulder for Ryuuto-san… or those others, is… )

Female Student #1: Ko…mura-san?

Eeh, I don’t think that’s right, you know… Is it, Komori-san?

Yui: ( On top of it all, though… I almost completely fell asleep in that last class... )

( I better get a handle on this new strictly-night-time Vampire schedule… As exhausting as it is, this academy is supposed to be elite, right? )

( If I’m already failing… )

Female Student #2: Hey, pardon us!

Yui: Eh…? I’m sorry, I must’ve spaced out!

Female Student #1: We didn’t mean to disturb you, we were just wondering… You’re the relatively new girl in this homeroom, aren’t you?

Yui: Ah? That’s me… Yes.

I’m Komori Yui. It’s nice to meet you.

Female Student #1: Yep, the same here.

We don’t wanna be nosy but, we’ve gotta ask… You’ve been coming and going from the academy with that Sakamaki, right?

Yui: Sakamaki… Ryuuto?

( I almost forgot… He shares that same last name with those others, doesn’t he? Strange how they live so separately… )

Yes.

Say… What can you tell me about that Sakamaki family?

Female Student #1: As in, Sakamaki Shuu, and those others? Don’t you know about them since they’re Ryuuto-san’s cousins and all?

Yui: Cousins?

Female Student #1: You didn’t know?

Yui: A-Ah? Well, I don’t really know the others…

You see, I’m currently residing with Ryuuto-san.

Female Student #2: Ah! You’re also related then?

Female Student #1: That’s a relief; I thought you were his girlfriend!

Yui: Eh!? No, no! It’s nothing like that!

Although, it’s not like we’re related either…!

Female Student #2: Then, you’re staying with him because…?

Yui: Because…

( Is “I’m trapped” the right phrase? Ryuuto-san’s a Vampire, after all, and hasn’t let me out of his sight since I got to homeroom, but… )

( I can’t just admit that out-right… Can I? )

Because――

━─┉┈◈ Selection ◈┈┉─━

　　❈ He’s a Vampire!

Yui: The bottom line is, he’s a Vampire…!

Female Student #1: …Eh? “Vampire”? What are you talking about?

Yui: I-I know how it sounds… But please hear me out!

　　❈ He is my boyfriend, after all! ⎨❤︎⎬

Yui: …Okay, I-I’ll… admit it.

I am his girlfriend, like you suspected…

Female Student #1: Eeh? Seriously!?

No way, you’ve got to tell us more about him! I didn’t think he was the type to want to settle down in that sort of relationship!

━━─┉┈┈◈◉◈┈┈┉─━━

Ryuuto: …Fufu, how imaginative.

― Ryuuto appears from behind the students. ―

Female Student #2: Eeh?

Ryuuto: My apologies, you two.

I’ve told her before to not get too carried away with stories… It seems she can’t help herself, being such a compulsive liar.

Yui: Eh!?

Ryuuto-san…

Female Student #2: Ryuuto-san! We didn’t hear you, you startled us!

Ryuuto: Excuse me, then. I didn’t mean to catch you off guard, no matter the ridiculous story you’re investing yourself in.

You see, it’s far simpler than what you may think.

Our parents knew each other… Family friends, nothing more.

Female Student #1: Aah, I see! And, you’re staying together temporarily because of that? That’s very kind of Ryuuto-san, then!

Ryuuto: You flatter me.

I only did what any responsible person would; offering my home to her whilst she was in need of one, in her Father’s recent absence.

Female Student #2: Uwah! So generous…!

Yui: ( Uuh… They’re gushing over all these lies…)

( I’m sure they’d have a lot else to say if they knew what he really was… )

Female Student #1: That clears it all up then! We’re sorry for disturbing you! Catch you.

― The students walk off. ―

Yui: Uuh… Wai…

― Ryuuto grasps her arm. ―

Ryuuto: What an interesting story you tried to weave there, already getting yourself into trouble. I wonder how far you would have gone if I hadn’t intercepted.

Don’t try this again, or so help me, you will be punished. Believe me when I say that I know of everything that happens concerning you.

Yui: ( I don’t like the way he’s looking at me… I’m scared! )

Ryuuto: So, don’t take me for a fool, Pet; I have ears and eyes everywhere.

Yui: …!

Ryuuto: Fufu… Frozen like a deer in highlights.

I don’t hate your defiance… or naivety, as it may truly be. Although, I won’t hesitate to enforce some strict discipline if I must, should lines be crossed.

And, I can’t promise I’ll be gentle〜

✥ TO BE CONTINUED ✥

─────── ≪ °♛° ≫ ───────

← [ ✥ Dark 03 ✥ ] ⎥ [ ✥ Dark 05 ✥ ] →

#diabolik lovers oc #Diabolik Lovers #haunted dark bridal #haunted dark bridal dark #sakamaki ryuuto #ryuuto sakamaki #ryuuto sakamaki route #sakamaki ryuuto route #hdbryuutodark04

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alvarezmarquez6 · 2 years

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

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Katniss, bravely stepping inbetween Gale and Thread (and his whip) - she’s so courageous and protective, she deserves the world 😭

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 7-9 are below the cut. (Is it just me, or are my notes getting longer and longer with each and every post? I swear, this book is so meaty, we’ll soon reach the point where I have to type out the entire chapter, with my thoughts in the margins)

heart

“Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else in unthinkable.”

I think these words are a result of Katniss being so afraid of losing Gale that she’s kinda overcompensating; their relationship has been strained these past few months and they’d just had a row, separating from each other on bad terms - and the next time she sees him, he’s been whipped so bad that he’s lost consciousness and could be potentially dying from his wounds. Of course she’s so terrified of losing him, that she’s holding on as tightly as she can to him. It’s important to keep in mind how important their relationship is to her and we see that in her preceding thoughts: What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely commited, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we’d found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting each other, watching each other’s backs, forcing each other to be brave. - Gale was the first person who was her equal, a kindred spirit, her partner. After Katniss had lost both of her parents when her father died and her mother succumbed to her depression - the people who were supposed to care for her and guide her through growing up - she was stuck with the role of sole provider and protector of her family at age eleven. She must have been so lonely all this time until she met this boy who understood what she was going through and they learned from each other and shouldered their burdens together, to take off some of the overwhelming pressure. Of course that relationship, of course Gale is important to her. But also now their relationship has become more fragile, after the Games they are in danger of growing apart - it’s got to be so terrifying to feel like the one proper, mutual relationship you’ve had seems to be slipping through your fingers. With everything that’s going on, her entire life as it is teetering on the razor’s edge (heck, the president himself has been threatening her and her family!), it’s no wonder that Katniss is craving that familiarity and safety that her relationship with Gale used to provide her with. And seeing Gale in this state just has her holding on to him more tightly than ever.

mind

Hmm, no big moment is coming to my mind right now; I think I’m always most impressed by the tiny moments that show how tenacious, resilient and fiercely kind humans can be - like Darius stepping forward to stop Gale’s cruel punishment, Leevy volunteering to tell Hazelle about Gale and promising to stay with the Hawthorne children, Madge bringing the morphling, Katniss pressing Darius’s hand in the Training Center, Twill taking Bonnie with her to flee to D13 and so on.

soul

I believe that Katniss was honestly surprised to learn that Gale had feelings for her; she had categorically shut down the idea of entering a romantic relationship for herself, so I don’t think she’d seriously consider anyone being romantically interested in her in return (that’s not how that works, of course, but I think that’s how she perceived the whole shtick). Their kiss threw her completely for a loop and if anything, she mostly saw it as something that contributed to the deterioration of their previous, easy and comfortable relationship.

Chapter 7

A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. [...] They hadn’t anticipated its will to live. - In a way, the Capitol continues to make this mistake with the people living in the districts, too - underestimating their will to live (opposed to just surviving)

I look in his [Gale’s] eyes. His temper can’t quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. - Okay, we don’t know how much Katniss might be (incorrectly) presuming here, but the idea that Gale might feel betrayal because his best friend is being forced into an engagement pisses me off. It’s fine if he’s feeling jealous because she’s being paired off with Peeta when he wishes he could have a shot with her, but how in the world does this even rate as a betrayal?! A) It’s done against her will and B) Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean Katniss owes him anything when we’re talking about romantic feelings... Ugh 😒 Also, it’s quite noteworthy how insecure Katniss feels about their relationship - she’s constantly worried Gale will drop her and their friendship (waiting for Gale after the camera teams left after winning the Games: I’d begun to think that he’d given up on me in the weeks that had passed.- Ch. 2) and it doesn’t help that she’s been through that extreme, traumatic experience without him and they haven’t had much opportunity to spend a lot of time with each other (with the Victory Tour and Gale having to work so much) and when they do hang out, they don’t seem to really talk much, which doesn’t exactly help...

He [Gale] tosses the gloves on my lap. “Here. I don’t want your fiancé’s old gloves.” “He’s not my fiancé. That’s just part of the act. And these aren’t his gloves. They were Cinna’s,” I say. “Give them back, then, he says. - Gale can be so petty sometimes 🙄

While I talk, [...] [Gale] occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Captiol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. [...] Hands I trust. - Oh boy, this moment really shows how these two are at cross purposes right now - Gale’s prepping the food as you would for a toasting (romantic connotation), while Katniss is oberserving his hands, thinking how their hands used to match (not anymore!) and basically wishing herself back into the time before the Games, when things were ‘simpler’/more clearly defined (and also platonic!); there is nothing romantic from her P.O.V. - it’s all about the friendship and trust

[Gale] steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy. “Hey!” I protest, but I’m laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn’t release his hold on me. “Okay, let’s run away.” [...] “You’re sure?” I say. [...] “I’m sure. I’m completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” - Yeah, and I’m sure you’re not going to change your opinion in the next five minutes, Gale... In his defense, Gale didn’t know all the details, so in that regard it’s totally valid that he might decide to change his mind after having more input... It’s just that Katniss specifically asks him whether he’s sure and his reply is so full of conviction (100% sure!), only for him to do a complete 180 just a couple of minutes later; Gale’s very hot and cold, which makes for such a harsh contrast when compared to Peeta’s more measured reaction later in the chapter

He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. [...] I don’t try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.” That’s why. - Oh man, Katniss just can’t catch a break 😞 Really not wise of Gale to drop the L-bomb here (after, what? a kiss they never talked about and little else... their communication is truly abysmal and it’s really damaging to their relationship, hurting the both of them)

“Gale, I can’t think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, is how afraid I am. And there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don’t know.” I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we’ll go. We’ll find out.” - I mean, honestly, I totally understand where Katniss is coming from - she doesn’t need a romantic interest, she needs a partner, which is why she’s been so eager to talk to her hunting partner, someone she’s used to rely on for survival and now he’s also confounding their relationship by introducing that romance-angle (as if it wasn’t bad enough that her relationship with Peeta got kind of messed up when that same angle was forced upon them prematurely)... Also, telling how Katniss thinks she’d have to be different to maybe even consider a romantic relationship with Gale - Katniss as she is right now just can’t see herself wanting to be with Gale romantically; it would require a change... I’ve got to give Gale credit for still going along with it, and trying to push past his disappointment, though

“My [Gale’s] mother is going to take some convincing.” [...] “Mine, too. I’ll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won’t survive the alternative.” “She’ll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won’t say no to you,” says Gale. - That’s interesting, I wonder what exactly Gale means by that? That Mrs. Everdeen won’t say no to Katniss because she feels guilty that Katniss had to go through the Games or because watching her daughter compete in the Games really made her realize how messed up Panem is? Or that she’s more inclined to trust Katniss’s judgement after everything that has happened?

“Haymitch will be the real challenge.” “Haymitch?” Gale abandons the chestnuts. “You’re asking him to come with us?” “I have to, Gale. I can’t leave him and Peeta because they’d-” His scowl cuts me off. “What?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how large our party was,” he snaps at me. - Gale doesn’t seem to have realized how close and important Peeta and Haymitch have become to Katniss... maybe because they never properly talked about this aspect of Katniss’s life (I swear, their shoddy communication must account for at least half of the damage their relationship has taken in these past few months alone)

“What if he [Peeta] decides to stay?” he [Gale] asks. I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. “Then he stays.” “You’d leave him behind?” Gale asks. “To save Prim and my mother, yes,” I answer. “I mean, no! I’ll get him to come.” “And me, would you leave me?” Gale’s expression is rock hard now. - Boy, oh boy! I think Gale knows (like Peeta) that Katniss could never leave behind the people she cares about; then, he’s kind of gauging whether Peeta has already received the Katniss Everdeen Stamp of ‘Caring’ - and, as it turns out, he has! And then Gale ends up making it into a bit of competition by asking her whether she would leave him behind (or, alternately, her turning him down has him confused about the depth of their relationship, I dunno); not fun

“There’s an uprising in Eight?” he [Gale] says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. - Katniss is going to be about as successful as she’d been at defusing the districts, too - But here we have another example of Katniss trying to rein in Gale’s temper because she’s afraid he’s going to get himself in trouble (like when she decided not to tell him about Snow’s visit to her house because she was worried what he’d do with that information)... It’s really not great that she feels the need to censor herself so he won’t do something dangerous... Katniss knows first-hand how badly impulsive actions and decisions can be received in the Capitol - and she never even meant for a rebellion to happen!

“And it’s my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would’ve happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe. too.” “Safe to do what?” he says in a gentler tone. “Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven’t hurt people - you’ve given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. - Katniss is taking all the responsibility upon herself again... Gale is right to point out that she was merely a catalyst, not the cause for the rebellion - the cause are the awful living conditions of the people in the districts

“Stop it! You don’t know what you’re saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they’re not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!” I say. “That’s why we have to join the fight!” he answers harshly. “No! we have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!” [...] “You leave, then, I’d never go in a million years.” [...] “What about your family?” “What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can’t run away?” - This discourse is so painful because they are both right - Katniss has seen more of the districts and how things are handled beyond the (relatively tame) confines of D12 and it’s fair that she wants to know that the people she cares about are safe from harm; Gale, of course, has a point commenting that not everyone has that opportunity and the only way to have a long-lasting, wide-spread improvement of their conditions is through rebelling against their oppressor - but that will inevitably come along with sacrifices and collateral damage and it’s easy to say that it will be worth it in the long run, but when those who are hurt/dead could end up being your loved ones, it’s definitely easier said than done

He throws Cinna’s gloves at my feet. “I changed my mind. I don’t want anything they made in the Capitol.” And he’s gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it’s mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. - Gale getting rid of Cinna’s gloves just because they are from the Capitol is a prime example of this “us vs. them” mindset that he will be (worringly) fast to adopt - of course, perceiving the opposite side as “other” will make it easier to fight against them; however, it’s all too easy to lose sight of your opponent’s humanity when you think like that (think of how Gale has a hard time understanding Katniss’s distress upon seeing her prep team being treated so terribly/inhumanely in D13); Katniss feeling upset that Gale might perceive her as a product of the Capitol instead of its victim is understandable (and isn’t that exactly what the inhabitants of D13 are going to think of Peeta in MJ?) - and yet, she is still worried Gale could get himself into trouble with his impulsivity; she’s a good bean

”Going to town?” I ask. “Yes. I’m supposed to eat dinner with my family,” he [Peeta] says. - I’m tripping over the word ‘supposed’ here - it doesn’t sound like Peeta’s looking forward to hanging out with his fam, although it can’t be that often, since they’ve been away on Victory Tour and he is living alone (maybe the end of the chapter will give us another hint why that is 😒😒)... I can’t help but wonder whether these family dinners are mainly for public perception (in that case... it really is no wonder Peeta is so good at playing the cameras - poor guy had to fool the outside world his entire life) or because they are the only chance for Peeta to hang out with any of the members of his family he might actually want to spend some time with

“Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?” Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn’t need to check my face to see if I’m serious. “Depends on why you’re asking.” President Snow wasn’t convinced by me. There’s an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out,” I say. “By ‘we’ do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?” he asks. - Peeta doesn’t just blindly agree to Katniss’s proposal; he needs to know what’s going on first (he has been burnt before - no more secrets!) - and it’s a testament to how well he knows her that as soon as he’s asking whether she meant just the two of them, he corrects himself because knows that Katniss would never leave the ones she cares about behind

“What about Gale?” he says. “I don’t know. He might have other plans,” I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me rueful smile. “I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I’ll go.” I feel a slight twinge of hope. “You will?” “Yeah. But I don’t think for a minute you will,” he says. [...] “Then you don’t know me. Be ready. It could be any time.” - Telling how Peeta immediately agrees to the plan once he gathers that Gale won’t come - he knows that Katniss cares about Gale and could never leave him behind, ergo she’d never actually leave under these circumstances - he knows her so well. Also, Katniss’s reaction is like that of a petulant child, it’s kind of funny 😄

“Katniss, hold up.” [...] “I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won’t be making things worse for everyone.” - Ultimately, Peeta would follow Katniss to the ends of the earth - doesn’t mean that he can’t throw in a sensible suggestion in there as well 😉 (Also, in the next chapter we will see how Katniss, Gale, and Peeta might be a little too inexperienced/naive to be able to form accurate expectations of what is to come - Haymitch and his generation have a little more experience in that regard)

He raises his head. “What’s that?” [...] I haven’t noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. “Come on,” Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don’t know why. I can’t place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. - Why does my sweet boy know what a whipping sounds like, Suzanne, huh?! Care to explain that? 😭

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. - Peeta was offering his hand to help Katniss up the crate because they are a team (and he’s a gentleman)! It’s only when he recognizes who is receiving those lashes and realizes that Katniss will lose her shit once she knows, which could make the current situation even worse, that he urges her to leave, and he is not the only one to think that: - Voices hiss. “Get out of here, girl.” “Only make it worse.” What do you want to do? Get him killed?”

Chapter 8

It’s too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won’t have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I’ve flung out my arms to protext as much of his broken body as possible, so there’s nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. - Katniss is so selfless; she knows that it’s either Gale getting hit again or a lash to her own face and she chooses the latter

“Hold it!” a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It’s Darius. [...] He’s knocked out but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale’s aid before I got here? - Haymitch sure appeared quickly - I can easily imagine Peeta taking off immediately to get him (or send someone to bring him to the square) once he knew Katniss couldn’t be stopped; but if Haymitch had been at his house in Victor’s Village, there is no way he’d have made that quickly to the square... maybe he was already at the Hob and had gotten wind of the whole situation? Also, poor Darius! Wearing a uniform/being in some sort of position of power is no guarantee you won’t get punished as soon as you show the tiniest glimpse of compassion - in a place like Panem, nobody is safe from the caprice of the people in charge

I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. [...] it wouldn’t be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he’d be difficult to forget. - Getting Haymitch truly was the smartest move to make (which is why I’m pretty sure it was a move on Peeta’s part - he’d know how to use reminders of ‘appearances’ to ensure a punishment wouldn’t go ‘too far’, y’know 😢). But also - Thread must have lived under a flipping rock, to not being able to recognizes Katniss (her face must have been plastered all over the place during the Victory Tour, which just had concluded recently) - or he was just too in the heat of the moment, with someone opposing him, bleugh 😒

“He [Gale] was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man. “He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.” - I love how Peeta’s just laying it down as it is; his phrasing just sounds so factual, rather than provocative (although it is, of course); he really has a way with words - Maybe we’re it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it’s sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. - Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss working together as a team again! Also, a good example of the effect people with public influence can have

One [Peacekeeper], a woman named Purnia who eats regularly at Greasy Sae’s, steps forward stiffly. “I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad.” “Is that the standard protocol here?” asks the Head Peacekeeper. “Yes, sir,” Purnia says, and several others nod in agreement. I’m sure none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bid on the drumsticks. - It’s kinda nice to see the local Peacekeepers supporting Purnia’s claim to get this display to stop - this is the only way out of this situation where Thread’s authority is not openly challenged (and we know Thread doesn’t take well to having his authority challenged - see Darius)

There’s no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. “Just don’t tell where you got it,” she says, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what happened, I can’t blame anyone. - It’s sad how that air of intimidation makes people want to mask their acts of compassion (and also says a lot about the precariousness of the existing living situations if that old lady is still selling that board - I’d never even consider exchanging money for that, but that’s probably my privileged situation showing here; Katniss brings up the theme of fear vs compassion - very fitting, since it seems to be her driving force (although, generally, her compassion wins out over her fear) and despite her assertion that fear appears to be getting the better of compassion we see a good amount of people reaching out to help, such as the following example:

Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. “Need help getting back?” Her gray eyes are scared but determined. - The subtle suggestion here that Leevy might be further motivated to help out because Katniss’s mom helped her little brother is also an excellent example of how kindness breeds kindness

“Get some snow on that,” Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. - This moment reminded me of Peeta immediately reaching for some ice from that fruit tureen after Haymitch hit him on their way to the Games in THG (Ch. 4) - their different immediate reactions to getting hit in the face could simply be due to the fact that Katniss is a little too preoccupied worrying about Gale to think about her injury, of course, but I feel like you could also interpret them as examples for how much experience Katniss and Peeta have with being hit in the face, respectively...

Gale must have gone to Cray’s house, as he’s done a hundred times, knowing Cray pays well for a wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man they heard someone call Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning [...] but now he’s nowhere to be found. - As I’ve already mentioned regarding Darius, inhabiting some position of power does not guarantee you any safety in Panem (there is always someone more powerful who will treat their inferiors like garbage, if they feel like it)

By the time I showed up, he [Gale]’d been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty. - Jesus 😨 poor Gale!

“What about Darius?” Peeta asks.“ After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn’t do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread’s arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him,” says Bristel. - It’s so messed up how it is not enough to have someone who’d stand up and do something about a horrible situation - they have to do it the right way, or else they’re toast; there really shouldn’t have to be a smart way of doing the right thing

Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. - (President) Snow is coming down hard on them, making it hard to see what’s up ahead

Ever so gently, she [Mrs. Everdeen] begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale’s back. I feel sick to the stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. - Although she’s quite squeamish, Katniss stays as Gale gets treated (the force that holds the loved ones of the hurt/dying, just like when Peeta was being treated after their Games); meanwhile, Peeta is taking care of Katniss - there is so much care + love to be found in this moment

My mother has to save the strongest [painkillers] for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present. If I were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. - Honestly, same; I can’t stomach seeing other people suffer without feeling overwhelmed and feeling like crying... I don’t know how professionals do it

“Just give him the medicine!” I scream at her. [...] “Take her out,” says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting. - Oof. Poor Katniss! But yeah, it was the best call to remove her from the situation, Mrs. E. had to focus on what she was doing... Also, Haymitch and Peeta are the ones to get Katniss out of there and stay with her - these three take care of each other!

After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale. “So it’s starting again?” she says. “Like before?” - Katniss’s mom has become a much more active and soothing presence in this book, I like it... Also, what does “again” mean? Does this imply there has been an attempted uprising in D12 that needed to be squashed before?

Cray would have been disliked, anyway, because of the uniform he wore, but it was his habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. - Horrifying and absolutely disgusting 🤢 Those poor women! How desperate they must have been!

... when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. [...] “They [the peacekeepers] can’t have him,” I say. “Might be you they’re after,” Haymitch reminds me. “Or you,” I say. “Not my house,” Haymitch points out. “But I’ll get the door.” “No, I’ll get it,” says my mother quietly. - Again, Mrs. Everdeen is taking the initiative! She was so watered down in the movies

[Madge] holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. “Use these for your friend,” she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. [...] “What is that stuff?” asks Peeta. “It’s from the Capitol. It’s called morphling,” my mother answers. “I didn’t even know Madge knew Gale,” says Peeta. “We used to sell her strawberries,” I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. “She must have quite a taste for them,” says Haymitch. That’s what nettles me. It’s the implication that there’s something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don’t like it. “She’s my friend” is all I say. - I mean, Katniss could be mad because A) Gale had literally just told her he loved her a few hours ago and if there was something (reciprocated) going on between Gale and Madge, that would have been pretty shitty for both girls involved and also B) she is friends with both of them and it would be hurtful to learn that two of your closest friends had been seeing each other without telling you anything about it... also, she’s super upset over Gale getting so seriously hurt just after they’d had an argument, her feelings are all over the place

... I’m selfish. I’m a coward. I’m the kind of girl, who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn’t follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. - Yes, Katniss, you knew that your life back in D12 would have been unlivable if he died - but not because you feared that people would shun you; it was because you “couldn’t lose the boy with the bread” and because “if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really”... This is an excellent example of how distorted your memories can get when you are in a bad headspace at present

The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. - Katniss, you don’t have to be planning to overthrow a corrupt and cruel government to be someone of worth! You’re someone of worth just by being yourself! - The trouble is, I don’t know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. - Frankly, very rarely are our motivations clearly defined by a single factor - or my professor would not have been able to teach an entire semester-long course on motivation psychology😉)

Chapter 9

Gale’s dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he’s been watching us awhile. “Go on up to bed, Katniss. I’ll look after him now,” he says. - Peeta! Must have been hard for him to see Katniss like this (and the underlying strength of Katniss and Gale’s relationship, when his relationship with Katniss is still not all that solidified), and yet he’s being such a good bean about it 😭

I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I’m not supposed to wish that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol’s design, not mine. - Katniss, gurl... Maybe your instinctive desire to receive comfort from Peeta is trying to tell you something??!? Also, Katniss is forcing this strange dichotomous association of Gale = rebellion and Peeta = Capitol, when in just a bit, she’s clearly connecting Peeta to the rebellion as well (aside from the fact that Peeta was basically the first person to suggest to her that maybe a rebellion was necessary... just saying)

Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. [...] There might be torture. Mutliation. A bullet through the skull in the town square [...] I imagine these things and I’m terrified, but let’s face it: They’ve been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. [...] I’m already a target. - Oh geez! Despite admitting that she’s terrified of what the Capitol is capable fo doing to her, Katniss is still pretty composed naming the possible horrors in store for her, which is just a heartbreaking reminder of how many terrible things she has already had to endure.🙁

Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It’s my job to protect her. [...] I can’t let the Capitol hurt Prim. - 😭😭😭 Katniss has reached a point where she can put her own need for survival/physical intactness aside, but the thought of something awful happening to Prim stops her short (it’s so strange to think that, in a twisted way, it wasn’t the Capitol who’d ended up inflicting the final harm upon Prim...)

And then it hit’s me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. [...] She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue’s life. [...] Prim... Rue... aren’t they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. - All these things are very true and it’s also very fitting that the main motivation for Katniss would be to ensure a better future for the children of Panem (and to avenge the evils done to the people close to her heart... while Katniss of course can see the abstract bigger picture/reason for the rebellion, she always operates best when it comes to specific people/circumstances she has a deep, personal connection with)... But also: all these things apply to you, too, Katniss! Despite your tendency to feel responsible for everything and everyone, you’re still a child that had to grow up way too fast and had to endure way too much!

We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don’t think I’m that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I’m barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I’m still working hard at finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I’m so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. - Katniss’s idea of a great leader for the rebellion is Peeta - interesting, isn’t it (she could have considered Gale, but no)? She makes a good point, though: it helps when a leader has plenty of charisma, and our boy has that in spades; he’s got a good set of morals, is not above joining in on the action/risking his own neck when the need arises and is very genuine and purposeful with his words and actions, which is inspiring... I think Katniss is severely underselling how courageous she is, though

He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I’m sure the idea has never crossed his mind. - Why would you assume that, Katniss? Peeta’s literally the one to suggest to you that trying to placate the district might not be the right thing to do... Peeta’s not someone who’d stir up trouble just for the sake of stirring up trouble, sure; he’s much more deliberate about doing things the ‘right’ way, but he’s not generally opposed to challenging authorities (he’s literally the one to openly gift some of your winnings to another district!)

She knows what she’s doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. “I’m sorry. About screaming at you yesterday.” - It’s so sweet how Katniss feels sorry for yelling at her mom and apologizes to her; their relationship really has improved so much in this book - “I’ve heard worse,” she says. “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. [...] Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But i’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. - Katniss is struggling to figure out in what way she loves Gale... She definitely doesn’t want him to remember their kiss because she knows it wouldn’t be fair to give him the hope that she might be able to return his romantic feelings when she is still in the dark about her own

... and I can’t really think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. - Lol, goes on to immediately mention the guy she’s been kissing these past few weeks (see, with Peeta you could actually have both: kissing and rebellion, Katniss - he’s the perfect man, isn’t he? 😉😋)

“He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. - Yeah, I don’t think Peeta left because of his house; I’m pretty sure he needed some time to himself after seeing Katniss and Gale this morning - he is the type of person who needs to be alone to work through his feelings when he’s feeling upset - “Did he get back all right?” [...] “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. I go into the study, a room I’ve pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta’s number. After a few rings he answers. “Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home,” I say. “Katniss. I live three houses away from you,” he says. “I know, but with the weather and all,” I say. “Well, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.” There’s a long pause. “How’s Gale?” - Aww, Katniss is worried about Peeta and gives him a call, although she hates being in the study 😊 Also, her calling him must have been at least of some reassurance to Peeta that she genuinely cares about him, in some way (though, he’s still clearly busy processing her relationship with Gale, since he’s asking about him as if he hadn’t seen that dude just a couple of minutes prior)

“Have you seen Haymitch today?” “I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread,” he says. “I wanted to talk to - to both of you.” I don’t dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. - Despite everything, Peeta still made sure to look after Haymitch! And I know, there is also the issue of their houses themselves potentially being bugged, but I couldn’t help imagining how they could easily avoid the whole phone-tapping thing simply by using a tin can telephone (they do live pretty close to each other, after all) 😂

“You don’t even have a phone,” I say. “Effie had that fixed,” he [Haymitch] says. “Do you know she asked me if I’d like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better.” “Haymitch.” I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. “Katniss.” He mimics my tone. “It won’t work.” - Okay, but Haymitch mimicking Katniss’s tone reminds me so much of when Peeta mimicked her tone towards the end of their Games, when she was trying to persuade him to climb into a tree as a lookout while he was insistent she’d show him some plants to gather; these three, I swear! 😂 On a sad note, Haymitch is talking from experience here when he’s advising Katniss not to challenge the Capitol 🥺😢

Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their livings there. - Katniss considers the people from the Hob her friends - honestly, even if the Hawthornes, Everdeens, Peeta and Haymitch all had agreed to leave D12, I don’t think Katniss would have been able to go through with it - she cares too much about the people in D12 to have been able to leave them to their fate

“Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare.” He [Haymitch] trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. “What’s he want that for?” Then I realize the answer. “We can’t let him drink it. He’ll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I’ve got some white liquor put away at home.” “Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business,” says Peeta. - Another instance of Katniss and Peeta being on the same wavelength, having taken precautions to help out Haymitch so he doesn’t have to go cold turkey again

We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. “I couldn’t leave her,” she says. “I knew Gale’d be in the best possible hands.” - The second mention of someone having contracted the measles in D12 - Why the heck does the Capitol withhold measles vaccination from the people in the districts?! They’re inflicting unnecessary damage onto the very people they want to exploit... But I guess cruelty isn’t always about playing it smart and logical...

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.” “I’ll go with you,” he says. “No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him. “And avoiding a stroll by the Hob... that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. - They are a team, they stick together (and they are constantly holding hands, always physically linked to each other)😩💕 Also, Peeta pointing out the irrationality of Katniss’s train of thought to calm her down and stay with her reminds me of how he’s going to use logical reasoning to calm her down after the jabberjays in the Quarter Quell arena

We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta’s father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers’ faces. - How weird is it that Peeta and his dad just talk about the weather?! Is this supposed to illustrate how in the Mellark family they just ignored the ugliness going on in their lives *cough cough* the abuse *cough cough* and just pretended that everything was fine, on a very superficial level? Also, it makes perfect sense that the Peacekeepers have been exchanged; the more time we spend with people, the more likely we are to like them - that won’t do if you want to have a ruthless authoritarian police force in the districts

As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don’t receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. [...] The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. - This is just so awful and despicable 😞 Life in the districts was already horrible but now the government does not even honor the extortionary rules they themselves have set up! I can’t help but wonder if the lack of food could be traced back to rebellions in the food supplying districts and, to keep this from the inhabitants of the Capitol, the reduced amount of good food was (obviously) kept for the Capitolites, so that the bad food had to be sent to the districts, anyway... It just seems like such a breach of ‘honor’/etiquette on the Capitol’s part, I dunno... Or maybe Snow was just desperate to use any means necessary to stamp out any potential rebellions in the districts that he still had some control over...

Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can’t help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. [...] Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can’t even speak about - Poor, Gale! Poor Hawthornes :(

My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It’s a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it. It’s my mockingjay. - It is so very telling that the true symbol of the rebellion combines something symbolic of Katniss (which also contains a nod to Rue) and something symbolic of Peeta (the bread/cracker!) The people in the districts have rightfully recognized the both of them as symbol of the rebellion; they have a truer vision of the matter than the more artifically/forcefully constructed symbol of rebellion that D13 /Coin will push - we will also see that when the people in D13 will view Peeta as a traitor, while the rebels Katniss will visit in D8 instead ask her about Peeta and assure her that they know he was speaking under duress

#thgagain #thg #katniss everdeen #hunger games #thg meta #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #gale hawthorne #my sketches and drawings #thg fanart #catching fire

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quirklessidiot · 3 years

Text

Title: first meetings [ii. the small pink-haired boy] Genre: just angst, drama, romance, historical fiction Pairing: Sorcerer!Sukuna x gn!sorcerer!reader (heian era; pre-curse sukuna)

Synopsis: in which you befriend the slave boy you’re supposed to spy on.

Warnings: not canon stuff, future dark themes,, smoll manga spoilers, slavery, whipping, mentions of rape, language and violence Notes: im kinda back i guess skksks also these are pretty much random au’s of my own take of sukuna’s back story uwu, theyre arranged in no particular order and you can read them in any order. This started out as a random one shot and i couldnt get it out of my head lol ksksksks, def not canon btw but it is canon that sukuna used to be an all powerful sorcerer before he turned to the dark side or smthng.

lil dictionary: non-person- usually what they called slaves during the heian era.

masterlist [for other parts] ;; taglist

“That’s beautiful.”

Contrasting to your rather clean and prestigious appearance, the young boy was dressed in rags and had dirt painted on his face. You could tell by his uncommon red eyes that he didn’t want you here nor did he even want to be associated with you.

“...the boy is rather prideful.” your otosan recounted a few nights before, you’d usually have conversations like this since you were quite close with him and he did like to confide you with these things,“but he has spirit, he’d be good for a ward.”

“What are you doing here?” He spat, being a part of and the sole heir of your family meant you were also treated with dignity and respect, it seemed like this boy wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, this made you grin wildly much to his disdain, “Oi, stop grinning like that. You’re creeping me the fuck out.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Has anyone told you that you’ve got quite the temper?”

“Well, has anyone told you that you’re being an annoying bitch?” he bit back, five minutes into your first meeting, this strange boy seemed to want to get furthest away from you. He seemed to be rather ignorant to his overflowing cursed energy, your father was right, this boy was definitely no joke.

“That’s sad.” You pouted, “All I wanted to say was how beautiful that Kimono is.”

“I was at a store, looking for some clothes that best suited you when I saw a young boy of your age…” your otosan narrated, “Who had a rather high cursed energy, he seemed unaware with it. He works as an errand boy, I believe, he carries heavy clothes and silk… His looks are hard to miss Y/N, so I’m sure you won’t miss him...try to talk to him…”

The boy looks up to you, completely annoyed, “Well, you said it. Now fuck off, yeah?”

You chose to ignore him and just bend down to his level, you had no training for today so you might as well join the boy for a moment since you had time to kill, “You know, if you keep keeping that attitude up, you might scare the customers away.” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah?” he clicked his tongue, “Looks to me that you aren’t even here to buy anything.”

“He seemed rather…” Your otosan described, “perplexed...so you might as well go in my stead…”

“Ah.” your grin doesn’t seem to fade despite his rather rough way of speaking, “You just seemed around my age so I got interested.”

“No shit, now buzz off. I got no time for kids like you.”

He talks as if he was older than you, it’s no surprise. Boys like him tend to think they know quite a lot.

“Do you wish to tell me your name now?”

He was silent for a moment.

That’s when realization dawned upon you, why he seemed perplexed around your otosan, why he thinks you were an annoying buzz, and why he couldn’t reply when you asked for his name. You feel yourself inwardly cringe at your mistake, it seems like the boy your father took interest in is a slave with no name, “Twenty.” he mumbles, shrugging nonchalantly.

“What?”

“They call me twenty.” he recounts, his voice is still rough around the edges, remaining uncensored by his identity.

“Right…” you tilt your head, “Twenty…”

“You’ve got silks to bring to the next town, boy!” a loud voice calls out, cutting you short, making the pink-haired boy put the pretty kimono down and back for display. Without even sparing you a glance or a word, he retreats to the back and you’re left squatting there alone. You watch him from behind, specifically at the bandages that peeked through his wrists.

The boy had piqued your interest to the point that you made it your weekly agenda to visit him and a-some-nights agenda to watch over him. He still ignores you and seems to be annoyed by you every time but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it so you just sit there.

You were also still in awe by how much raw energy he possessed, you’d ask your otosan if he knew any sorcerers with lost children because it surely seemed as if this boy wasn’t ordinary.

“Just keep an eye on him,” was all your father said as you watch the boy close up shop late at night from on top of a roof, “He might make a great sorcerer and shift the tides.”

Your otosan was not one for gambling on people but it seemed like he made a large bet on this boy.

As usual, you’re watching over him close up. It’s late and the owner of the place walks out, a pipe on his lips. Right then and there, he slaps the pink-haired teenager right at the face, “You should’ve joined the customer awhile ago in the dressing room, boy.” he growls, “It would’ve been quick…”

You feel the negative energy emit stronger than ever and your grip on your knife is tight, “Don’t get involved, Y/N.” your otosan’s warning echoes in your head, yes your otosan may have been interested in him but he was never one to dwell in human affairs, saying they were annoying and a mess to clean up.

“...It seems like the lesson a few nights ago wasn’t enough.” you snap back to reality and watch his boss stretch out a whip with its pointy ends and you feel your blood run cold.

‘Don’t get involved-’

You ignore your otosan’s words in your head and throw a stone right at a nearby sign, resulting in a booming clang, making the cat nearby yelp outloud. The pink-haired boy jumps on the spot and so does the older man at the sound.

“Ah fucking-” the older man curses, tucking the whip back in, “No food for you for three days. Know your fucking worth, non-person.”

Your grip on your nodachi lessens as you let out a sigh of relief, whatever legal terms your father must be talking about needs to be done quickly.

On the next day, you’re on your way to visit him again. Carrying the bento box that you know he’ll refuse again because of his ‘pride’ yet you stop dead on your tracks when you find his owner and an older man talking, Sukuna seems to be standing behind them, looking quite uncomfortable.

It didn’t take two and two to guess what was going on, the amount of cursed energy leaking on him was strong so you could only guess this was the man who wanted to get his way on him yesterday. Your nose crinkles in absolute disgust, “Don’t get involved-”

Once again, you ignore your otosan’s words.

“Hey!” You call out, you see his red eyes widen, “What are you doing?”

The older man frowns at your sudden appearance, “None of your business brat. Now go home-”

“I said,” You repeated, your voice dangerously low, “What are you doing to him?”

“He’s a non-person, kid.” his ‘owner’ growls, you notice his hands dangerously close to his whip, “A fucking slave in simpler terms, now get the fuck out before I beat him and you.”

“You don’t scare me.” Your eyes are narrowed, truthfully, no one ever scares you. You were the heir of your clan. It was to be expected and drilled since your curse energy manifested when you were five that fear would come last, “Now unhand the boy.”

“This bitch-”

“Now, now.” The other man smiles, cutting the pink-haired boy’s ‘owner’ off, “Maybe I can take that young child with me too. After all, they seem to be good friends. Two is better than one…”

You watch the other older man snake an arm on the young boy’s shoulder and you could feel the fear leaking out, it was harder to mask and hide now.

“Is it alright to put a little scar on’em? So that they’d know-” He gets ready to take out the whip while your fists are clenched, this would be easy. You could get away with this later, at least you’d take the boy away from this place and help him control his energy after.

Yet before you’re able to land a blow, the pink-haired boy yells at you to move as his ‘owner’ takes out a whip to whip you.

For someone who didn’t seem to like your presence, he was rather quick to defend you, having his face get hit in the process by the sharp whip. Your eyes widen in surprise, “Ah, shit… Y/N, run!” he yells but you’re staring at his very bloody face.

It would obviously leave marks like the wrists and who knows which parts since he was always covered by that very loose raggedy kimono.

You clench your fists tightly and look up from his blood features, the ‘owner’ stops on his tracks when he meets your very cold gaze, “Do you know who you just messed with?” you asked, “You really think I won’t tell my otosan that you planned to make me your prostitute?”

“Y-Y/N, jesus christ just fucking run-” he tried to stutter out, any evidence of the prideful and strong boy who tried to shoo you away was now gone.

Yet like the stubborn child you are, you ignore him and instead take out your family seal and drop it in front of them, ignoring the pink-haired boy’s plea’s and watching the two men in front of you turn white as a ghost as they see the nameplate, “My name is Ryomen Y/N.” You stated, voice loud and clear, “And you better hope that I’ll let you out here dead or me and my otosan will hunt you down for the rest of your life.”

taglist [if your name is crossed out, i cant tag you!] @shinhiromi ;; @hcn421 ;; @airybnb ;; @coldbookworm ;; @kristineyoshaii ;; @frankenstein852

@iguessimastannnow

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna imagines

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mostly-mundane-atla · 3 years

Note

Got it. What about Inuit, Yup’ik and Inupiaq stereotypes? Are there a lot of harmful ones to avoid? I do know you shouldn’t make eating meat their entire personality, but what else?

Okay, this is going to get dark, so if you need to blacklist any content warnings (mine are tagged as "[insert content here] mention", do that before reading and if you need me to tag anything specific, please tell me and avoid this post until I get to it.

And again: Disclaimer that simply having an eskimo coded character fall into these stereotypes is not inherently racist or wrong. Keep this in mind as writers of color, and thereby Native writers, often get a lot of shit for writing our experiences as we feel them. Not to mention, yelling at someone trying to do justice to a dark topic, even if they don't succeed, is a shitty thing to do. Some of these have subtextual backing in canon. Remember that although we are looked down on for crimes, wrongs, or unpleasantness we're assumed to have commited, it's the members of our community who suffer most for it. There is value in understanding the pain that comes from the community that's supposed to protect you, and I don't believe the writers of the series had any malicious intentions toward us for writing characters that fall into any of these stereotypes. Recognize the nuance or get off my blog and find someone else to back up your discourse.

I'm going to use the term Native in this context. Natives come from many different cultures and cannot be assumed to be the same, but many of these stereotypes are used against more than just Inuit, Inupiat, and Yup'ik peoples. This is why I find it to be the most appropriate term in this context. I will add my understanding of where these stereotypes came from and why they're harmful, but I am only one person and a full understanding of the topic requires more than one point of view.

"Natives are drunks." The United States used alcohol on Natives the same way Britain used opium on China. They introduced it to us and blamed addiction on our own "weakness of character." This assumption of alcoholism carries with it assumptions of untrustworthiness. For a real life example: I was on a grand jury (a jury that decides whether a case is worth taking to court) years ago and one case was an older Native man accusing his brother of physically assaulting him. For some reason, a nearly all-white jury was deemed to be a jury of this man's peers, and two or three white men violently insisted that it shouldn't be brought to court because it happened at a party and therefore it was just some alcoholics from the village wasting a judge's time. Eventually, after some discussion about how no alcohol was mentioned, it was decided the case should be presented to a judge. I would also like to point out that the Native man in question was entirely sober, well put-together, spoke more cohesively than other cases that day, and had a bad limp.

"Natives are child abusers/molesters." This one actually links to the first stereotype mentioned, and a lot of what I've said on this blog about how abuse perpetuates. There was a lot of physical, mental, and, yes, sexual abuse in the US run schools, especially the Christian ones and boarding schools. (I've heard people mentioning that the priests would more often target the boys because they couldn't get pregnant.) When one gets regularly exposed to this sort of thing, they come to accept it as normal. This normalizing of abuse is bad enough for the one person, but it also affects the way they interact with others when put in similar situations as the abuser. They're hurt and traumatized and weren't effectively told that it was wrong and they shouldn't have been put through that, so they perpetuate it on people as vulnerable as they were when it happened. Movements have started in hopes of bringing awareness and getting help for these people before they can carry out the cycle further. Abuse between adults is also a tricky issue because the ways people are taught to give or not give consent are counterintuitive to cultural norms around verbal and nonverbal communication. See: the "they didn't say no" argument.

"The Stoic Native." There are a number of reasons one culture might emote less than another, especially around people they don't know. This doesn't mean that we don't feel or are too strong or brave to feel. Our emotions are our business and we don't owe anyone an explanation.

"Natives are part of the land." For some reason, a lot of non-Natives have trouble grasping that Indigenous Peoples are human beings in our own right. A lot of media portrays us not as people in the same sense that the outsiders are, but as extensions of the land or the spirits of the land. It's true that generations upon generations of living somewhere means the land will change to reflect the people, but that is due to the influence of people living there and how their culture says to interact with it. This trope reduces us to symbols of "a simpler time" or just as often white people's ideas of nature conservation. It's dehumanizing and infantalizing, ignoring our cultures and civilizations, treating us as either innocent martyrs for someone else's cause, or pests that are done away with once the land is developed.

"The Native Princess." Sometimes the only way non-Natives can see us as people is by pushing cultural norms and forms of government they're more familiar with onto us. Naturally, this means assuming that our civilizations were as successful as they were because they were like the non-Native author's. This is especially gratuitous in the case of Inuit, Inupiat, and Yup'ik peoples because we don't have anything resembling a monarchy. Yeah, this one is explicitly in the text so I can't expect much to be done with it

"Native women are always available to men." I don't know what it is about cultures that consider themselves more "advanced" seeing ones they consider "primative" where women have more autonomy in the relationships they have with men and fewer restritions on their bodies. I don't know how they misinterpret "she can do that here" as "she's there for the taking" but it's so gross and I would like it to stop. Sexuality being more open and not inherently sinful doesn't mean the women don't have standards or won't turn anyone down.

"Natives are broke and/or homeless." This is just the typical racism mixing with classism to make something even uglier situatation. The result is a lot of treatment you see non-Native POC get, such as being followed at the store because they expect you to steal something.

There are more, I'm sure, but these are the ones I get the most. Note that again, it's not inherently bad to write a Native or Native-coded character who drinks or has a lot of partners or is particularly connected to their homeland or poor, but take care to handle it with some sensitivity. Understand that there are implications to these things and real harm can be done by legitimizing racist stereotypes.

#response #eskimo on main #rape mention #this is a heavy one guys so take care of yourselves

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cazimagines · 3 years

Note

Some fluffy reunion smut with Schmidt? Once he returns completely safe to a completely normal Earth? 👀🤣

I'm loving all the Schmidt requests I am getting, such an underated Daniel character!

You watched on TV as the shuttle fell down, fear in all the possibilities of what could go wrong. It could burst into fire at any moment, it could land in the ground where it wasn't supposed to. Flying into space, was so dangerous and every second it felt like your heart refused to beat due to nerves.

But as you watched, a smile broke out on your place as it landed safely. He was home, finally, he was home.

You barely stayed around to watch him emerge out of the shuttle, already grabbing your car keys to go and collect the man and bring him back to the place he belonged.

Due to being his girlfriend, you were able to get past the main crowd of people gathered, but still, you had to wait hours to see him as he was instantly pulled into many interviews, asking him lots of questions. You paced around the waiting room anxiously, walking up and down just dying to see him.

You were almost ready to barge through the office and demand to see him when he finally appeared in the doorway. He had been able to get dressed into some of his simpler clothes, but the man looked worn, and an emotional wreck, but as soon as his eyes laid upon yours, they sparked up joy to see you.

"Ernst" you whispered and ran, throwing yourself into his arms. He clung to you tightly, spinning you around as he cried out in joy, after years finally being able to hold you in his arms again.

Although hundreds of other people wanted to interview him, the two of you were able to push past them all as you guided him into your car, and eventually, you were able to get on the road and start the journey back.

At first, you talked to him about all he had missed while he had been up there, things that needed to get done, things that changed in your life and he listened intently, never stopping you for a minute but eventually, an hour into the ride he started to cry.

Your heart ached for him, knowing out of all his teammates, only him and one other had managed to survive what awful ordeal had gone up there. Though he was trying to hold himself together for you, the pain of losing those people struck him deeply and he couldn't hold back his tears any longer.

You pulled the car over and unbuckled your belt to pull him into a hug, clutching him tightly, not saying a word but just stroking his back in comfort. He cried into your shoulder for the next half an hour, tears streaking down his face but eventually, they stilled.

As he pulled away, his nose was red and he had dark eye bags but he smiled graciously at you, thanking you for letting him have that moment.

It was dusk when you finally arrived home with him, and he had to take a moment to look at his house, hardly believing he was back home, besides you. As the two of you got out of the car You went to grab your keys and open the door but he grasped your wrist. Pulling you closer to him, he hooked his arm under your legs and suddenly lifted you up, carrying you bridal style to the door.

Though it took a struggle, he was finally able to push the door open and carried you in. He didn't let you go once as he headed straight to the bedroom.

"Someone's eager" you joke as he carries you through the doorway, making him chuckle.

"I've been dreaming about this moment ever since I left. I've been gone from you for too long Schatz. It took all my strength to not jump on you the moment I laid eyes upon you"

He laid you down upon the bed, and you placed your hand upon his face, holding him near.

"Well, you have me now"

He groaned, his erection pressing up against his trousers and he knew he couldn't wait a second longer, he needed you. Now.

He pulled down your trousers and gently helped you tug your shirt off. You felt him remove his cardigan, shirt and jeans until you were both bare before each other. You both admired each other, for it being too long since last you saw each other naked.

Ernst dropped to his knees, grasping your legs to start trailing kisses all upon them. He wanted to cover every inch of your skin with his lips, to show you all his love but he ached too much to be inside of you.

When he reached the top of your legs, he leaned forward and wrapped his lips upon your breasts, instantly starting to suck them as he pushed his long fingers inside to your core, groaning as he felt the way your walls tightened around them.

Quickly he pushed them in and out of you as he buried his face in your chest. He angled his fingers in that perfect spot for you, making you buckle your hips up into him, needing to feel him deeper.

"Please Ernst" you groaned at last. Amused he pulled his lips away from your chest, licking them.

"Please what, my Schatz?"

"I need you inside me"

"You already have my fingers" he teased

"No!"

"Then what else?"

"Your cock!" you managed to gasp out, feeling an embarrassed blush appear on your cheeks. Ernst's heart however melted at the sight of you being all shy before him.

He pulled his face up to yours, pushing you into a kiss as he slotted himself between your legs. Not letting go of your lips, he pushed inside of you slowly.

He enjoyed fast sex, and often when you two were together rough and fast was how it went, but after all this time, he wanted to savour the feeling, he wanted to make it last a long time, and he wanted to go again, and again, and again until the two of you physically couldn't.

His thrusts were measured, angled to hit that sweet spot inside of you, and pushed into you fully each time. His mouth trailed sweet kisses all over you while his hand twisted your clit, sending shock waves of pleasure through you.

He loved hearing you moan and whimper under him, knowing it was all because of the skilful way he played with you, and he tried to draw out as many orgasms as he could out of you before he came.

You felt your entrance throb as you came, and then again and then again until you couldn't count anymore. He groaned loudly as he came inside of you, coating you with lots of cum, but not long after he came he picked up his thrusts again, determined to fill you up again with his seed. All you knew was the feeling of your husband inside of you, his fingers upon you, his kisses on your skin, treating you as the most precious thing in the world.

Cazzy's 900 followers celebration

#ernst schmidt #ernst schmidt smut #ernst schmidt x reader #the cloverfield paradox #daniel bruhel #daniel bruehl #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl

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criminalshminds · 3 years

Text

A Broken Whisper

A very, very, very late prompt from @eprcntiss, but good things happens to those who wait, right???

Prompt: “What are you doing here? It’s late.” Pairing: Hotchniss (Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1968 TW: Canon faked death, slight intrusive thoughts

Summary: He didn’t know why he felt the need to check up on her, but he’s glad he did. Though he never thought she’d be here. (Post Doyle)

*****************************************************************

He couldn’t say why he had the urge to check on Emily, he just did. Something has been up with her since she came back after Doyle. Hotch has tried to be a sounding board for her, but her walls are always up that she manages to deflect any of his concern and places it back on him. But he saw her face at the take down that night. He saw the lone tear that fell down her cheek, one that she quickly wiped away before anyone could see it. Maybe that one tear led him to her apartment. He parks in a spot that looks directly up into her apartment. A spot that he has been in plenty of times before, back when things were simpler. Back when they would steal little kisses. Where she would wave at him from the window in her living room as he left to go back home to shower and change before work. Where he told her that he loves her. Back before she started to pull away. Back when things made sense.

Since her return, they haven’t spoken of the past. Actually, they haven’t really talked at all. The only words they utter to each other are work related. Well, that’s not completely true. She did utter a goodbye today. Maybe that’s why he felt the need to see her. Looking up at the window that used to hold her smiling silhouette now just holds a darkness that sends a shiver down his spine. Like he’s not supposed to be here. Like he is intruding in a life that he doesn’t belong in anymore. Taking a chancery glance around the parking lot, the first thing he notices is that her car isn’t in its designated parking spot. Second thing he notices, is that she hasn’t been home since leaving work five hours ago, if the snow piled up on the concrete has anything to say about it. Knowing that she could be literally anywhere, he huffs out a sigh before digging around his pockets for his cell phone.

“Bossman, I know I am the goddess of all wisdom, but even goddesses need their beauty sleep.” A grumble comes through the phone, definitely not the cheerful voice of Penelope Garcia that Hotch has come to know.

“Garcia, can you do me a favor?” He speaks quickly into the phone, no room or time for nonsense.

“Does it involve me coming back into the BAU?” Hotch hears some rustling noises, and only now does he realize that he is calling at almost midnight.

“No.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

“Don’t raise any alarms unless I say so.” Hotch runs his hand over his mouth before asking his request. “Can you get me a location on Prentiss?”

She immediately shoots out of bed and races to her laptop. She skids to a stop, barely landing on her couch before frantically typing and shooting out questions. “What? Why would I – why is she? She’s not – “ Not again, not when we just got her back.

“Garcia!” He interrupts her panic raise of questions hoping to keep her head on straight.

“Right, sorry. Um, give me a minute. You sure it’s nothing?” She waits for a second, getting no response she continues to type on her laptop before it pings her location. “I got it! I sent it to you. Please bring our girl back home.”

“I will Garcia, and remember – “

“I know, I know, not a peep.” As soon as the last word left her mouth, Hotch moved the phone from his ear and immediately went to his messages. Letting out a sigh, he puts the car in reverse and makes his way down the empty streets.

His shoulders don’t sag in relief until he sees her car parked in the desolate lot. Pulling into the space next to her, he glances at silver sedan hoping he’ll be lucky to see her behind the wheel. Mentally groaning when the car is as barren as the parking lot he is in, he turns off his car and shuffles out into the chilly night. It didn’t take a genius to know that she has been here for a while, if the buildup of snow on her car was any indication. The steady stream of snow flurries coming down has covered any footprints that could potentially lead him to her. Although, none of that was necessary. For the seasoned profiler he is, he knew exactly where she went once the coordinates led him here.

Quantico National Cemetery

He stares at the sign, willing his feet to move. A staring contest that even the famous Aaron Hotchner glare can’t win. It’s not until a particularly strong gust of wind whips around him for his feet to catch up with his brain. A shiver races through his body. Either from the cold or from that sinister feeling of being alone in a graveyard at night. He silently moves through the sea of headstones, a walk that is second nature to him. One that he frequented quite often for months. He makes his way up to the tree that helped shelter the gravestone from the elements and finally sees the back of her head. He knows that she hears him coming, the crunching of the snow beneath his feet hard to miss, even past the sound of the wind. Stopping a few feet behind her, he waits a minute before speaking.

“What are you doing here? It’s late.” He’s expecting her to turn towards him, but she sits as still as a statue staring at the engraved stone. She doesn’t respond right away, making him move closer to her. He opens his mouth to ask again when he hears her soft voice reply.

“I come here to think.”

Curiosity got the better of him. “About?”

“Life.” Her soft declaration carries through the wind and wraps around him. She reaches forward in a practiced motion and brushes the fresh snow away to keep the text visible.

Emily Prentiss

October 12th 1970 – March 7th 2011

Fidelity Bravery Integrity

“It’s so precious. You never realize how special it is until it gets taken away.” He continues to stand behind her, keeping his mouth shut. This is the most open she’s been since her return and he’s not about to ruin it. “I didn’t think it’d be this strange. Basically coming back from the dead. You know I came here the first time purely out of curiosity. Taking my picture off a wall is one thing, but removing a whole grave?” She lets out a humorless chuckle.

“With a click of her finger, Garcia could get it removed.” He speaks before he could stop himself. He holds his breath hoping that he didn’t just cause her walls to build back up.

“No.” Her head tilts back towards the sky. “I need the perspective.”

Furrowing his brow, he carefully walks next to her before slowly lowering to the ground. He starts to reach for her before quickly retreating, remembering that she’s no longer his to touch. He starts to question what her fake grave can help her with before remembering something she said after a case years ago. I need to know that I can be human.

“Being reminded of your own mortality isn’t the right perspective to have.” He spoke softly even though he wanted to scream.

“Don’t you get it? It’s a reminder of how fragile life is. Logically speaking, I shouldn’t be here.” She scrunches up her eyes, a tear streaks down her face as she pounds her fist into the ground.

His hand shoots out and covers her fist that is still resting on the snow-soaked grass. His touch finally breaks her out of her trance with her eyes finally meeting his.

“But you are here. Living, breathing. Dammit Emily! Don’t you understand? You can’t move on until you finally accept that you are meant to be here. With me! With us.” He is grasping at her hand like she will disappear any second while his shoulders are shaking with the intensity of his breath. She keeps his stare for a second, before turning away back to the headstone.

“Am I?” She whispers. He lightly grasps at her chin, moving her head to face him again.

“Forever and always.” That little phrase breaks her. In a second, she leaps from her spot into his lap, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck. The reaction almost pushes him backwards into the snow, but he quickly settles himself. His hand moves and starts stroking the back of her head in a practiced movement before he gently starts rocking them consoling her quietly in her ear trying to overpower her chant of “I’m sorry.” They stay wrapped around each other until he spares a glance at his watch, telling him that it is half past one in the morning.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” He whispers into her ear, helping her up to her feet. He feels her shiver against him as a large gust of wind almost knocks the both of them from their feet. Only now does he notice that she’s been in just a sweater this whole time.

“Jesus Em, you couldn’t have brought a jacket?” Shedding his coat, he drapes it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist guiding her to his car.

“Left it in the car. Didn’t realize how long it’s been.” She chatters out to him, leaning closer towards him for warmth. He lets out a frustrated sigh before picking up the pace, trying to get her to shelter.

He helps her into the passenger seat of his car, passing off her concerns about her car. “We’ll take care of it in the morning.”

He quickly makes his way into the driver’s seat to turn the car on. They sit in the warming car for a couple minutes in complete silence. Neither quite knowing what to say to the other. After another minute, Hotch figures it’s best to start to drive to her apartment. It’s not until they are halfway there that she finally speaks up.

“Aaron?” She says no more than a whisper.

“Hm?” He hums out, sparing her a quick glance before looking back to the empty road.

“I – I, thank you.”

His lips start to curve up into a smile and he removes one hand from the steering wheel to grasp at hers, stopping her from the continued picking of her nails. He squeezes her hand gently in response before leaving their fingers intertwined. Neither of them speak until he parks back at her apartment complex.

She starts to let go of his hand to make her exit before his voice stops her.

“Em?” With her hand still on the inside latch, she turns to face him. “I know it’s not my place anymore, but please don’t be afraid to come to me. If you’re having a bad day, let me know. You mean so much to me. I meant it when I said forever and always.”

She slowly nods her head, before leaning forward to give him an awkward hug across the center console. Pulling away, she shyly gives him a peck on the cheek before whispering. “Forever and always.”

She opens the door, and goes to leave his jacket on the seat, but he holds up a hand to stop her. “Give it to me tomorrow.”

Smiling softly, she nods before closing the door. He patiently waits until he sees the light go on in her apartment. He waits until he sees her figure standing in the window, giving him a small wave. Like before. He slowly pulls out of the parking space, smiling to himself. Yeah, things are starting to make sense again.

#prompts #prompt writing #allie writes #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss #we love when inspiration strikes you #also love doing prompts way out of order #i apologize to the other prompts that came before this that i sidelined to write this one #very late tho #this is from my 350 celebration #which was at least 2 months ago??#sorry besties #hope you enjoy

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viper-lovefix · 4 years

Text

Persevere

Word count: 1431

Pairing(s): Honestly? This all over the place so take your bets

Warning(s): ** the nasty is happening below

This is easily the greatest and stupidest idea you’ve ever had and yet— it’s working. You’ve never been one to do such things but here you are, giving head to Wu Chang all so your team can survive this match.

You’ve done many things. You’ve kited the hunter for 4 ciphers before getting downed, you’ve kited the hunter enough times for everyone to escape and take dungeon for yourself at the end. You’ve done so much in matches before, but this certainly takes the cake.

How did worrying about the team lead to this? Sure, matches had been slow—well there hadn’t been any matches for some days now. Everything had been quiet and peaceful with no matches and you worried your fellow survivors would let their skills and talents rust from the lack of matches. You were worried for them but hell if you thought it’d make you stupid enough to do this! Well- this is with Wu Chang so you couldn’t complain too much, now could you?

The sounds of ciphers being done could be heard throughout the map and you could only be thankful that your efforts weren’t going to waste especially when you’re teamed up with the slowest decoders you could’ve asked for. Naib, Andrew and Victor were only trying their best but why them of all times? God damn you game matchers! No matter. You’re going to make sure everyone survives this match or so help you god you’ll personally hunt down the guys if they don’t make it out.

At least you’re able to work your stamina into this rather than kiting. It’s not quite the same but it’s not too bad either. Being able to draw out Fan’s moans, seeing the way he reacts when receiving such attention from you and the way he tangles his hand into your hair; pushing you down for more of your attention, It’s not too bad. Xie got his turn earlier and you can’t help but feel proud of yourself for having made him reach his climax quickly however, from all the previous teasing you did to him it’s no wonder why he did so quickly. That’s saying you weren’t trying to do so much either! So cute.

Fan on the other hand…He’s rougher around the edges and you must put in more work. Your jaw is starting to cramp up but he’s relentless. The way his hips jolt forward when you take his entire length was starting to make the back of your throat sore as he kept hitting there. You weren’t sure how much more you could take of this but it’s almost as if he knew and pulled his hand away from your hair.

Taking the open chance, you pulled away and took a deep breath. Still wanting to buy some more time for your team, you quickly caught your breath and held his dick with your hand as you licked up to reach his tip and placed your lips against it teasingly. “up for another round fan~?” The vibrations from your words sent shivers down his body and his smirk only grew more widely.

The dark look in his eyes was enough for you to know he wanted you to continue and as you opened your mouth to take his cock once again—everything moved in a flash, what the fuck just happened? Why are you looking at the sky? Why are you against a wall? No. you’re against someone. Someone is holding you close to their chest. Wait- you remember this feeling- This is like when you get lassoed by Kevin. He usually carries you over his shoulder but there has been the occasional time he’s held you bridal style as well. so, with a wide smile and your arms wrapping around the person you stupidly think is holding you, you happily speak “Kevin~?!” “oh you fucking wish!”

Ah. You know that harsh voice. “Naib?!” “No I’m Kevin- yes it’s ME! Kevin isn’t even in the team this match you horny idiot!” of course he was going to say something about your choices. Of fucking course but no. you should be the mature one and— “HEY! This horny idiot saved all of you and look! the gates are open! What are you even complaining about—ah, I know what this is about. You’re just upset I haven’t thanked you for saving me from wu chang huh? Let me guess you were expecting something like…you’re my hero~! You saved me~!” “Oh save it for when we actually get out!” he replied with a sneer and a slight blush to his face. The usual you got from him.

“Wait…the gates aren’t open?! Why did you get me instead of opening them?! How did you even get me?!” since it was so sudden and you were a little dazed from having spent 5 ciphers worth of time sucking fan’s cock, you hadn’t really thought about it. “Simpler than you think. I saw…what you were doing and thought my normal method wouldn’t be the best way to get you. so, I opened a chest and got lucky with a lasso.” He paused a bit when mentioning having watched you go about your brilliant way of buying time for the team but a topic for later as you were reaching the gates. Before you could say anything back to him, you remained quiet as an all too familiar feeling returned to you.

A loud thumping was building up in your chest, along with a purple glow appearing which you knew all too well. Fuck.

It’s getting louder by the second as you approach the gates which were being opened by victor. Andrew was there too, although he was quite nervously waiting for the gates to open. That look of horror was something you learned to expect from Andrew, but it was different from normal. Taking it as a sign, you looked over naib’s shoulder and you saw Fan quickly chasing after you and naib. Those glowing red eyes can only mean one thing…shit!

“Naib he’s got detention! HE’S GOT DETENTION!!” working as the eyes behind his head, you quickly updated naib on the situation which in turn ended with him loudly yelling at victor. “OPEN THE FUCKING GATES!!” victor quickened his pace with opening the gate once he heard naib’s yell. Lucky it was the last coding he needed to input and as the gates squeaked open, they rushed in. Victor and Andrew made it inside to safely wait but anxiously waiting for you and naib surely made them lose years to their lifespans, They’re sure of it.

Every second felt too long for their comfort, but they wanted to make sure all of them made it out. They made the right choice to stay behind in the safety of the gate as they quickly heard the bells alerting them naib had been hit. But before they could even take a step outside the gate, they saw naib with you in hand turn the corner inside the gate. Despite sprinting forward with all his might, he still had the energy to yell at his teammates. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING AROUND FOR?! LET’S FUCKING GO!!” That was all they needed to see and hear to quickly turn on their heels and dash further into the exit.

You think you could’ve gotten there faster and without naib taking a hit from fan at the end had he put you down. But…you suppose it’s his way of repaying you for having stalled for as long as you did. You still had your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself close to his face. You teasingly spoke to him “so now that we’re out of danger and going back to the manor I suppose now you want me to say you saved me~! My hero~! Let me give you a kiss for your bravery~!” You jokingly pucker your lips for a kiss. “don’t fucking DARE give me a kiss with that dick sucking MOUTH” He replied, biting down so harshly his teeth clanked. “OH, SHUT UP I SAVED ALL OF YOU BY DOING THAT” you quickly yelled back. Only taking seconds to remember the other two who were with you and who did not in fact know what you did. victor and Andrew were as red as tomatoes and quickly turn their heads to look at the two of you bickering and together, they said “you did what?!” ah. Well shit. You have a lot of explaining to do once you got back to the manor.

It was fun though.

#idv imagines #idv x reader #Identity v Imagines #Identity v x reader #wu chang x reader #naib subedar #andrew kreiss #victor grantz #smut #idv #identity v

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Note

THE REQUEST ARE OPEN AGAINN!! AHHHH CONTINUATION OF PILLAR BODY SWAP THANKYOUUUU

‘switch ‘em up pt. 4′ / Pillars x Reader (now with the Kamaboko Squad!)

warnings: none

words: 2,243

(a/n): I just wanna thank the lovely anon that gave me the idea to this plotline; it helped a lot!

for reference: Giyuu/Shinobu | Gyomei/Mitsuri | Obanai/Tengen | Sanemi/Muichiro | Kyojuro/you

“I’m not sure I understand entirely,” Tanjiro confesses, his eyebrows furrowing. “So you’re looking for some special type of herb?”

“Precisely,” Shinobu says.

Overhead, birds chirp and flood the skies, hopping from branch to branch and competing each other with their harmonies. A delicate breeze sweeps through the area, carrying loose leaves and the crisp smell of nature. On any other day, you’d love to come back; however, considering the circumstances, you’d rather not be here.

After much discussion on what should be done to return everyone to their normal bodies, Shinobu voiced an idea that may work – finding a special herb and using its medicinal properties. It’s a bit of a longshot, but it’s not like anyone else has any other better idea. And whether the others voiced it or not, everyone is secretly wishing that this magical plant will bring a miracle.

As such, you and the rest of the Pillars take the trip to Mount Sagiri; Tanjiro insisted he tag along since he knows the area well, plus he wanted to help. Of course, this meant traveling with his two friends, Zenitsu and Inosuke. Truthfully, it’s quite a crowd you’re traveling with, but it should prove to be useful to have extra eyes searching for the herb.

“Giyuu knows this area as well, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find it!” Tanjiro chirps, looking to his friend. Although Giyuu is still stuck inside Shinobu’s body, he looks away, a light blush dusting his face. “Plus, Urokodaki-san should be able to help us!”

“Wait, that old man who used to be the Water Pillar?” Tengen questions.

“Don’t disrespect him,” Giyuu abruptly snaps. The muscle in his jaw ticks. “That is all I ask.”

At that, Tengen lets out a drawn-out whistle. “Damn, alright. Don’t tear my head off, waterworks.”

“Waterworks? What kind of name is that?” Sanemi speaks up. “I think you’ve been inside of Obanai for too long, Tengen. Your insults are starting to turn lame.”

“Fuck you,” Obanai mutters.

“It’s not my fault Obanai doesn’t possess a flamboyant sense of humor!”

With a sigh, you watch on as Tengen, Sanemi, and Obanai start bickering. Frankly, you don’t know why they’re even putting in the effort. Everyone is stuck in a situation that they don’t like, so what’s the point?

Beside you, Zenitsu wrings his hands, an uneasy expression crossing his features. “Uh… Kyojuro? Wait, wait, sorry – (y/n)?” You hum in response. “Are all the Pillars this… tense? Like, normally?”

“Heh. Well, not really. Sanemi’s always got a stick up his ass, and Obanai’s just naturally edgy like that,” you tell him. As you look to him, it strikes you as odd to have to look down at him. You’ve otherwise grown used to the height difference, but it still takes you aback sometimes.

Zenitsu snickers. His unease melts away, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “When you put it that way, it sounds just like that moron Inosuke.”

“Oi! Who the fuck are you calling a moron?!” Inosuke barks.

Quirking an eyebrow, Zenitsu shoots you a bored look. “See what I mean?”

“We’re here!” Tanjiro exclaims.

Having been distracted from the short conversation with Zenitsu, you’ve completely ignored your surroundings. Cursing yourself internally for being so careless, you look ahead, taking in the sight of a small home with an even smaller garden next to it. So this must be Urokodaki’s home, huh? How quaint.

“This doesn’t really look like much,” Muichiro voices. Shifting his attention to Giyuu, he cocks his head. “So this is where you were trained?”

Giyuu nods stiffly. The look on his face – Shinobu’s face – is, well, vulnerable. You haven’t seen him show so much emotion before, and it’s a bit startling. If you’re being entirely honest, it looks as though he’s ready to throw up everything that’s inside his gut.

“It’s just as I remember!” Tanjiro chirps. “It’s nice up here, don’t you think? The air gets thinner from here on up, so please be careful when scaling the mountain.”

As if on cue, the door to the house slides open, revealing an elderly man with a tengu mask adorning his face. The air about him demands respect; it’s more than obvious that this very man was a Pillar, and a strong one at that. You watch on as Tanjiro and Giyuu step up towards the house before dropping into respectful bows. Tanjiro’s movements are much more fluid, more comfortable. Giyuu’s are more… wooden.

“Tanjiro, my boy!” Urokodaki greets. Ushering Tanjiro closer, he greets the young man with a hug. “…Who’s this fine lady with you?”

Tengen laughs.

“Urokodaki-san, it’s me,” Giyuu grumbles. “Giyuu…”

Although you can’t see Urokodaki’s face, you have a pretty good idea of what it’s like. The man falls silent, glances from him to Tanjiro, then he scans over the group behind him. Sure, you can’t blame him for being skeptical; a random swarm of people showing up to your house unexpectedly is bound to raise some questions. However, these are all Pillars he’s dealing with. This isn’t something to take lightly.

“Urokodaki-san,” Tanjiro begins, “we need your help. We’re not entirely sure how, but all the Pillars switched bodies with each other. It’s been like this for a number of days now, and we don’t know how long it’s supposed to last.”

After another moment or so of silence, Urokodaki sighs and crosses his arms. “Listen, kid, that seems a bit… much, don’t you think?”

“It might be some sort of Blood Art!” Tanjiro rushes. “Please, Urokodaki-san!”

Again, another sigh. “So everyone is in another body than their own? Haven’t heard of an ability like that before, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Nodding in Shinobu’s direction, he says, “So, that’s Giyuu’s body, but it isn’t him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Shinobu tells him. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to be in Giyuu-san’s body more than I have to.”

“Ehhh?! What’s with all the talking!” Inosuke bursts. “You guys said you wanted to find a plant, not talk to some old coot!”

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro scolds, but he’s too late. In a blink of an eye, Giyuu practically materializes right before Inosuke, his fist colliding with Inosuke’s gut. There’s a loud groan of pain as Inosuke drops to the ground, his hands clutching onto his stomach. To the side, both Zenitsu and Tengen break out into fits of laughter.

“I told you not to disrespect him,” Giyuu grunts.

“Ohoho!” Kyojuro booms, just as loud as always. At this rate, he’s going to blow out your vocal cords before you can get them back. “How loyal, Giyuu! I’m impressed!”

Rolling your eyes, you break away from the group, opting to join Tanjiro. “Urokodaki-san,” you greet, giving a polite bow, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Listen, I know this is a complicated situation, but we really need to find this plant. It’s crucial that we do.”

Urokodaki hums. “I know you – you’re Rengoku Shinjuro’s boy, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Well, technically – but I’m not Kyojuro. I’m (l/n) (y/n), the Wild Pillar.”

“You’re not? Figures. This whole “switched body” conundrum is making my brain work in ways it hasn’t worked in years.” Urokodaki waves a dismissive hand at you. “Whatever. If all of you are willing to look for such a plant, feel free to scale the mountain to your heart’s content. I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thank you so much!” Tanjiro chirps. After Urokodaki slides the door shut behind him, the two of you turn back to the others, smiles plastered on both of your faces. “Everyone – it’s time! Let’s turn you all back to normal!”

After hours of searching, no one has come up with anything. Granted, a vast variety of edible plants line the mountain – all of them useful in one way or another – but it’s not the dreaded silva you’re looking for. Shinobu said it was vine-like, with delicate leaves shaped like bells. The only you found worth of any interest was watching Inosuke eat almost every mushroom he could find and crack open acorns like they were nothing.

Soon, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of peach and berry. The view was simply breathtaking, and you had to stop to take it in for a few moments.

“It’s always been like that,” Giyuu says quietly. Stopping next to you, he gazes at the setting sun, a wistful gleam in his eyes. “Most of the time, we were too busy training to watch it, though.”

Now that you think about it, Giyuu has been acting weird ever since arriving. Call it intuition, but you’re almost positive that he was feeling guilty about something. And he said we instead of I, so that only confirms your suspicion. Glancing around, you imagine a younger Giyuu descending the mountain, panting like crazy in the thin air, narrowly avoiding the numerous traps Urokodaki set up. If he experienced anything like the pain roaring in your back and sides right now, you’re amazed he dared to set foot back on this very mountain.

“Thinking back to simpler times, huh?” you ask, voice soft.

Giyuu scoffs. “The training was far from simple, but yeah. Things were a lot more different then.”

As if acting on its own, your arm slings itself around Giyuu, tugging him closer and holding him against your body. With him in Shinobu’s body, he’s so small, his head nestled against your chest. At first, he tenses up, but then slowly relaxes in your hold. Ever since switching bodies, you’ve noticed Kyojuro’s personality starting to bleed into yours. Hell, even his body is trying to one up you.

“I miss him,” Giyuu whispers.

Your heart drops to your stomach at his tone. “…Who?”

“Oi! Are you two just gonna stand there or are you coming back down?” Sanemi snaps.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you pull away, but you keep a hand on Giyuu’s forearm. “You’re helping me down, got it? This mountain gives me the creeps and I don’t want to get rammed by another damned log. Seriously – how did Urokodaki-san even set them up?”

Despite the saddened glint in his eyes, Giyuu manages to crack a smile.

The inside of Urokodaki’s house is cramped, but it’s also very homely. Scattered around the living area, each person more or less sticks to themselves, too much in pain to engage in lively conversation. Shinobu treats to the wounds, making sure bones are intact and intestines didn’t take too much of a beating. The only ones completely unaffected are Tanjiro and Giyuu, but that much is obvious.

“So what now?” Mitsuri asks. Still in Gyomei’s colossal body, she’s probably one of the Pillars that’s had the most trouble adjusting to her new form. “We’re not going to give up looking, are we?”

“I didn’t think it was this rare,” Shinobu admits. “Perhaps we were looking at the wrong spots on the mountain? It’s possible.”

“Take a breather before springing back into motion,” Urokodaki says. Sitting before the hearth, he absentmindedly prepares some tea. “Think, plan, then go about your business. A mindless game of hide and seek isn’t going to produce any results.

“Mmph! Mmph!” Nezuko agrees (or you think so, anyway). You’ve only met her a handful of times outside of her box, but you enjoy her company very much.

“Wait,” Shinobu suddenly says, snapping upright. “Urokodaki-san, what’s that you’re grinding up right now?”

Setting down his mortar and pestle, Urokodaki busies his hands with plucking apart wildflowers. “It’s silva. It grows right out here in my garden.”

At that, Shinobu’s draw drops. “By the gods-“ She facepalms, then, and groans. “That’s the herb we were looking for! You’re telling me that it’s been down here the entire time?!”

“Why didn’t you say what you were looking for?” Urokodaki says. “Could’ve saved a lot of time.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sanemi curses.

“That wasn’t very flamboyant of you,” Tengen chimes in. “I agree with Sanemi – this is bullshit.”

Urokodaki shrugs. “And how is that my fault? You’re all Pillars, are you not? Shame on you for being unobservant.”

“Urokodaki-san, please,” Tanjiro says.

“Alright, alright, fine.” In a couple of minutes, he prepares the tea as planned and pours it into a number of ceramic cups. “Since you’re all on my ass about it, drink up.”

“Uh, should we really be drinking this…?” Zenitsu squeaks, staring down at his own cup.

“Stop being a pussy!” Inosuke cackles. Tipping his head back, he downs his tea in one go.

Everyone more or less follows suit, taking sips of their own tea. As you set your own cup down, you feel the beginning of a warm, pleasant sensation in your lower tummy.

“Hey, Shinobu?” Tanjiro asks. “Is the herb supposed to make you feel sleepy?” At his words, Nezuko slumps to the floor. One by one, all the others drop like flies, yourself included.

Some time passes before your eyes crack back open. The inside of Urokodaki’s house is dark; from the crickets chirping and an owl hooting nearby, you quickly realize that it’s nighttime, and it’s probably late. With a groan, you sit up, dragging a hand across your face in the process. Wait… that’s not your hand, and it’s not Kyojuro’s either. Squinting through the darkness, you’re able to make out slight details, but it’s enough to make your heart sink. The herb didn’t work.

You’re in Giyuu’s body instead.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira x reader #kny pillars #kny hashira #request

283 notes · View notes

poptod · 3 years

Text

Pretty, Little Doll (Merriel Shelton x Reader)

Description: Merriel makes friends with the pretty little doll serving ice cream.

Notes: jus thinking about ice cream. implied female reader, but this.. is too much. theres just too much here. youve been warned. edit: wait no u havent. the warning is that theres suggestive themes and such WC: 2.3k

After working long hours in the broiling sun of the south, what felt best down his parched throat was a beer––a bar where many of his friends and coworkers drank at, and the waitresses wore low-cut dresses with short hems and long stockings. That sight went down wonderfully with several drinks, but what drew his attention today was a newly opened shop.

There was no sign, but the large, pristine windows gave a good view of the inside. Clean, white walls with several tables and chairs to the left, and a counter to order at on the right. Behind it stood you, dressed to the nines in ruffles and bows as you opened up the shop, displaying buckets of ice cream.

Merriel grinned. Lopsided and toothy, and he jogged inside, sweat and dirt still trailing down his skin and clothes. With his shirt slung over his bare shoulder, he met your eye and his cocky smile returned as his chin tilted high.

"Afternoon," he drawled as he approached the counter, barely grazing over the different flavors before returning to you.

"Good afternoon," you said in a much quieter voice, though you did mimic his smile, just more politely. "How may I help you?"

"You new here?" He asked, gesturing generally to the shop.

"Oh, yes," you said. "My grandmother always wanted an ice cream parlor, so.. I thought I could help her."

"That's awful sweet of ya," he said as he leant on the counter, tilting ever closer to you. "This ice cream sweet as you, boo?"

Your mouth fell open, eyes widening as you did a double take. For a moment you were at a loss for words, but you quickly attempted to stammer out a response, a blush burning your face.

"Well, um, we have, uh, strawberry, and um.. chocolate, vanilla, cherry, and uh, banana. And bourbon."

"Bourbon?" He said, a single brow kinked upwards.

"It's my grandma's favorite," you said with a sheepish chuckle.

"Damn, girl. Grandma knows how to have fun," he laughed.

"Would you like to try it?"

Only if I can lick it off you, he thought, his attention drifting to the soft skin of your neck. The thought of it melting down and pooling in your clavicle. While usually he didn't bother to censor himself for anyone, you seemed a little fainthearted. His chances with you would probably be ruined after one too-strange comment.

"Sure," was what he said instead. "Long as it's cold I don't care."

"I understand that. I moved here recently and it's certainly something to try and adapt to the heat," you rambled as you stuck a tiny plastic spoon in the bourbon ice cream, giving him the single bite. "Are you a local?"

"Been here long's I remember," he said, taking the spoon. "What time do ya get off today?"

"Oh, um," you fixed the ruffles on your collar, "I won't be finished till late. We're not all set up yet."

"If y' need some help, I'd be happy to offer my expertise. I do a hell of a lot a' nailin' things ta the wall."

You stared at him again, once more losing your words. He hadn't quite meant what he said, but the fluster he left you in had him grinning, humored by the connotation you'd incorrectly understood.

"That – that'd be very nice of you," you said, wringing your hands. "I don't want to bother you. You look.. busy."

He didn't miss how your eyes raked up his body, from his wrinkled, dusty pants up his bare waist and chest still gleaming with the sweat of morning work. His jaw could cut hearts and he knew that very well; accented it whenever he could as he cocked his chin upwards, watching carefully as your breath froze.

"I won't be busy tonight. How 'bout this." He walked up right to the counter, pressing his hips into the edge of it. "I come after I finish up ma' own job, and I'll give ya' a hand. Don't even gotta pay me."

"Really? But –"

"Don't worry 'bout it. 'S nothin' for a pretty doll like you."

"At least let me get you a cone? It's hot out today," you offered, reaching for the largest waffle cones you had.

The guys wouldn't really take well to him eating ice cream instead of drinking, but he figured they'd eat their words when they saw you.

"Won't say no to that."

As much as he wanted to boast about you, how pretty and sweet you were and how he so easily slid his way into your life, he didn't want his friends finding your shop and vandalizing it with their own dirty boots and flirtatious looks. Only he could do that.

In the evening he returned as promised, having walked from his house on the outskirts of town to your shop on the main street. The build, decorum, and location of the shop screamed rich family to him. No one in his state would be able to afford a business on main street, much less fully renovated and repainted. He could ask you, he decided, about your family, your grandmother, and of course you.

Inside, you were closing up the tubs of ice cream, hauling them out of the display case and into a back storage room. He knocked before he entered, earning a muffled 'come in!' from you.

Before either of you could speak, both the buckets in your arms began to slip, and he ran round to the other side of the counter to help. He took one from you to ease the load.

"Careful, cher," he said, grabbing another bucket in his other arm. "Don't wanna break yaself."

"Thank you," you said, mostly ignoring his comment. "My grandma is in the other room, so just, um.. be polite and proper."

Fat fuckin' chance, he thought in his head, but fortunately did not say aloud as he followed you.

The door swung open into a freezer room, where an old lady stood in the corner, covered head to toe in coats as she stirred.

"I keep telling you to let me do that," you sighed, setting down your container before rushing to her side.

"I can do it quite well myself. I'm not useless, you know," your grandmother said, staring you down with a glare. You hesitated, gauging her carefully, before you relented with another exasperated sigh.

"Fine, alright," you said quietly. "I'll go work on hanging up all the paintings and such."

"Thank you, dear."

You motioned to him as you passed by, pushing open the door and heading out of the freezer. He once again followed you, watching your ass with a grin you never saw.

"We need to hang up these," you said as you brought him to one of the circular tables, each of which carried a small pile of paintings, license plates, or tin posters.

"You got a ladder?" He asked, glancing to the high walls.

"Yes sir," you said, sorting through the different posters. He quirked a brow, intrigued by the possibility of that nickname.

"I neva did get ya name," he said as he leant on one of the tables.

"(Y/N). What's yours?"

"Pretty name for a pretty doll," he half sung, the same, one-sided smile stretched lazily across his face. "My name's Merriel."

"Also a pretty name," you said, picking the largest poster to start with. A pin-up girl in a sailor's suit. "Our ladder isn't all that steady. Will you hold it for me?"

He opened his mouth to offer himself up, but with one look to the ruffled skirt you wore, he shut himself up.

"'Course," was what he said instead.

Everything was a bit of a game––one you were unwittingly a part of, and one where you played your role rather well. A sweet, unassuming little thing, essentially a toy for him, accepting his help and letting him in. He hated to act the predator, but when it came to you he couldn't help it.

That was how he saw it. Hunting you down and taking you for his own at the end of a long chase. However, to any outsider, it appeared in a much simpler way; a young man doing anything for someone he'd developed a crush on. That was how it truly was, though the innocence of his crush was abruptly stripped away as he held the ladder, staring shamelessly up your skirt.

"Merriel?"

"Huh?" He said, broken out of his dreamy trance.

"I said could you hand me another nail," you said, pointing towards the package of nails with your hammer.

"Oh. You sure ya ain't gonna fall if I leave?" He asked with a grin. You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I'll be alright."

"If you say so, boo."

After a little while he supposed he ought to offer some more help than holding a rickety ladder, and took your place at the top with a hammer in his hand and nails in his mouth. As promised, his experience with nailing things to the wall (nails specifically, not women) made him much faster than you, and the entirety of the wall behind the counter was covered within fifty minutes.

"Thank you for your help, again," you said as you put away the hammer and nails.

"My pleasure," he said, the image of your thighs still fresh in his mind. "If y' ever need help.. I'm happy t' to be of service."

"Well, thank you. Come stop by again soon. On the house," you said as he left, peeking your head out the door and giggling.

"You know I'm stoppin' by again, get two things done in one trip. Some'in sweet for th' eyes and the tongue," he laughed, watching your face light up with a blush.

And it ain't just the ice cream, he thought.

Over the course of the coming summer, he left drinking for the evening, and instead visited your shop over his lunch break. You insisted on giving his cones for free considering he continued to help you out, but he usually found ways to sneak you the money anyway. You were not, as he assumed earlier, a very rich family.

His favorite activity, which he found rather early on, was to sit outside on burning hot days, his shirt draped over the back of his chair as he ate. Through the pristine glass, he spied you watching him often.

You couldn't help it either. Most of your life was spent in your family cabin, cutting you off from many teen and early adulthood experiences. People flirting with you was a lot to deal with, especially when it came from someone as pretty as him, the smooth dips and ripples of his lean muscles shining with sweat and dirt from his construction site.

His tongue. Ever since he made that comment on that first evening you met, you hadn't been able to get it out of your mind. How it rolled and drawled between his puffy lips drawn backwards with his teeth, in a very specific method you'd pinned down to 'the Tongue Thing'.

Your heated, embarrassed blush only worsened as ice cream dripped down his fingers from the heat, cleaned up by a sharp and precise tongue. You could hardly breathe watching him like that, but as he caught your eye you turned quickly away.

His bravado had clearly earned a huge boost from catching you mid-drool, prevalent in his step as he waltzed back into your store. You hardly met his eye, pretending to clean up the counter, but that didn't stop him. He walked right up to you, leaning down with his elbows on the stone, forcing you to stop and look at him, which you did with incredible reluctance.

"You been watchin' me, cher?" He asked, close enough to see his reflection in your wide eyes.

"No," you said quietly.

"A' think you're lyin'," he said, leaning in closer yet. "Betta' not do that. Could land you in some trouble."

You raised your brows.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not with anythin' ya can't take," he said as he raked his eyes purposefully slow down your body. When you appeared to be at a loss for words, he said, "I'll ask ya again. Were you watching me?"

"... and if I don't answer?" You tested carefully.

"Well then, I think there's too much space between us," he said, grinning cockily as he jumped the counter, crowding you suddenly.

You drew in a sharp breath, backing up as he continued to step forwards till he pinned you to the wall with his hips.

"Tell the truth, baby." he drawled, carefully setting his hands on your hips and pulling you in. Something hard poked you.

"I – I wasn't staring, I –"

He half-grinded into you, pressing you tighter against the wall as his hands drew upwards, resting at your waist.

"Such a pretty thing," he mumbled beneath his breath, watching your stumbling reaction closely.

By pinning you with his hips, he had free roam to move his hands, one of which toyed with the hem of your skirt. It was wrong, certainly, and it was also illegal since you were in plain view of main street, but he lost control the minute his fingertips brushed the soft, supple skin of your thigh.

Your breathing hastened, hips yearning for something, though you didn't know what. When the rough skin of his fingers suddenly brushed inbetween your thighs your hands shot up to steady yourself on Merriel's shoulders. He laughed, running a finger through your lips, finding you already soaked and not wearing underwear. Instantly his laugh faded, devolving into a long, needy moan as his hips once more pushed up into you.

"Th – there's someone – someone coming," you said, eyes darting to the front door.

Immediately he was off you, stepping to the side as you straightened yourself out. You walked forward with shaky legs, which he most definitely noticed, and took the mother and son's orders as usual. When you finished you glanced to him, your heart stopping at the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers.

"I guess your ice cream is as sweet as you, boo," he murmured in your ear, giving you no chance to react before rushing back out to return to his construction job.

#snafu x reader #merriel snafu shelton #the pacific hbo #rami malek #rami malek character

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hockeyboysiguess · 3 years

Text

nine ladies dancing -> nine hockeys dancing | j. benn

a/n: i know christmas was two days ago, but 2020 isn’t real so here’s day 9. rest of the series linked here.

word count: 2,799

warnings: single!dad jamie, a very absent mother figure, some cute dancing.

“You want what?”

Jamie sighed, covering his skate blades before dropping them into their designated spot in his stall, all part of his routine that was so practiced and rehearsed he didn’t have to think about anything before he did it. He thrived in the routine of it all, as much routine as he could get at the rink because when he got home, all semblance of a routine went out the window for the dark-haired little girl in pigtails on the background of his phone, sitting in his lap. She was five now, joyful and gap-toothed and as perfect as she’d been to him the day he knew that he was going to be her dad. She was his pride and joy, the only thing that when the sun set everyday, no matter where he was, mattered. It was him and her and he’d do anything to keep her smiling, including ask his teammates to sacrifice a little of their time and a lot of their pride for her.

“Lottie’s nervous about her recital for dance,” Jamie repeated himself slowly and steadily. “She’s scared she’s going to mess it up if she doesn’t practice in front of people who aren’t just her dad as she says, so I was hoping some of you might be willing to drop by the house later to give her an audience? I know it’s a lot to ask for this time of year.”

Some of the younger guys bristled a little at the idea of giving up a prized free Friday night in Dallas without a team commitment the following day to watch Charlotte Benn dance as well as a five-year-old could perform The Nutcracker. Other teammates smiled with experienced and well-knowing understanding, having similar experiences in their own past, and standing up in front of the team to ask for something for their families. Jamie hated asking, but he asked more than anyone else. He hated asking now, especially this close to Christmas where people wanted to be with their families most of all, even though Jamie Benn hated Christmas these days.

“What time do you want me?” left Tyler’s mouth so much more easily than the call for help had left Jamie’s moments before. “Who else is coming?”

Jamie’s calls for help were always answered in this room, a gift he never expected to receive but now couldn’t imagine his life without the people in this room. Especially as hands went up, along with a disjointed but beautiful chorus of, “I’m in,” and, “Me too,” fell from his teammates mouths, Jamie couldn’t stop the grateful smile from forming on his face. The support fell over Jamie’s shoulders in a way that reminded him of the way his mom would pull his heavy, puffy winter coat over his shoulders before sending him outside back home in Victoria ages ago, back when he thought his life was going to be simpler than it was, back when he thought he would follow the traditional order. Grow up, get a good job, find a wife, get married, have a few kids, and live happily ever after in a blissful, peaceful, uncomplicated, adult world. To be fair, Jamie had done most of that, but after Charlotte was born, she left them both, wiping her hands of him and her daughter without a thought of how cruel it really was to leave your child who hadn’t even seen a full year of life the day before her first Christmas.

Jamie hated her for a lot of things now. One of the many things was that she made him hate Christmas and hating Christmas just wasn’t ever in Jamie Benn’s plans. But he had to pretend he didn’t hate Christmas, or her for that matter, because Charlotte deserved to get to be happy and unburdened by her father’s hatred or her mother’s lack of desire to be her mother. So, Jamie Benn loved Christmas, as long as you didn’t look too deep into his eyes where the pain rested as he lied about how excited he was for it.

Still, Jamie painted that smile on his face when he answered the door covered in the most basic Christmas wreath Jamie could get away with to see more of his teammates than he imagined standing behind it. Tyler led the group, big smile and a flower for Charlotte in hand, an attempt to maintain his title as her favorite uncle. Dicky and Guri seemed to have been pulled into this by Tyler, but were happy to have come along probably under the promise that Jamie might just join her for a terrible dance or two, terrible because of Jamie not Charlotte. The girl dad crew, as the shirts one of them had gotten them for the start of the season said, Comeau, Dowling, and Klinger, were all right behind them, and Bishop tagged along as well. The only true surprise was Rads, who despite being a dad himself, only had boys and wasn’t exactly a ballet sort of honorary uncle, but Tyler Seguin could make people do a lot of things for his very deserving niece and he’d put his mind to giving her the biggest audience possible.

The smile relating to Christmas itself might have been fake, but the gratitude Jamie felt to his teammates for stepping up on short notice brought a real one to his face in place of the fake one. His smile carried over as Tyler made a beeline for Charlotte who was standing in the living room, with all the furniture pushed to the walls, in her tutu and a gapped-tooth grin on her face. Tyler scooped her up easily, setting her on his hip and offering her the flower in one smooth motion.

“For me?” Charlotte asked him, her little hands already reaching for it.

“Of course it’s for you, Miss Charlotte,” Tyler smiled back at her as he placed it gently into her waiting hands. “There are no other pretty ballerinas around who deserve flowers.”

“You’d make a pretty ballerina, Uncle Tyler,” Charlotte told him with her eyes trained on her flower.

Jamie funneled past them and into the kitchen to grab a vase for it, the one Charlotte had decorated with her handprints in preschool. Jamie kept everything, every ornament, every macaroni art, every card, every little thing Charlotte made. He had bins of stuff by now, but he was more than content to buy more bins and fill his basement with everything she made. He rotated what was on the fridge weekly. This week, his fridge doors were full of various glittery Christmas artwork from school. Glitter rained on the floor every time he opened it. Jamie didn’t mind in the slightest.

Charlotte was charming his teammates with her dimpled smile when Jamie came back into the living room, vase with water in hand. He knelt down next to her and offered her the vase to slide her flower into. Taking it from her would lead to tears, but letting her put it in the vase she made herself eliminated that possibility. Jamie sat the flower in its vase next to the speakers and pulled up the soundtrack for her recital on his phone.

“Okay, you ready, Lottie?”

Jamie’s question caused his teammates to settle themselves around the room. Tyler took the floor in front of Bish and patted the ground next to him for Jamie. He started the music, then made his way to his spot, slumping down onto the floor while Charlotte fussed with her dance costume and shuffled her feet on the floor. Jamie could hear her counting softly under her breath and see her foot loosely tapping to the beat. Jamie didn’t know a thing about dance, but he had seen Charlotte practicing enough to know she’d missed when she was supposed to come in and was just staring at her shoes instead.

“You okay, honey?” Jamie asked her softly.

“I’m nervous, Daddy,” she mumbled in reply, fingers fussing with her tutu. “I don’t want to dance alone.”

Before Jamie could even begin to stand, Tyler was up on his feet and reaching for Charlotte’s small hands. She sheepishly held onto a few of his fingers.

“Would it help if Uncle Tyler danced with you?” he asked her softly, head ducked down to be level with her. “That way, you won’t be doing it alone.”

“But you don’t know the moves,” Charlotte mumbled, eyes trained on the grain of the hardwood as Tyler swung their conjoined hands back and forth to try and cheer her up.

Tyler laughed as he spoke, “Uncle Tyler can manage just fine, with a little help from some friends?”

Jason Dickinson was up on his feet without another word, with Guri hot on his heels and Klinger right behind him. Bishop might have been flexible, but dancing wasn’t exactly his forte. He still rose to his feet to join everyone else who was gathering around Charlotte. Tyler reached out and grabbed Rads’ forearm, seeing as he hadn’t moved yet, and yanked him into the crowd.

“Daddy!” Charlotte called out from his spot among his teammates, hidden from view. “Come dance too!”

Jamie really, really wasn’t a dancer. Jamie wasn’t a lot of things. He wasn’t the most bold sort of guy, preferring to stay inside of his comfort zone most of the time. He was a good captain, but not by being outspoken. He led quietly by example. Jamie wasn’t the guy who ever thought he’d be a single dad. Hell, sometimes Jamie thought he was the guy who was going to be relegated to the fun uncle role for his entire life before Charlotte was born. Jamie wasn’t the guy who ever thought he’d need other people like he needed people now, like he needed his friends to make his daughter feel comfortable enough to practice for her dance recital, a sentence Jamie never thought would be among his list of concerns in life, because he always thought his ex-wife would be there to help and could handle this sort of thing he was particularly bad at.

Most of all, Jamie never thought he’d hate Christmas, but he truly couldn’t wait for December 26th to come and for that godforsaken tree tucked in the corner that reminded him of everything he wasn’t, everything that he’d failed at, to go back into its box, for his daughter to be doing normal ballet recitals instead of ones of the Christmas variety, for everything to stop reminding him of the holiday he used to love. Still, Jamie rose to his feet from the floor and restarted the music, ready to sway as poorly to it as he did, because Charlotte had asked him to, like doing it didn’t make his chest ache and his head spin as he remembered that life he was supposed to have but never would.

Tyler was the best worst dancer of the bunch, attempting to spin when Charlotte did, arms over his head doing his best impression of a five-year-old doing her best impression of a real ballerina. Jamie just swayed a little to the music, feet shuffling side to side. Rads was trying his hardest to be The Grinch, but it was increasingly hard to do with their teammates making fools of themselves for the sake of Charlotte Benn, Guri finding himself in the air courtesy of Jason and being spun like a top. John was swaying with admiration on his face, seeing this as his future with his own little girl. Charlotte’s giggle was drowning out a lot of the music. Rads ended up slow dancing with Tyler after a fight about which of them was actually right to lead. The fight lasted all of four second before Radulov took charge and started leading Tyler around the living room. Comeau and Dowling were swaying together, giving Jamie supportive looks because they understood what seeing her laughter meant to him on a level others didn’t.

The only thing that dulled the ache in his chest was Charlotte’s laughter. She loved Christmas still, something Jamie would never try to take from her. He didn’t want to pass any of his resentment and anger down to her like a tradition that should’ve died years ago. It would die with him. Jamie was determined to make it so.

His teammates doing their best attempts at ballet meant for five-year-olds to The Nutcracker soundtrack with the fire crackling in the background was a pretty good way to make sure all Charlotte remembered from his Christmas was love and joy. Jamie scooped her up as the song ended, causing a fit of giggles to pour from her mouth.

“You did so good, peanut!” Jamie tickled her a little as he spoke, heightening her giggles. “So good, right guys?”

The chorus of approvals and cheers from his teammates made Charlotte's smile wide impossibly more.

“I think I’m going to do so good tomorrow at the re-re-recital,” Charlotte stuttered a bit as she spoke. The word recital was a difficult one for her. “Uncle Tyler should join. He’s a good dancer.”

“Not as good at you, Miss Charlotte,” he assured her, ruffling her hair a little and making her giggle again in Jamie’s arms.

Charlotte carried the smile she grew that evening with her all the way through to her recital the next day. Jamie dropped her off early, as he always did, and took his seat in the audience among the other eagerly waiting parents. He managed to find a prized seat at the end of the aisle, where Charlotte might actually have a chance at spotting him from the stage.

“Is the seat next to you taken?”

Jamie lifted his eyes from his phone to see you standing there, coffee in hand despite it being seven at night two days before Christmas. You were beautiful and Jamie wondered who you were here with. He wasn’t able to make most dance practices or parent events, so he didn’t have a good idea of who you might be even though it made him feel like a worse dad for not knowing.

“Your Charlotte’s dad, right?” you asked him after clearing your throat.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie mumbled as he scrambled to his feet to let you get by and take the seat next to him. He dropped back into his seat when you did. “How’d you guess?”

“Well, she looks just like you,” you told him. “But also, figured you had to be the hot single dad everyone talks about in the moms’ group chat.”

Jamie threw his head back and laughed, “The moms’ group chat talks about how I’m hot?”

“Shhhh,” you shushed him softly. “Don’t rat me out as the source of that information though. You’ll get me kicked out of the chat and that chat is the only source of entertainment I have in my life that doesn’t involve a five-year-old.”

Jamie nodded and put a hand over his heart, “Your secret is safe with me. Promise.”

“Better be, or I’ll have to kill you,” you joked, drawing another laugh that caused him to tip his head back and shift his hand over his stomach as he laughed with his whole body.

As he came down from his laughter, the lights began to dim around you to signal the start of the show. You watched as various moms slipped into the aisle, phones outstretched, to record the show. You shook your head softly. The studio always recorded the show and sent it to all the parents after, and you were partial to watching her dance with your own eyes rather than through your screen.

“Gonna get out there?” Jamie whispered to you.

“Their teacher will send out the recording,” you shrugged. “I’d rather watch it.”

“Finally,” Jamie sighed, voice heavy with relief, “someone else gets me.”

“Maybe we should sit together at more of these,” you suggested to him as the lights went dark. “Single parents who don’t believe in watching the recital through their phones.”

Normally, especially now when trees stood in people’s living rooms and wreaths hung on front doors, the acknowledgement Jamie was in this alone with Charlotte, that she left them both, made him feel alone. When the words left your mouth, Jamie felt a sense of closeness, of kinship, of mutual understanding that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was natural, the way you two talked between dance numbers, about Charlotte, about your daughter, about hockey, about your work, about your lives. Jamie left that recital with your phone number burning a hole in his pocket and Charlotte’s hand in his, feeling like, for the first time in a long time that Christmas might still have some magic left in it after all.

#jamie benn #jamie benn fanfiction #jamie benn fanfic #jamie benn writing #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey fanfic #hockey writing #hockey imagine

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diary-of-an-onliner · 3 years

Text

feet on the ground [f.w.]

word count: 3381

warnings: none

a/n: this is based on, and a counterpart/continuation of @ickle-ronniekins 's head in the clouds — thanks for the inspo babe, this one is for you

Fred Weasley was not happy. Sure, he had made a lot of questionable, or as other people like to say 'bad', decisions in his life, but taking Care of Magical Creatures was one of the worst. Yes, it made Hagrid ecstatic, and that's always a good thing to see; yes, it's useful for his future business. However a hellfire-cracken the size of a shoebox was making him rethink his choices.

For the lack of a better distraction, he focused on digging a hole in the grass with his trainer as Hagrid’s rumbled instructiones flew over his head, missing both ears and zooming away into an indifferent oblivion. George is taking this already, he looked to George, who was quite enchanted with his partner, and thoroughly enjoying it, couldn't we have split up? He kicked the dirt lightly, startling the girl next to him.

Neither Fred nor his Slytherin partner were thrilled with each other,but misery loves company, so it might be for the best.

"How's the weather up there?" said his partner, who was crouching eye — er, shell-level, with the creature, but keeping her distance nonetheless. Her hair waved and flickered on her shoulder as she bounced on her heels.

"Immaculate, thanks for asking." he said, not wanting to get closer to the scorpion-lobster lovechild from the asshole of hell. "Y'know Hagrid said those things burn, bite, and sting, right?"

"So do I.” she said sarcastically, still keeping her gaze tied to the monster. “I'm not going to touch it, I'm just looking. You're aware we need to sketch it, label its parts and write an essay about it later?" Fred shifted his weight from foot to foot restlessly.

"Yes." his nostrils flared.

She pursed her lips and, after a moment of silence, said: "I dare you to touch it."

He crossed his arms. "I am not taking dares from you. We met three minutes ago and I haven't enjoyed a second of it."

"What's up your ass?" she turned to him, still crouching. "Actually, I don't care. Just don't take it out on me." The creature clicked their — tail? — pincers? — their something.

"I wasn't—" she raised an eyebrow and he fell silent, and looked away.

"'m not very thrilled to be here." he mumbled. "And that ugly death trap isn't making it better. Can we start over?" he asked, sighing and tiredly sweeping his left hand through his hair, and offering his right to her.

She took it and pulled herself up, then promptly smoothed out her skirt, shook his still proffered hand, and introduced herself.

Unlike his messy untucked shirt, her uniform was pressed down to the socks and her shoes held no traces of mud. It gave her a calculating, and slightly cold aura, as if she was drawn with a set of rulers and a compass. She was probably more geometrical than anyone who had ever taken Care of Magical Creatures.

"Fred." he said, even though she knew.

"Well Fred, we will be working together on this Blast-Ended Skrewt for the next few weeks, so that 'ugly death trap’ is our son you're talking about." she chided with a smile that better belonged on a sly fox rather than a girl.

"You sound very attached to it." he shot back. An idea, a thought, a silver of a notion that this might be fun slithered along the floor of his skull.

"Him.” She corrected with her pointer finger in the air. “And it's called being a good parent." she lightly jabbed him in the chest.

"Okay then. Go pet your son." Fred smirked.

They turned toward the beast which was playing in the grass like a puppy. It seemed to be wiggling its tails.

Her eyes narrowed: "Which part is the head?"

"I don't know. We should probably figure it out, since the other side shoots flames." he said in an amused tone.

"It's supposed to be a sucker, so it might be the penis-looking side." he chuckled, but when she turned to stare at him expectantly, his red eyebrow jumped in question. A breeze ruffled their hair.

"Go on then, don't be shy, we need to compare." she said flatly.

He burst out laughing so hard, a few people around them turned to stare - quite a dangerous thing to do at the moment seeing as some of the beasts started snipping. A yelp sounded from afar, and Fred laughed even harder.

At least his partner is funny.

"Seriously though, this thing is going to fire-fart on us soon and we need to figure it out."

“You don’t feel better in nature?” her tone piqued as she turned the pages of a book. Their desk was covered with them, during the first of their many study meetings.

“No.” Fred played with his quill, spinning it through his fingers. “You do?”

“I feel clearer, especially near water.”, thump, she shut her book and discarded it.

“How come?” he balanced on the back legs of his chair, eyes darting around.

“I don’t know. It’s not a thing I question.”, flip, flip, flip, “It just lures me out of my head, and makes me feel a little more real, like I’m aware of my own existence. Sharper, yknow?”

Fred shook his head.

“I don’t have a need to get out of my head, it’s great in there.” he joked. She snorted and passed him a book with a piece of paper sticking out.

“Don’t you? You seem to be in there a lot though. I think you think too much.” Fred chukled, “That’s something I've never been told.”

“Then it’s about time.” she threw his way, but she had yet to look at him, Fred noted. The idea of her as geometrical played around in his head. “Try it next time. People exist a little sharper sometimes. It stops you from feeling like you’re going to float away.” her eyes finally flickered to him like two needles of her compasses, and shot him down. His chair hit the ground.

Before Fred had a chance to say something else or roll her idea around in his brain, she passed him a piece of parchment with a soft order to, “Write.”

His diagram of their unnamed child was much neater than hers, but his illegible handwriting distracted from it perfectly.

"That is not a t."she said, her hair almost electrified from stress-combing it with her hands.

"It's obviously a g." he chirped, but his tone sounded worn down all the same. She squinted at the paper with her mouth open for a moment, then gave up.

"How are you still this peppy?" she asked as her gaze lazily rolled itself away from the books. His tie was completely undone and being used as a bookmark, his shirt unbuttoned and ruffled like his hair, ha, carrot head!, but he took no note of it as he balanced on the back legs of his chair again. Every so often, a clank would sound amid their conversation when the chair struck against the stone floor and his feet hit the ground, before he leaned back again.

"What are you talking about? I'm knackered." he yawned.

She looked up, and her thoughts leaked out of her head. The scenery through the window behind him was gorgeous, lit on fire by the dusk— oversaturated reds and pinks which lined the dark purple clouds.

With a loud tap on the library floor, the front legs of Fred's chair touched the ground and his head covered the sun perfectly, giving him a golden lining and making his orange hair melt into the background. The clear lines of his face looked almost chiseled in contrast to the haziness behind him.

A weight settled in the center of her torso, an iron bowling ball rolling between her stomach and her heart. He was handsome. She knew this. But she used to know it the way one knows they should drink water when they’re thirsty. Knowing you needed it after you drink him in, swallow, and sign, is another story.

She felt a warm metal line grow out of her chest, like a vine towards the sunlight, enter his chest and settle.

For a few moments she imagined it. She tried to note the dragging sensation of warm iron and let herself be pulled to him. She imagined the ball rolling in his center, and all his squirming being in an attempt to adjust it instead of just staying awake.

Then she blinked. Took in the real scene. Despite being exhausted, she felt tranquil in their little corner filled with books and a few very ugly sketches. She picked one up.

“Are we allowed to call his head a dick?” She questioned, but Fred just yawned and shrugged. His chair tipped back again.

“You’ll hurt yourself.” She said flatly, words moving from line to line like trains with the shittiest track designs ever.

“The thrill keeps me awake.” he closed his eyes, hair still a burning red. She didn’t dare look at the Sun for too long. Her eyes tried to follow the words. The ball rolled.

He slid another sketch towards her. “I think we should use this one.”

She put the first one aside, their hands brushing as she took the new parchment. She heard the scraping of his chair on the floor as he moved closer until his collarbone pressed against her shoulder as he leaned over to point. The body heat he was emitting only reminded her of the weariness her body carried. It also refashioned her bowling ball into an anchor slowly sinking through her stomach, tickling her insides on the way down.

The sketch was neater and much simpler than others, no more than a handful of black lines on a yellowing parchment.

“This part is the head.” Fred pointed out. “I think. It looks weird and there isn’t exactly a good reference for a randomly cross-bred demon.” He seemed so focused on his drawing that she got the feeling he was avoiding her eyes intentionally. Stupid, really. They’re both just tired and have a lot of work.

Look at me.

He didn’t.

She banished all her stupid silly thoughts, and tried to turn to the books for the next few hours.

Fred stayed circling warmly on the edge of her orbit, moving around her but never looking, never acknowledging her as anything other than a voice and a pair of friendly working hands. The silly stupid thread she felt earlier vibrated. She didn't bring it up for fear they wouldn't finish all their work if she were to derail the conversation, so she waited until the end of their study session.

However, when the anticipated end neared, his chair hit the stone the last time and when she turned to him, Fred was lying on his arms on the table, asleep. His outline was as bright and as sharp as ever, but his face was soft and smooth from relaxation, like a marble statue melting. The anchor in her stomach lurch up at the sight, but she swallowed it down, smiled, and laid her head on the table too.

Another sunny afternoon had George almost skipping to his quirky partner. And Fred was glad, he liked to see his brother happy and loved teasing him for being in love even more — but he still hated the bloody beasts. He was thankful for George's efforts to cheer him up, but Fred refused to move out from under his personal gloomy cloud, choosing to carry it alone instead, the way one would an umbrella.

As soon as George mentions his partner, he knows it's time to leave him to his beloved, as he does, with minimal mocking involved (—but come on!).

As Fred approached her, he saw her roll her eyes. Funny. Something about knowing she's as un-excited as he is made his chest swell up with what can only be described as the sudden understanding of the real depth of companionship between you and a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend. I might not like this, but I am not alone.

"They're four feet long already. Your future sister-in-law," said his partner, gesturing to George's love with her head, at which Fred smiled warmly, "said we only get to work with them for another class. I think she might cry." His clouds stopped thundering.

"Don't be rude." he replied but did not sound angry in the least.

"I'm not. She's a nice girl and God bless her for being passionate about this. We need people like her, otherwise the rest of us would have to care as well." she reasoned.

"There's that warm and welcoming Slytherin care I've heard all about." he said sarcastically.

"Rude. Gingers truly are soulless." Fred got nudged in the ribs.

"Oi!"

"Oi yourself!" she flipped her hair and flashed her foxy smile. No, it's fox-like. "Don't start things you can't finish."

"Well, I'm ready to be done with this thing." he looked pointedly at the snapping creature reaching out to them like a baby in a cot.

They received their instructions from Hagrid to feed, entertain, and check the health of the creature and set off to work. After a few minutes of silence, Fred spoke.

"I think there's something wrong with this thing." he squinted.

"Him." She corrected, "He's our son."

"Well I think our son is pregnant." Fred’s face soured.

“No way." she replied, kneeling closer to the beast than she'd ever dared before. "How do you know?"

"A hunch?" Fred shrugged his very nicely shaped shoulders. No! "I'm not sure. It did eat three times as much as the others. It should be a lot fatter."

"He." She absent-mindedly corrected, trying to get a good enough look.

"He doesn't look sick but he's being weird." he squatted next to her, bouncing on his heels.

"Maybe he's lonely. We both ditched a few times." She bumped her knee into his. "I dare you to touch him."

Fred laughed as he turned to her. "I'm not that commited of a father. You do it."

"Why me? You need to do something too!" she whined as their son approached in a rather puppy-like gait, as if he was going to rub against their legs, and Fred's gaze slipped off her, like that day in the library.

"I'll do whatever you want.” he paused "Within reason, of course."

"Touch him."

"Within reason."

"Fine." their dark-shelled son stood before them now, but they were not as hesitant this time. The beast looked at Fred with either his head or his stinger (how is it still not clear?).

Slowly and shakily, her hand reached out. She almost withdrew it, but it already made contact with their son's back and he made a sound similar to purring, which was both surprising and unsettling. Her face bent in disgust as her entire palm pressed against his black shell, gleaming maroon in the sunlight.

"Ew. He's slimy." she detached her hand to see a catran-like substance coating it. "How is he slimy?"

Fred's nose was scrunched as well but an amused gleam flickered on his face nonetheless. “Disgusting.”

"Well, I did it." she complained, trying to wipe her hand on his arm, but he rose to his feet quickly, laughing.

“Keep that to yourself.” Fred warned, trying to avoid her swift attempts to use him as a rag.

“Come on!” She whined. “We’re in this together. If I have to be gross then so do you.” she jumped up after Fred.

He felt weightless as he maneuvered around her and the clawing beast that still purred by their feet, and he realized how warm the sunlight was. His little cloud was gone. In that distracted second of their impromptu three-creature quickstep, she wrapped her clean hand around his hand and pulled herself closer to him.

She grinned from ear to ear, and Fred felt her wet, cold hand sliding down his shoulder. She wiped a few times down his arm and chest with a wickedly satisfied look in her face as he wondered why he didn’t mind it so much. His eyes danced over her face the way his trainers had over the grass mere seconds ago.

“What?” she asked. Wait, she was speaking.

“Um, nothing.” his face rearranged itself from a goofy smile (What?) and he looked at his stained shirt. Before he even had time to comment, her voice made the center of his stomach tighten.

“Do you think he'd lick one if she asked?” Fred followed her gaze to George, looking as dreamy as his partner who was purring back at their Blast-Ended Skrewt. Sunlight covered them too.

Her hand still held onto him.

Fred sighed, both amused and lightheaded from a new discovery threatening to unveil its face in his mind. George laughed so loudly it reached Fred’s ears, and he responded, “Yes.”

“Would you lick one for me?” she batted her eyelashes.

“Absolutely not.” he said without missing a beat.

“What kind of a father won't even lick his own son?” she put a hand on her chest, faux-horrified.

“I still think our son is pregnant.” he said, grinning at her.

“What kind of a father won't lick his own pregnant son?” she humored.

“You're making this worse than it has to be.”

Her eyebrow rose as she offered: “You can always do this alone?”

“No.” something ugly and covered in spikes spun in Fred's stomach.

“Well then,” she said smugly, as if she knew, “you need to start cooperating.” She tugged on his arm with her hand that was there the whole time. Her arm slid around his as she pulled him along, and Fred adjusted his collar with his fingers. When did they get so far away from the group?

“You don’t pet him, you don’t groom him with your tongue like a cat, what do you do? I haven’t seen you change a single diaper!” she over-exaggerated. “I’m basically a single mother!”

He laughed and apologized, feeling lighter and sharper than he had all day.

His future sister-in-law was wrong. They worked on their loving, puppy-like hell scorpions for three more classes, and had another one in a classroom, correcting their essays. During that class, they found out that their son really was pregnant, at which they laughed all the way to the Great Hall.

Fred felt something heavy rolling over his intestines when he thought of the end. It wound itself around his organs until his lips dropped. Nevertheless, he grinned at George (who definitely saw through him), and, with his chin up like a proud lion, departed from him to sit next to his partner, one last time.

He thought about her more often than he expected to, and he feared he might have to stop soon.

As he slid next to her, his metaphorical tail curled closer to him. She beamed brightly at him, and offered her closed fist.

“You ready, partner?”

No, he curled his fingers with a smile, I don’t think I am, and bumped their hands together.

“Doesn’t have to end? Didn't you listen?” she asked him incredulously as he caught up with her. He couldn’t say he has, as his ears buzzed deafeningly loudly since they received their O.

Maybe she had a point when she said there were moments when people felt more defined as he was more sure than ever that he existed in the corridor leading to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom, as his limbs filled with lead at the way she spoke.

“I just thought if you—” his mouth shit on its own. “You know—”

“Holy shit, you really didn’t listen?” but this time she laughed. “Hagrid said we can pick our own partners for the next project.” Her arm curled around his own, “So unless you want to dump me, we march on.”

Whatever heavy thing has been making his stomach a winter home the past week flew off to their summer residence.

She definitely had a point about grounded moments, because when her hand squeezed his arm, the lead leaked out and the awareness of every part of his body slammed into focus.

And Fred smiled back.

She smiled promisingly at him, his heart stuttered, and his sneakers sunk into the stone beneath him.

#fred weasley #fanfic #fred weasley x reader #hp fanfic

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dickwheelie · 3 years

Text

heyyyy coming in a few days early with the “expression” prompt for @aspecarchivesweek! just a lil something about jon wearing a shirt he doesn’t like. enjoy!

(also on ao3)

_______________

All of Jon’s clothes are in greyscale.

Well, this isn’t entirely true—some are a very light tan, or a dingy brown. One mothbitten vest is a glaring 70’s orange that Jon deeply dislikes, so it stays at the back of his closet. These are the clothes he inherited from his parents and possibly also his grandparents, which he can’t bring himself to throw away. The rest, however, strictly range from white to black, practical to a fault.

Jon has a working theory that he may be the first person in history with an allergy to clothing stores. Entering one instantly stresses him out, and all he wants is to get what he came for and get out as quickly as possible. Figuring out how to match colors, as he eventually learns by the time he’s in uni, is a waste of time and consideration. Much easier and simpler to only buy clothes in shades that match no matter how you swap them out.

Of course, there are exceptions, and as life goes on in its chaotic and unaccountable way, he acquires items of clothing he wouldn’t otherwise have picked for himself. A colorful sweater from Georgie as a birthday gift. A free T-shirt from a uni event. He keeps these things for their sentimental value, but rarely wears them out of the house.

However, sometimes life is not only chaotic but also utterly unmanageable. And sometimes Jon finds himself with a promotion he doesn’t really know what to do with, an entire archive to organize, and less time than he’s ever had to do laundry.

And, well. One has to wear something to work, doesn’t one.

This is what Jon keeps telling himself as he miserably pulls on the last clean shirt left in his flat. He should know; he’s checked four times, and if he checks a fifth he’ll be late for work. He gives himself a glance in the small, dirty mirror stuck to the inside of his closet door, and looks away almost immediately, strangely embarrassed.

It’s just a long-sleeved, striped T-shirt, which is maybe a bit unprofessional for the workplace, but it’s not as though anybody minds how the people who work in the basement dress. The problem comes from its colors. Well, one of its colors. Three of them—black, grey, white—are perfectly suitable for Jon. But following those, at the bottom of the shirt, is a glaring, bright violet.

The shirt is a casualty of the aforementioned chaos of life. A friend of an acquaintance had given it to Jon to wear to a pride parade several years back, which he had ended up skipping out on anyway. Since then the shirt had been kept out of sight and mind, packed into the back of Jon’s closet for a rainy day that he’d never really expected to arrive.

There’s a first time for everything, Jon thinks, almost reflexively. The words don’t mean much to him, philosophically speaking, but they are a steadying mantra nonetheless. He goes to pull on his coat; by some measure of luck, it’s a cold day out. He plans not to take it off again until he’s safely back in his flat that night.

The trouble is, of course, that wearing one’s coat while making tea in the break room in an adequately-heated basement looks rather conspicuous to one’s coworkers, and leads to questions.

“You feeling alright, boss?” Tim asks, as he retrieves his bagged lunch from the fridge.

“Yes,” Jon says, stiffly. “Perfectly fine. I’m just cold.”

Sasha, who has followed Tim in, says, “Not sick, I hope.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jon says again, though he is beginning to feel a bit overheated. “It’s just cold in here. You don’t feel cold?”

Tim and Sasha shake their heads, looking concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jon says for the third time in thirty seconds, and promptly flees the break room.

By late afternoon, Jon is sweltering, and has no choice but to take off the coat. He’s careful to close his office door before he does so, resolving to put it back on if he needs to be seen by anyone for the rest of the day.

Though the garish violet stripe in his periphery is distracting at first, he loses himself in his work soon enough, spending an hour or two tearing through a stack of statements that are, by and large, utter nonsense.

He loses himself in his work so much, in fact, that when there’s a knock at his office door, he says “Come in,” without thinking.

“Hey, Jon,” says Tim as he enters, “d’you have a copy of statement zero-one-three-two . . .”

Tim’s voice drifts off, and Jon looks up, irritated. “Zero-one-three-two-what?”

Tim’s staring at him, an eager expression on his face, and Jon’s stomach goes cold. He looks down at the shirt, remembering, and stops himself from groaning. If he doesn’t react, maybe Tim will leave it alone. “What number were you looking for, Tim?” he says instead, very calmly and professionally.

But of course it doesn’t work. Tim’s face breaks into a smile, and he gives Jon a big, showy once-over. Jon rolls his eyes even before the words are out of Tim’s mouth. “Looking good, boss.”

“Tim, I have even less patience for sarcasm than usual, so if you could please—”

“Who said anything about sarcasm? You look good! Casual, ah, Tuesday suits you, Jon.”

Jon puts his elbows up on his desk and massages his temples. “I ran out of laundry.”

“Ah, been there.” Tim seems to have taken Jon’s resignation as an invitation, because he helps himself to the chair opposite Jon’s desk. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the pride flag type, though. Don’t even think I’ve seen you with laptop stickers.”

“No,” Jon says, “I’m not. Not usually. This is just the only thing I had lying around. It’s from years ago, I never wear it.”

“Aw.” Tim genuinely looks disappointed. Jon wonders if perhaps he’s losing what remains of his tenuous ability to read people. “That’s a shame. You look good in purple.”

Jon has reached a point in his life, he’s fairly certain, where he ought to have heard such a comment before, or at least know the proper response. In actuality, he cannot recall a single instance of someone in his adult life complimenting his choice of fashion. He looks down at the shirt again. It’s the same as it was before: too-bright and obvious. He highly doubts it could look good on him in any shape or form. “Um. Thank you?” he says, sounding more bewildered than grateful.

“Really! It, like, brings out your eyes, or something. I dunno, but I think it’s nice on you. Not sure why you went through all the trouble to hide it all day.”

Jon shifts in his chair. “It’s . . . I mean, it’s very loud, isn’t it. And obvious. It’ll just attract attention.”

Tim looks at him for a moment or two. “Jon,” he says, “is this just about the shirt? Or is it also about the shirt?”

“That makes no sense, Tim.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jon, admittedly, does. One of the things he appreciates most about Tim is that they can be honest with one another, if only after some customary back-and-forth. He sighs deeply. “It’s—it’s just . . . a lot. I know it isn’t, really, in the grand scheme, it’s just you and Sasha, a-and Martin, too, I suppose. And it’s London, no one’s going to—it’s safe. I know that. B-But it’s a lot, being seen with everything—out in the open. By strangers. To know that they know. And even if they don’t know, they’ll . . . they’ll probably be able to guess.” He stares down at the scratched, cheap wood of his desk. Long ago, someone had carved a tiny pentagram on the lip of it. If Jon’s sense of humor weren’t buried under three layers of anxiety at the moment, he’d probably find it funny. “And I know it’s childish, to care what a bunch of strangers would think. But I can’t . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t just let it go.”

There’s a painfully long pause before Tim speaks up again.

“Well, I’ve got good news for you, Jon.”

Jon looks up at him warily, and finds that Tim is smiling at him. “What?”

He points at Jon’s coat where it hangs off the back of his chair. “You can put that back on.”

Jon blinks at him.

“At five,” Tim goes on, “you can put your coat back on, button it up, and walk out of here, and when you get back to your flat, Jon, you can do your bloody laundry. And you never have to wear that shirt ever again. Problem solved.”

“But . . .” Jon’s voice peters out before he can come up with a real protest.

“If wearing pride colors makes you feel like that,” Tim says, his voice gentler, “then don’t wear them. Simple as that. Not everybody’s got to carry a flag twenty-four-seven. Or ever. Doesn’t make you any less queer. Hell, even I take the pins off my bag sometimes.” Tim squints into the middle distance, muttering, “I can never seem to get the laptop stickers off, though.”

“But—what about what you said about me wearing purple?” He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but Tim’s argument is quite good. And the thought of never wearing this particular shirt again does sound rather appealing.

“So wear an aubergine button-down every once in a while!” Tim shrugs. “Or don’t! It’s none of my business.” He tilts his head to the side. “Actually, please do wear an aubergine button-down sometime. You’d turn some heads down here.” He pauses. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m sure everyone would be very respectful.”

Jon lets out a startled laugh. “Alright,” he says, feeling lighter. He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe, sometime, I’ll . . . I’ll try it.”

“I know you like your blacks and whites, Jon,” Tim says, “and I’m not here to tell you how to dress. But if you ever need advice, or want to borrow a colorful, strictly nondenominational shirt . . .” He points both thumbs at himself. “I’m your guy.”

“Okay,” Jon says, and is surprised to find that, in this one, specific case, he is.

“And,” Tim adds, pointing a professorial finger in the air, “it’s not childish to care about what other people think of you. Pretty sure it’s the most universal thing there is. Welcome to the human race, Jon. You’re among us peons, now.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “How unfortunate,” he says, drily, and Tim cackles.

Jon wears his coat home, keeping it carefully buttoned, and when he gets back to his flat he tosses the shirt into the back of his closet from whence it came. He’s not going to throw it away altogether, of course. It has sentimental value. Someday, maybe, he’ll dig it back up, if only just to look at.

For now, Jon does his bloody laundry.

#tma #the magnus archives #AspecArchives #aspecarchivesweek #gwyneth writes #it's ok jon i'm allergic to clothing stores too

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