#I keep finding myself wanting to make more now that this set's done but I'm not sure what expressions! Confused? Focused? He's so subdued

[seeds-and-sins]

Light My Fire - Part Eight

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x Reader

Rating: M (Crude Language, Curse Words, Sexism, minor references to sex, WARNING: talks about death and self-harm)

Description: Phoenix tries to rectify the missing pieces within herself, but she struggles to figure out how.

Tagged: @tonixe@chernayawidow , @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites, @ophennie@virgoelf-blog , @my-obsession-spn, @capricxnt @demodemo909 @boywivlove

Song: Gypsy - Fleetwood Mac

"FUCK!" Homelander yelled, the tv remote broke in his closed fist. One of the flat screen televisions in the meeting room was set to channel 8 and Starlight was all over the news. Her little video had gone viral, her resignation given, Homelander thrown under the bus, this was all out war. Homelander was fuming, Ashley was gnawing her nails down to the skin, the Deep was posted at one of the chairs around the table, Agnes was sitting a few seats down from him sipping on a cup of coffee.

And you were standing there, arms crossed, staring blankly at the screen.

You were so tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from everything. Just from living really.

When was the last time you slept again?

"Okay!" Ashley squealed, "We'll fix this. We'll fix this. Please. Oh my god! Fuck!" Your eyes slid shut, her panicking died in your ears, the world silenced for a moment.

"Phoenix!" Your eyes shot open, Homelander was staring at you with a look of desperation plastered on his face. "What do we do?" Your hands tightened around your biceps and your teeth dug into your bottom lip. What do we do? More importantly, what should be done?

"We don't have time to worry about Starlight." Your voice came out hoarse, in a low whisper. The room fell quiet. "She has a loyal fan base, but they aren't as loyal as our people. I wouldn't worry about her." Homelander nodded virgorously, licking his lips. The desperation in his boyish eyes faded and what replaced it was a sharp coldness.

"You're right. We've got to find Soldier Boy."

"But we need to make a statement!" Ashley's shrill made you roll your eyes.

"Go take a fuckin' Xanax, Ashley!" You commanded, holding up an admonishing finger. Ashley's lips shut with a resounding pop and she straightened, fear crawled up her spine and glued her to the floor. "I'll talk. I know how to charm a crowd. It'll put this off until we can get shit under control." Your command came out more as a question, Homelander's jaw flicked from side to side before he nodded. "Come on Agnes." The older woman rose from the table without protest, following after your quick strides with a waddle of her own.

...

"Good Evening!" You crowned your fingers and propped them up on the podium. "I appreciate you all being here for this impromptu press conference. Given the situation, I'm sure you know there are a few things that Vought needs to address."

"Where's Homelander?" A journalist shouted from the crowd, flapping his hand above the sea of heads to get Phoenix's attention.

"Homelander is off handling more important matters." The crowd broke out in shouted questions and mixed words, journalists reaching over eachother as they attempted to flag you down. You begrudgingly pointed at a woman in the front row.

"Isn't this important? Starlight has resigned? What is the future of the Seven? Why are you up there when you're not even on the team?" It went silent as everyone waited for a response, or rather, a staccato of responses to answer a staccato of questions. You paused, thought about the significance of your next words, what they would mean. You found a camera and stared into it.

"I want to make myself very clear..." Your voice penetrated the air, the room was thick with the tone that every syllable carried. "Starlight isn't a priority. Everyday Homelander, I, and many other heroes are trying to keep you all safe. We fought overseas so that the super villain threat could be contained. I underestimated the enemy and now the super villain threat is here. Us heroes need to be doing our jobs, not starting petty battles over social media. If Starlight wants to play her games and spread her lies, slander us, she is welcome to do so. But Homelander and I are going to focus on what is important: your safety, your lives."

An intense stillness blanketed the crowd, a few camera flashes. One journalist had the gull to raise their hand, when no one else would, not after a speech like that.

"What are your thoughts on the deathes of the TNT twins? Your former colleagues?"

Good. I'm glad they're dead.

"And your friend? Crimson Countess?" Your head tilted to the other voice, you swallowed and looked down at your fingers.

"Countess wasn't my friend, and neither were the Twins." You shook your head. "Not anymore at least. Not when they turned their backs on..." You paused. Me. -- Ben. "On you. The people. Some of the strongest heroes I knew for their time, and only Noir and I remain. The others worried about their luxury condos, their ratings, movie deals, royalties. None of them cared about what really matters. I don't mourn them. I don't think I ever will."

"But what of Soldier Boy? You were there when he died, did you mourn him?"

"I-" You had to take a deep breath, the emotions that swelled in you had nearly knocked you off your feet. You cleared your throat and held back tears. "I did. I do."

Soldier Boy was still dead to you.

"Soldier Boy died so that all of us could live."

...

 🎶 So I'm back to the velvet underground.  🎶 

 🎶 Back to the floor that I love... 🎶 

Three Xanax, two blunts-going on three-and half a bottle of whiskey later, you found yourself laying on your bed in a mess of comforter and pillows. Your suit was discarded somewhere, leaving you down to nothing but your underwear. And you were just laying there, staring up at the ceiling as you smoked from a blunt and sipped from a bronze filled glass. Your record player sung in the background, mellowing out your already distant mood.

 🎶 To a room with some lace and paper flowers 🎶 

 🎶 Back to the gypsy that I was 🎶 

 🎶 To the gypsy that I was... 🎶 

What did you have?

John?

He kept you around as an extension of himself rather than as someone he cared for. You were the arms of his authority, fingers curled around your enemies with a vice grip. In reverse, he was a reflection of you in many ways, uncaring, erratic, impulsive. You knew he didn't care about you. Not truly. You weren't sure he was capable of it. Maybe with some admiration, some approval, but love was a distant thought in John's head. He only ever craved it from others. And you were more than able to provide in the past, giving pieces of yourself to John without a second thought. Now you had no more pieces left to give.

 🎶 And it all comes down to you. 🎶 

 🎶 And you know that it does when. 🎶 

 🎶 Lightening strikes maybe once maybe twice. 🎶 

Your fans?

You would rather burn them all alive, throw them in a furnace and walk away. They didn't love you. They loved the image of yourself that you fronted, but they didn't know you.

 🎶 Oh and it lights up the night. 🎶 

 🎶 And you see your gypsy (ohh, ohh) 🎶 

 🎶 You see your gypsy. 🎶 

You?

That was all you had. Herodom was a quiet life, a lonely one. But it was never about saving people or doing some good in the world. As much as Starlight thought she was making a difference, the world would never change. There would always be criminals. There would always be greedy politicans and corrupt agents of the law. The world was cold and callous and it never retreated.

And you had nothing.

You were a victim of the chaos. Vought took you in, molded you into something vile and morbid, tossed you around in a bag of salt, and hurled you into the world for their own profit.

You were an experiment.

Your lips wrapped around the end of your blunt and you took a drag. Smoke flowed from your nostrils, it floated up toward the high ceiling and you watched it swirl until it faded completely.

Your head drooped to the side and your face wrinkled as if you were about to cry, before you suppressed that urge.

 🎶 To the gypsy that remains. 🎶 

 🎶 Faces freedom, with a little fear. 🎶 

 🎶 I have no fear, and have only love. 🎶 

 🎶 And if I was a child and the child was enough. 🎶 

 🎶 Enough for me to love. 🎶 

 🎶 Enough to love. 🎶 

Through a blurry haze, your half lidded eyes spotted a figure at the open double doors leading into your bedroom. You shifted a little, squinted, then slowly sat upright.

"Ben?"

He was dressed in his full suit, arms straight at his sides.

"Hello, hot stuff." He answered casually, stepping closer. He sent you a boyish smile that reminded you of his older self, all cocky, all confident, all play, no work.

"What are you-" The blunt dropped from your hand, hitting the marble floor. "What are you doing here?" His eyes darted down your body, hovering over your naked torso a little longer than necessary before raising back to your face.

"You didn't need me?" You dropped your head, a firm hand cupped on your jaw, the touch burned into your skin and your gaze was being directed back to Ben. He felt so real. He felt solid. He felt tangible.

 🎶 She is dancing away from you now (Oooh). 🎶 

 🎶 She was just a wish, she was just a wish (ooh, ooh). 🎶 

 🎶 And her memory is all that is left for you now. 🎶 

"Am I hallucinating?" Your palms rested gently on his chest, Ben's thumb scaled your cheek and he sighed.

"No."

 🎶 You see you're a gypsy. 🎶 

"This is a dream, sweetheart."

"Of course it is," You sniffled.

"You wouldn't be able to hallucinate, even if you wanted." Another voice chimed and when you glanced over, it was Vogelbaum. "Your body can't sustain the affects of foreign substances long enough for that to happen." He was in a bloodied labcoat and his words were slightly muffled through a gas mask. Your expression lit up with panic and your head was being yanked back by Soldier Boy's hand.

"Don't pay attention to that piece of shit." Soldier Boy drew you closer with his other hand at your hip. "Just look at me."

"Why is this happening? Why am I dreaming about this?" You whispered, Ben's hand moved to cradle the back of your head.

"Because I'm the answer." You blinked at him, then tiredly moved into his body. Your arms wrapped around him and you hugged him. Ben enveloped you in return, his strong and bulky arms holding you close...

"You even smell real."

"That's what happens when you smoke a lot of dope."

"Also, the cannabis you were smoking no doubt contained traces of LSD." Vogelbaum again. You squeezed your eyes shut and Soldier Boy grunted when your arms tightened around him.

"Can he just shut up for fucks sake?" Soldier Boy inhaled deeply and he exhaled with a sigh.

"You want my advice?"

"Not really." He grabbed your shoulders and drew you away at arm's length.

"Sometimes you gotta take life by the balls, kid." You blinked at him, your head sinking toward your chest. Soldier Boy rolled his eyes before grabbing under your chin and lifting your head again. "Remember back in the day. We didn't let anybody get in our way. We owned this fuckin' place."

"Oh no." You breathed, your palms rose to your cheeks and Soldier Boy relinquished his hold on you so you could pace away from him. "It's happening. This is it. I'm having the worst mental breakdown of my life. I'm going to destroy the world."

"Only in theory." Vogelbaum piped in again, "Theoretically your body can reach temperatures bordering that of the sun and in that instance-" Soldier Boy's shield came hurtling toward him out of nowhere. The Scientist disappeared in a puff of smoke before the metal could touch him.

"I hate that guy." Soldier Boy's head tilted as he considered you. "Listen..." He emphasized with raised hands. "The only person who understands you right now is me." He stepped toward you, and you hunched in on yourself in defeat."You have me. I'm your answer."

"You're also a figment of my imagination."

"Nah, honey, I'm out there. I'm alive. Come find me."

"You want me dead out there." Soldier Boy's lips quirked up in a handsome smirk and he shook his head.

"But, sweetheart, I don't."

...

When your eyes opened, they opened slowly, the blunt had burnt out in your bed sheet and your body was sprawled out across the bed in all different directions. You blinked at the ceiling, thinking about your dream, thinking about him. The thought left a gross taste in your mouth, your stomach jumped and a weight settled in your chest.

Gosh, you wanted to die sometimes, didn't you?

What was this? What were you doing here?

Why don't you just leave and give all this up? Just like you always wanted.

Because you can't.

You were tired.

It took a few minutes of blank staring before you rose from your bed and travelled out of your room.

"God help me!" You heard a voice exclaim as you entered into the living room. It was Agnes. She made an effort to cover her gaze from your nude figure. And after all these years, she still hadn't gotten used to your ways. You squinted at her, stumbling toward the onset of the kitchen.

"What are you doing here? I told you to leave." Agnes nervously clenched and unclenched her fingers, finally lowering her hand to look at you. Your eyes connected, Agnus' wrinkles creased with a furrowed brow, with concern.

"Homelander wanted me to stay. He's worried about you." You groaned, pouring yourself another glass of whiskey and downing it back with a wince.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." You poured the next glass, sipping from it as you held Agnus' expectant gaze.

"John just wants to make sure I'm on his side." You replied in a dull tone, hunching over the countertop.

"Are you?" You didn't respond. Not immediately. Your eyes flitted around the penthouse and you took in the expanse of space that had been your home for decades.

"Maybe I don't want to be on a side anymore, Agnes." You placed your glass down and stalked over to a wall that held various photos and movie posters and memories from the old days. You scanned each photo, as you had hundreds of times, with a trained eye.

"Please. Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything I do, it doesn't matter." Your eyes paused on a familiar face, and you felt a sadness engulf the entirety of your heart.

He was so good to you. Always trying to comfort you. Always at your side when you needed him.

"Do ya'maybe want to talk about it?"

"No."

You would go find him. That was final. You were sure of it. Screw everyone else. This man. He would be the one you went to. He was the one you needed. He would tell you what you needed to do and he would be genuine. Above all. He would be genuine.

"I'm heading out for a little bit, Agnes. Alone." You took quick steps toward your room.

"Wait, wh-where are you going? Homelander told me to watch you." You didn't respond, turning to close the double doors into your bedroom. At the last glimpse between the cracks, you saw her plop onto the couch with exasperation.

#reader #the boys #homelander #the seven #black noir #soldier boy x reader #vought international #vogelbaum

[sysig]

DAX is just so expressive ♥ (Patreon)

#My art #SCII #Helix #DAX #Lol #Have I mentioned I love him lately #As if I ever stop talking about how much I love any of them lol #Okay but genuinely these were really nice as warmups they were really easy to just knock out one by one #He's very expressive as Dexter! *handwaves about human neurochemistry and expressions* lol #I had to make his Neutral look extra dead inside to make up for the rest haha #Funnily enough I have actually been watching a series of streams of like VAs and visual artists and writers and stuff #And they are constantly uptalking 2D talksprites as mood-setters for dialogue #So it was really fun to make these with that in the back of my head like ''Yeah! :D They /are/ good at that!'' #Very cool expressive medium :D #See if you can spot the first drafts for a few of these :3c #I'll give you a hint: Scared and Sad(? Regretful ig lol) were from some posted doodles #His grumpy one was also a doodle but I didn't post it so it doesn't count lol #Oh yeah and and a lot of these had little accessories like the fear bursts and the little sigh bubble lol I just...forgot them here lol #They're there in spirit please feel the grump lines and sweat drops in your heart <3 #I had a heck of a time trying to keep his face consistent with different angles lol aren't VUX nervous to move their necks me #Just gotta actually get into 3D modeling properly smh #I keep finding myself wanting to make more now that this set's done but I'm not sure what expressions! Confused? Focused? He's so subdued #Oooh he'd suit an expression meme wouldn't he <3 Now there's an idea #Might even open an ask game for that if I can find a good one :3c Hehehe

[tqmies]

NCT Dream + FWB (But you're both whipped)

How Nct Dream would react to being your friend with benefits (but you have feelings for each other)

Minors DNI - NOTE, requests are open for reactions :D

MARK is so nonchalant about it, when in reality, he's never done this before. Neither had you though, so you're not sure what lines you're not supposed to cross. What? It's not normal to kiss your fwb on the lips and tell him you love him? Or for him to let you spend the night?

He digs his fingers into the side of your hips as you bounce on his cock. Letting lewd noises slip as he moans out, a string of praise and I love you's as he releases his fat load in you. Yeah, you aren't gonna be friends for long.

When it come's to RENJUN, I see someone who agreed to this arrangement solely because he already had feelings for you. It's pretty much been torture knowing you two weren't exclusive, but it wasn't what you agreed to anyways. He's pretty good at keeping it in until one day it just slips out.

He's lapping at your cunt, your fingers gripping his hair as he looks up to you with glazed over eyes as he whines. "Would you let me be your boyfriend? Please, I can't do this anymore, want you all to m-myself."

It's ironic that JENO catches feelings when he was the one dead set on no strings attached. You two were strangers before this but now he's starting to memorize your hobbies you talk about after, or the way you like your coffee in the morning, and the fact that you like the same music at him. Though, he's not going to confess until you do.

"So pretty for me and only me right?" He grins, pounding you into the mattress as he presses your face down. "My dumb baby can't answer? That's too bad, I love hearing what you have to say"

After the first time you two sleep together, you are HAECHAN's. Just accept it, he's not letting you go now. He's going to treat you like he's your boyfriend anyways, might as well make it official. Even if you insist on keeping things casual, he's going to make you question why you wanted to in the first place.

"Mmph," He babbles on you grip the base of his cock, slightly teasing him. "No one makes me feel like you do, we were made for each other. You're my soulmate."

JAEMIN hates this kind of relationship, he wants something more and you know it. Yet, he knew that you weren't one to be tied down, you even kept messing around with other people. Though he might just change your mind.

"You make me so mad." He grunts as he continued to slam into you as a vigorous pace, and you've already been fucked dumb. "You know I'm the only one who could get you like this, don't see why you'd want anyone else."

He's your exes roommate, you know it isn't right, CHENLE knows it isn't right. But how could something so wrong feel this good? He's always though you were pretty, relieved when his roommate broke your heart, but don't worry, he's here to make you feel better.

He continues to hold his hand over your mouth as he whispers. "You're gonna have to keep it down. I know you can't help moaning like a slut when I fuck you like this, but you wouldn't want your ex to find you, would you?"

JISUNG doesn't realize you're not together. You kiss, have sex, sleep over, and go on mini dates. What do you mean he's not your boyfriend? You've been telling people you're single?!

He tries to catch his breath as you pass him through your lips, taking him in as he winces. "D-Do you just suck off all your friends like this?"

#nct dream #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct smuts #nct headcannons #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smuts #mark smut #haechan smut #jeno smut #jaemin smut #nct dream reactions #renjun smut #chenle smut #jisung smut #nct fanfictions #nct hard hours #nct hard thoughts

[nexusnyx]

Me & Mr. Miller

au!Joel Miller x f!Reader [5.2k] summary: You and Joel had a deal to stay away from each other. The only obstacle is—neither one of you wants to do that. He might be the father of one of your closest friends and someone a few (many) years older than you, but... who cared. Not you. Not him. The deal wasn't going as planned. 📝 in this scenario the outbreak never happened! joel miller is doing just fine! If you enjoy it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. warnings⚠️ mature content—explicit depictions of sex, so minors dni. | 🏷️ age gap, misunderstanding, secret relationship, pining, strangers to lovers. Oral (f receiving), penetration (p in v), unprotected sex, dirty talking, love-making.

masterlist |

ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Winter of 2023.

"Aw, shit, Joel. Fuck," Tess turned to him with her face twisted into a weird, panicked smile, and that's exactly when Joel realized he'd gone and fucked up again somehow. "You set me up. You set me up!"

"What?!"

"We could've at least told me you were inviting me to Sarah's birthday to be eaten fuckin' alive—is she still looking at me? Goddamn," the panic left for a second, replaced with a knowing smirk that he was unfortunately too familiar with. "She's got really nice eyes, I'll tell you that much. Were you gonna tell me I came here to make your girlfriend jealous? And really—is she still looking? 'Cause those are very intimidating eyes, and I'm gonna need to prepare myself."

There was no preparing to look into your eyes.

Joel would know.

He was done for the minute he laid eyes on you. The way you looked at him.

His hands started to sweat, and his mouth ran dry. He had to look. Gravity couldn't keep him from it.

"You know... a lot makes sense now," Tess starts.

"Don't."

Tess chuckles, hiding it in her drink. "Jeez—did you win her by blabbering her ears out? 'Cause I only got a single look into Miss Daggers for Eyes, but she looks—"

"Jesus Christ, I'm gonna regret having brought you, won't I?" Joel interrupts because he can't turn around as sharply as he'd like, and he can feel it already. Your eyes on him.

Tess stops hiding her laughter, "Oh, for sure. And only because I'm gonna make it very hard for you because you didn't tell me. Because you think that not talking about it makes things just... go away," she wiggles her fingers like dandelions in the sky, and Joel loves his best friend, but she can be a bit of a dick.

"I was gonna tell you," he sighs, fidgeting inside the stupid blazer; sipping his bourbon to ease the jitteriness inside his skin already proved to be a terrible fucking idea when in your presence. "I was—" and where are you? There are a lot of people behind Tess' shoulders and Joel could spot you in a football crowd.

"Jesus." Tess enunciates every letter. "Joel, find her so you can have your focus back."

"Just for the record, she isn't my girlfriend," he states.

Tess scoffs, and it says more than words could.

"She isn't," he presses.

"I believe you," says Tess. "But now I also know I wasn't crazy when I said you were happier last year after going to New York. You were. And Miss Daggers for Eyes—"

"She has a name."

"—is the reason. Does she? Does she have a name, Joel? Her parents are so kind for giving her one," Tess sasses. "I would know her name if you hadn't hidden her from me."

"I didn't hide anybody, there was nobody to hide. Also, can you shut up? You're louder than my thoughts."

The next laugh comes accompanied by a slap on the shoulder, and Tess walking away, but not before whispering in his ear. "Joel, buddy, I wholeheartedly believe you had the best intentions with bringing me here, but here's a tip you didn't ask for: Not one of you is as over whatever the hell happened as you may think. Talk to her."

Talk to her.

As if it was that simple.

As if there wasn't a deal.

Joel needs to find you, but first, he needs another drink.

He gulps down his glass and tries to smile as the guests pass him by. None of them seem to notice his imminent heart attack. None of them see through his carefully curated nonchalance, and he's happy about that.

There's already a person present who can see through him like glass, and he can barely deal with that one.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤNYC, Spring of 2022.

You stood no chance against him.

The first time you saw him, Joel looked like a Wes Anderson visual.

Pink suit, grey strands unabashedly mixed in his soft, shiny black hair, and a shy smile to put any of the other men present to shame.

You were drawn like a moth to a flame.

He looked quite serious without that beautiful smile on—he looked like someone who would, in fact, never wear a pink suit, so you walked over to him and slid right next to his spot at the bar. "That's a bold outfit choice," were your first words. You smiled when his eyes landed on you, so wide and filled with surprise; warm, and stunning like a hot summer day. "But it suits you."

Joel looked stunned for a moment.

He blinked, sipped his bourbon glass and his eyes did a not-subtle-at-all up and down. Then, he put down his glass and the corner of his mouth twitched with the idea of a smile. "I lost a bet," he answered. You recognized the southern accent immediately. "Believe it or not."

"Oh, I believe you," you chuckled.

"It suits me, though?" he asked, opening his arms to the sides.

You nodded. "It does," your peripheral vision caught Bruna approaching behind the bar, and you smiled at her. "Hi, babe. Can I get a caipirinha, please?"

"Hey, girl," she smiled at you and used all of her subtlety to glance at Joel observing the exchange. "Sure thing. Vodka, sake, or cachaça?"

"Bruna, you know there's only one way to do a proper caipirinha," you rolled your eyes.

Bruna smiled. "Cachaça it is, then. Lemon, or something else?"

"Hm, how about an unexpected fruit? Surprise me."

"You got it. Anything else?" she asked.

"Nope, just remember to drink some water. You always work too hard," you winked at her.

Bruna left to make your drink with a blinding smile on her face, and you turned around to find Joel staring. He leaned on the counter with his arm supported on it, and as soon as you looked at him he asked, "Where d'you two know each other from?"

You pointed at the huge banners of NYU standing behind you. "She goes there — I go there."

"You go to NYU?"

"I do," you answered. "Getting my phD, actually," your smile always came out at that.

Joel's face never hides his surprise, but the smile was unexpected and very welcome. "Wow. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I imagine you're here because of the Spring exhibition?" you looked around at the gallery where everyone around looked as posh as you and he did, save for the curious New Yorker just enjoying their walk.

"I am. My daughter has a paper on display on the third floor," he replied.

"Politics and Law area?"

"That's her," he confirmed.

"I have a few close friends in the department," you smiled. "It was my first stop."

"Are you here showin' something too?"

"I'm actually here as one of 'somethings' to show?" No matter how long in the business, talking about being the art itself was always surreal. Especially in front of otherwordly handsome and charming men. Where was Bruna with your drink when you needed her? "My roommate's exhibition won the main exhibit, and we — dancers — are her tool. Her paint."

"You're part of the main exhibit?" He looked every bit impressed, and you nodded, feeling giddy at the prospect. "Double wow. Wait—shouldn't you be backstage, then?"

"Oh, no, gods, no. This whole thing stays here all afternoon, the final piece is only at sunrise—6pm, kinda?"

"Okay. And do I get to know your name before you run off to become art or d'you plan on dropping a crystal shoe so I can roam around later tryin' to find out?"

That had been the first time he made you laugh.

Truly laugh; not a few breaths out of your nose or an easy chuckle—Joel was silly, and he looked like modern-day Adonis in the stupid pink suit that he only wore because of a goddamn bet, and you had no chance.

"I'm Joel," he extended his hand.

That had been the doom of it all—no last names. Only smiles.

You shook his hand and offered your name back, only for him to repeat it out loud.

Test it on his tongue.

You were always doomed.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Winter of 2023.

Jealousy looked godly on you.

Joel hated himself for even thinking it, but he hated himself a lot this evening.

He had hurt you, for starters.

The only thing he set himself not to do, and he'd done it.

More than a year has passed since the fateful day you stepped, yet better—waltzed into his field of vision, and had he known a day of peace ever since?

The day he met you still played on his head like a broken record stuck inside a player:

Saying goodbye to Sarah in front of the gallery, turning around the corner, and seeing you with smoke blowing in front of your face, smiling at the sight of him. You in your green dress. The happiness written all over you, the obvious and earnest glee of seeing that Joel was still around.

Walking with you all around New York, feeling three times less intimidated by the imposing streets with you by his side. The smell of your apartment, the street food you two got on the way, the conversation that flowed as easy as a river stream.

Joel had the imprint of your shining personality burning behind his eyelids. The taste of strawberry from your caipirinha permanently inked on his tongue.

He stood no chance against your eyes—as much as she teased, Tess was right.

Miss Daggers for Eyes.

The way you looked at him at said, "You gotta stop looking at me like that, Joel. I'm starting to think you're not paying attention to what I'm saying," even though you already knew that to be true. Since the moment the strap of your blouse fell from your shoulders and you kept on talking, Joel was fish in a net.

He had the taste of your cunt and the smell of being buried between your thighs waking him up late at night for the next months to come.

The way you rode his face just as he asked you to—no mercy, no shame, only that, only your desires and the alcohol and the weed and the conversation and everything—everything, everything, everything.

Joel took it all out like a starved, greedy man, and you took it back, and neither of you slept until the sun was shining again in the sky.

The next couple of months were filled with texts since Texas demanded him back home and you were already home.

It could've been just friendship.

It was supposed to be simple.

So what if you two called each other and got off while on the phone like a couple of young adults who can't bear to be away from each other? So what if Joel texted you and had to endure Tess and other co-workers smiling at him and wondering, "what the hell's got Joel Damn Miller in a good mood, huh?"

So what if Joel learned more about you than he could admit to himself that he even wanted to know? Even if he was the one asking?

It didn't matter, because it wasn't simple.

Because when you called and said, "Your name is Joel Miller?" he realized why Sarah said he was such a 'distant concept'. No social media meant nobody to pry, but it also meant misunderstandings.

It also meant having to answer you with apprehension, because your tone had never been that off. "It is. Why are you sayin' it like I'm on a list or somethin'?"

"Joel." His stomach fell at his name alone. "You're Sarah's dad. Fuck. Of course you are—"

"Wait, you know Sarah?"

"Yes, I know Sarah. I'm friends with Sarah, or I was before—oh god, she's gonna kill me. She is, isn't she?"

He had assisted you through your panic even though he felt the same.

He walked outside his office, talked you through your next breaths, and guaranteed you there was no reason to panic. "That's it, it's ok, hun'—," he stopped, cursed mentally, and rectified his mistake with his name. You were not his hun, and Joel had been lost on cloud nine without realizing you could've never been. "Just breathe. She doesn't know. She won't know. You two are fine."

That had been it, or so he thought.

Joel stared a lot at the last message he received from you. Thought about sending something else. Continuing the conversation.

Instead, he let the silence make the dust settle.

It had been a haze.

A dream, or a glitch in the matrix—it wouldn't be happening again, and no matter how much he looked at the text you sent weeks prior — i really like talking to you, Joel — nothing would change.

Except it did.

Except — the silence amounted to nothing.

One look at you across the street and Joel was dragged back in.

That Summer when Sarah invited him back, Joel had almost said no, but he remained as able to deny her anything as when she was a kid. The weekend went perfectly, and Joel did his best to not think of you as he was there, but all it took was a few words on a screen:

ㅤㅤㅤㅤSaw Sarah's IG stories. You loaok so good when you smile , JoelㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLove how the sweater looks on yoyu

Drunk baby. Honey.

The second time there was no deal on the table yet, but there was you.

Joel appeared at your apartment door at twenty past two in the morning and only left a couple of hours before his plane left.

You two pretended your apartment was a bubble.

It worked.

Joel had missed you. It sounded silly when he thought it early in the morning before leaving for work—when everyday routine served as bitter medicine it was enough to convince himself it was all just wishful thinking.

With you in the same room as him, lying was harder.

There was no 'wishful' part on how well you two worked.

There was a divine inspiration in the way you made him feel like something new.

Joel felt warm, wanted, devilishly handsome under your gaze. Your careful touch.

"You're so fucking handsome," you repeated to him.

He never thought about his looks, but he couldn't stop himself from enjoying the truth in your words. How much you believed them. "Glad you think so."

"Don't snicker at me like that, Mr. Joel—"

"Snicker? I ain't snickerin', I'm laughin'. You keep tracing my wrinkles like that and I'm gonna get a complex, hun."

"The drama. You're so lame! Oh my god."

"And yet, you're laughing. You know, that's the same shit my daughter says. I'm startin' to think it's true."

"It is. You're silly. But it's okay —" the tip of your fingers tracing his features felt like the first drops of rain hitting the skin. Joel shivered under your touch more times than he cared to count, and he'd only been present for it a couple of times. He'd hate to think of how much you could ruin him with enough time given. How much no other touch would suffice anymore. " — 'cause it's all part of your charm..."

Who would've thought Joel still had it?

Charm.

No amount of charm made up for the situation, though, and before you left, you asked the inevitable question. "No one can know, right?"

"No." He knew what was at stake—your friendship with his most important person. Maybe more. "It was just our last time."

"Right. We're not doing this again."

"We can stay away from each other. I like it like this," he said, pressing his face in your beard-burnt neck, inhaling your sigh and perfume. "But I know..." she can't know.

No—no one can know.

He nuzzled into you, and you nuzzled back. Dug your fingers in the fabric of his shirt. "We can still... talk, can't we?" you asked.

Joel's chest clutched and he held you a little tighter. None of you were at fault for the circumstances, so you both deserved some more stolen time. "We'll talk." He kissed under your ear. "We'll stay away from each other. Talk. Friends can talk. We just—we don't do this anymore. And, no one can know it happened."

"Okay." You sounded muffled against his chest, and Joel thought about how he'd miss touching your hair like this. "I'll just — take a while. To be able to look at you and not —" you stopped abruptly, and pulled away to look up at him and show him not what.

Not look at him with eyes that demanded a kiss.

Without pulling him in by the fire in your eyes.

That had been then — July gave him you again. You for the last time.

The next time Joel saw you after that had been a few weeks ago. Sarah invited you to a party during the holidays, and third time was the charm.

You two talked like good, old friends.

The longing in his chest was ridiculous, the whole entire time.

Now—

jealousy looks good on you.

Sarah's birthday was big enough for Joel to have his eyes on you without you even realizing it. From his bedroom porch, Joel saw you walking by the pool between the guests with that set to your jaw. Another friend of Sarah's stopped you and started a conversation, but the look refused to leave your face.

The problem was—there was nothing Joel could do.

If he pulled you aside to clarify that Tess was only a friend, a work friend who Sarah has called 'Aunty Tess' since she was fourteen, he would be wrong.

Rubbing salt on the wound.

What did it matter what Tess was?

You two had a deal.

Gods, Joel was getting too old for this—too old to watch things from a distance, to see the sadness on the pout of your lips and crave to run and kiss it away, to realize when the lights of the party hit your face in the right angles that your eyes are shining and fuck—

He gets back downstairs and leaves the glass somewhere along the way.

No more bourbon for him.

Joel hears his name called a few times. Allows himself to be distracted by conversation here and there. He's good at lying to himself—he's done it often enough by now. Joel keeps himself trimmed from the deep wants and needs that grow like weeds through his bones, even if he isn't sure why.

Something so rich like you — of course it wasn't for him.

What would he do?

You're Sarah's dad. Fuck.

Sarah's father — he clapped the louder, smiled the brighter, and when the candles were blown and she handed him the first piece of cake, Joel wondered if he should feel guilty for going after someone who's close with daughter of all people.

All he could feel was sadness as he saw you disappearing in the crowd after talking to Sarah in hushed tones inside a hug.

Joel needed to find Tess.

He should leave — his house would be the roof for a lot of people tonight and he needed to talk, maybe—Joel started laughing as soon as the thought came to him.

That's how much you affected him.

He leaves in direction of the kitchen, guarded by the commotion around the cake.

Joel had trouble finding people he liked talking to. You spoke with him for three hours as if time meant nothing, and now it got him wanting to talk about you to his friends, spilling all the bits of stolen moments here and there.

The texts he's read so many times he has memorized.

He needs to get those things off his chest if he wants to stop clinging to them— they've been inside his close fists since Joel got his hands on them — on you — and he hasn't let go ever since.

"Dad?"

He places the bottle down on the fridge shelf, happy he was caught before and not during the act. He pops his head out, and Sarah's standing on the door of the kitchen with a look.

"What?"

"I promised myself I was gonna stay out of this tonight, but — is there a reason? Any solid reason why you two decided to stay away from each other since you're both so... clearly happy about that?" she finishes, eyeing the fridge as if her view is made of x-ray, and the bottle weighs twice more in his hands.

Then—"Wait." Joel's brain freezes. "You knew?"

Sarah's eyes widen, and her mouth falls open. "Oh. My god." She blinks once, then covers a burst of laughter with both hands. "Dad. You and she are so not subtle—I thought you knew that I knew — oh my god. It's not because of me, is it? I mean—don't get me wrong, if you two as much as flirt in front of me at first I'm gonna hose both of you like, on the spot, but—I'm ok with it. Obviously. You two are two grown adults, and dad, don't take this the wrong way, but last year was the most I've seen you smile in a long, long time."

Joel needed a few minutes to take all of it in.

Was it just because of Sarah?

No one can know, you'd said. What if you were ashamed of him, too? Of the age difference, and —

"The same goes for her, obviously." Sarah's words pulled him out from underwater. "I've known her for a couple of years, but... last year was definitely happier than the other one."

He smiled. "You're the best, did you know that?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"Tell Tess I left?"

"Sure." Sarah's smile spread. "She just left. D'you want me to text you where she's staying?"

Joel had already gifted her, but that didn't stop him from walking over to kiss her cheek and smile proudly. "I'll buy another gift."

"You better."

Joel drove all the way hoping to be right.

Hoping it hadn't all been just a fluke — the moment, a chase, a thrill.

He breathed a deep inhale before knocking on your hotel door.

It took a second before he heard your footsteps, and he wiped his palms on his jeans. "Uhm — I didn't ask for room service?" you sounded confused.

And like you'd been crying.

Fuck him. "I know you didn't."

It was him.

You wished you hadn't opened. He looks good — like always, but better. Hair slicked back, thick jacket to shield from the cold and the soft eyes; it's what bought you, and what traps you again.

You're speechless, but Joel helps.

"I just have somethin' to say and somethin' to ask, then I can be on my way. If you want," he adds.

"I thought we had a deal." It's almost like a plaster. A veil to cover the pink hue on your cheeks, maybe. "And how did you get up here without them calling me?"

He lifted his hands — your scarf was in them, and he tried very little to hide his amusement when he explained. "I've lived in this town my whole life. I just told Nina downstairs you forgot your scarf at the birthday party and you left pretty early tomorrow mornin'." Joel looks past your shoulders. "You're not the only one with friends. Can I come in?"

You wonder if it's possible to say no to him.

You simply take a step back, and Joel walks past you.

He feels like an omen standing there in your hotel room. The one you'd gotten because staying at his house seemed impossible.

The one you dreamt about him appearing out of nowhere, just like now.

If you had drunk more tonight, you would think maybe you're out of it.

"I'll keep it short, mostly 'cause I feel like a nerve wreck." Joel clears his throat and turns around to look at you as you close the door behind you. "She knows. Sarah — she uhm, she asked me basically why we're makin' each other miserable."

She knows.

You feel splinted from your body for a moment as the weight of the secret leaves your shoulders.

"She knows?" your whisper is more to yourself than anything else, but Joel still answers.

"Yeah. And also — that was Tess, tonight. With me at the birthday party."

He closed it at that because the rest was implied — you heard of Tess, many, many times.

When you and Joel spoke before Summer and the few times you two spent hours on the phone after long periods of silence in between, Joel told you about his friends. He told you about his work colleagues, about old college memories, about anything you asked.

He waited for you.

Patiently, as you took in the fact that your only worry didn't exist, Joel stood there a few feet across from you with his hands in his pockets, waiting.

And then, "I get if that wasn't the only reason why you said we should keep it between us. But—"

"It was." You were just... flying. Free. You breathed out, weighing a thousand pounds less. So you could have him? "Joel?"

He takes a step forward. "Yeah?"

There's little to be said when both of you move like orbits.

Your arms already know the way around his shoulders. Joel's familiar with the inches of your waist, and more than anything, you missed this, missed him.

His clever hands wrap carefully around your waist, and you abandoned every ounce of worry that this might be a dream.

"What are you smilin' at?" he asks.

Joel asks you that as he molds your bodies into one—the man is nothing but broad shoulders and back, thick arms that act like tentacles on your body that melts into his touch from the get-go.

"I had a lot of dreams like this," you confess. It feels incredible to just say what pops into your mind.

"Well, then let me remind you that real life's better," he mutters, hands already cupping your neck and cheeks.

Joel is the type fo kiss with his whole body.

You have no idea how both of you deluded yourselves into thinking any sort of deal could prevail when you two are made of this:

His hands roaming your throat, squeezing as you cling your legs around his waist and Joel takes the full weight of you on him. The back of his knees hitting the bed, his body and yours falling into a mess and tangle of limbs.

No deal was bigger than the desire you had of jumping his bones whenever he was at close proximity.

You wanted to devour him — you sucked on the fingers he offered with the same gusto your hips rolled against his lap; Joel moaned for you, and he trembled for you, and he smiled for you.

"'m gonna take my time with you — you know I like to take my time, stop grindin' that pretty pussy all up on me," he growls, and you mewl.

Joel is relentless with his touches.

Every time he took you, it felt like a possession.

Like he was carving your body out of marble to keep the curves set in stone — his palms ran through every inch of you until all your clothes were gone somewhere in the room, and he laughed at himself every time you cried out his name in a loud plea for more.

"Please — please just gimme something," you begged.

Joel smiles at you, dropping his pants to the floor. The entire lower half of his face is shining with the slick and sweat from you — keeping his head buried between your legs, your thighs stradling his shoulders and squeezing around his ears — he always started the nights like that.

"I was givin' you somethin'," he replies. Voice low and thick as honey. Just as sweet, too.

He crawls over the bed, naked, and you have to stop yourself from jumping on him until he's on his back. It'd be worse for you afterwards — you learned it the hard way. Joel would milk every orgasm out of you until you blacked out if you kept him from touching your body to his liking before you could do anything, and who were you to complain?

"Need more, Joel," you cried.

"More what?" He palms your calves, and starts smoothing his hands upwards. "Ask for it, baby."

"Whatever you want to give me, just — please."

"Ah. She learned," he chuckles, and kisses the inside of your thighs. They tremble at the feeling of his beard, and he nuzzles his face there for good measure. "I usually wanna see you ridin' my face 'till you're screaming for the heavens, but —" Joel climbs all the way up, cages your face between his forearms and lets his body lay on top of yours slowly. He doesn't give you his whole weight, but part of you wished he did. "I really just wanna be inside you right now."

"Please!"

"We'll have all night, I just—"

He stopped there, but you got where he came from.

It was different.

Knowing you would wake up and he'd still be there — it was different.

Taking him in when you knew he had more to offer and that's what he wanted to give — it made every inch Joel pushed inside feel more real.

He held both of your hands over your head, intertwining his fingers in yours. He went slow, and kept his eyes on you, and you felt less silly about the hours you cried before because you thought he wasn't yours. Because you wanted him to be.

He must sense you getting lost in the what ifs because Joel's talk changes somewhere in the middle.

His praises, always the tether grounding you to Earth while he fucks your mind straight out of it, changes in words and tone. He whispers, "I'm here, baby," in your ear, and it makes your legs hug his waist tighter. Push him inside even deeper. "Fuck — like that. Does it feel good? Is this what you wanted?"

You wanted him. "Yes — want you so bad," you wanted all of him. "All of you, Joel."

That granted you a hand of his letting go of yours only to make a fist on your hair.

It was rare for Joel to lose control, but you loved it when it happened. When he let go of everything and you could see him without anything on — no pretenses, no clothes, no reservations.

Joel started to mumble in your ear about anything, his hips losing rhythm inside of you as he made you ride out your orgasm. He talked about how good you are, how much he'd spoil you, make you his, his his —

You were. You were.

💖 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @dilfsaremyfavorite — @rosymythologies — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @sanzusmile —@yesimwriting — @celestialstar111

#usernexusnyx #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller drabble #joel miller self insert #joel miller smut #tlou x you

[buckysegan]

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration - Part Two

Summary: John writes back to his friend from home and we hear from our friend across the way. John x She. Word Count: 1.2k. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. pstttt also should we name her? do you all want to send me random john prompts. my baby isn't ok and i'm not ok. Part one linked here. Part three linked here.

John was sure he wasn't sweating a normal amount as he looked down at the piece of paper that Buck had offered him. It had taken two whole days of questions from the man for Bucky to even decide that he was going to reply. He’d been offered the hope, what more could he ask of her. Could he ask more? There had been a return address on the letter which Buck had insisted was there for a reason and she had opened herself out for a reply from him but the Major couldn’t help but be unsure.

It was an odd feeling for him, before the war he hadn't been unsure of anything and since he’d been here? Well he hadn’t been sober enough to doubt anything that he had done. These days though Bucky felt like he doubted every single thing. The thing was, he wasn't sure that he could afford to doubt this, to look past the life line that had been offered to him. Not when each day he could feel his mind draw a little further toward the edge no matter how much he or Buck tried to keep it in check.

With a sigh he pulled the pen into his hand, eyes locked on the page for a moment before he began to scrawl.

Dear Friend From Home 

You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you. 

I think the first thing I got to say is thank you. I don’t know if the words I can put on paper are ever going to really tell you how much your letter meant to me. See I was a certain type of man that didn’t think much to pen pals. I figured that I’d be ok, you know, that with my boys I’d have what I needed to make it through the hard days but watching the letters for everyone else roll in has been harder than I thought it might. 

There are things that I can’t tell you cause I don’t know who might read these letters, and where I am I can’t get you no picture but I can tell you that my favorite dish is a meat and potato pie, simple I know but really I’m a simple hearty kind of guy. What makes me laugh, you asked? That’s kind of simple for me too, just good company, myself sometimes, Buck, he’s my best friend, he makes me laugh a lot. What makes you laugh? I’d like to know that. 

May I know where you are? I know that might be a big ask but you said I could ask anything I know and if I get out of here…we get some leave, I’d like to know where I need to ask for me leave to be. Then I can show you what I sound and look like and know that in return. 

If this letter doesn’t reach you for a while, know you’ve been with me the whole time. 

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration

Major John Egan 

“What if she doesn’t get it?” He found himself questioning quietly to Buck as he handed over the letter to make it out of camp. His best friend settled him with a soft look, one that always made Bucky feel like he had some worldly knowledge the rest of them had missed out on, that assured him everything was going to be alright. “You just gotta have hope she will John, she’ll get it.” 

With a huff Bucky nodded, pulling his hat on as he watched his letter vanish from his view all together. “Alright well I can’t sit here and wonder, I’m off to play baseball or something.”

The letter that Bucky had so carefully handed over changed hands many more times, some fingers as rough as the pilots, some dirtier, some softer, but the last set of fingers to slide the letter from her post box had perfectly manicured fingers. Her flicking of her post was greedy as she looked for the same thing that she had every day since she’d posted her own letter.

At first, her hopes of finding what she was looking for had been unrealistic; she knew that, it hadn’t even been long enough for her letter to be received, let alone for him to get one back to her, then the other girls at the centre, they’d gotten letters back, notes, anything. That was when she had allowed her hope to return, for a moment at least. Days without anything had turned into weeks and then weeks had turned into months. Anything could have happened, that was what she tried to tell herself, he might not have gotten her letter, he might have thought it was weird and had chosen not to reply. That thought was enough to miff her, he could have at least said thank you. When she had decided no one could be that mean, her diminishing hope had turned to worry, what if he hadn't been able to receive her letter.

Flicking through each white envelope today, she almost missed it, how she didn't know because it was clearly different from the rest of them, maybe she hadn't wanted to look. "Not…" Trailing off she flicked back to the second to last letter, her eyes taking in the scrawling of her address, her eyes checking the postage before she was taring inside. "It's here, he wrote it's here." She called through the halls to the other girls that she lived with, all of which had been holding their breath with her. "Oh god I can't read it, what if he's telling me I was weird!" She cried, thrusting the unopened letter into the hands of her eager friend.

"Don't be dramatic, he's going to be throwing down his gratitude at you being a doll, you should have attached a picture with it I told you!" Meg beamed easily back at her, the same sense of reservation missing from her actions as she tore into the letter so that it could be read to the group. "Dear Friend From Home. You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you." That was enough, pulling the letter from Megs hands she was quick to scramble away from the group once more, locking herself into her room as re-read the opening line herself, the tears in her eyes only welling even further as she continued.

An ache in her chest formed as she read the words once more, taking in each strike of his pen where he had corrected himself or smudge from whatever he'd had on his fingers. The state of the letter was enough to make her wonder, but at least for now, she knew her friend was ok. He was alive, and he wanted to hear more from her. It couldn't have been normal, to feel this level of emotion for a man that she had never met, but she had found herself here regardless and in the middle of so much uncertainty, she wasn't going to question the pull she felt across the way to England.

Pushing from her bed she moved to her desk, paper pulled from her stationary pot, the quicker she could post this the quicker it could get to him.

"Dear Major Egan,

I'm delighted to hear I'm with you. I hope you know, that you've been with me too…"

#john egan x reader #john egan #master of the air #mota #mota drabble #callum turner #bucky egan

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Northern Attitude

Next chapter

a/n guilty... guilty... guilty... I caved in. I own up to my weaknesses. Promised myself to never write for this man and here I am now. This is my first time so be gentle. 🗡️🫧

summery: mission gone bad, feels a little like enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort sort of goodness.

warnings: injuries, blood, bleeding out, alcohol, needles, death, trauma fun stuff.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You two hated each other. That was a fact, and there was no way around it. It was scowling glares, sharp jabs during training if you two were paired together, and bitter remarks thrown here and there. And the joy of it all was that Price had granted you a shared room on the base. First, the excuse was that there was simply not enough room; the team had grown. Then he said he wasn't having a team that was up on biting each other's necks out. So in conclusion, he had set it up on purpose.

Did it help? No. It was a disaster. The man was insufferable. And, in all honesty, you had no idea what you had done. You had thrown a sexist card at him multiple times because you simply couldn't find another reason for his unmeasured dissatisfaction as to why you shouldn't be here. Never had he said anything nice your way. You got it; the guy was secretive. You didn't need to look far. The fact that he never took his mask off was proof enough. But to be so against someone you didn't even spend time with?

"Clean your mess", Ghost huffed, dropping his wet towel on the bed. You lifted your head away from your book. At least you two had separate beds on the opposite sides of the room. "It's on my side", you said, pointing to the white line that Ghost had drawn on the floor like a kid the first night you dragged your stuff here. The rule was simple: you stayed on your side, he on his. The bathroom was the only exception. "Yeah, I have to look at it, don't I", he grumbled, tossing the towel into the laundry basket. You paid him no mind, your eyes turning back to the pages. "Poor you, does it mess with your posh tea time?", you chuckled under your breath, earning a growl from the other side of the room.

And that's how it went. More than not, you considered any word coming out of Ghost's mouth a win. Because a new tactic the asshole had adopted was pretending that you weren't even a thing. You were an actual ghost, and Simon didn't believe in the paranormal clearly. You fastened your vest, double-checking that your on-hand weapons were right where you wanted them. "Do you need me to do a touch-down for you?", your head darted up, only to be met with a smug-looking scot. Soap. You couldn't help but let out a breathy chuckle. "Do you think that if you keep asking, the answer will eventually change?", you snickered back, shaking your head. Soap shrugged. "You tell me, bonnie?", the man teased back. Leave it to Johnny to joke around right before a mission. You hummed, "Maybe I'm more into you undoing it", Gaz snickered somewhere in the back. Soap's smirk grew even bigger. You knew that it was all good fun. Neither of them would make a move. They respected you. To most, you were like a sister. They had become your family. One you never had. Before Soap could say anything in return, the back door swung open, and in strolled Ghost. God, he looked good. Six feet of pure muscle. And when this man was in his full gear... You allowed yourself a moment to appreciate the way he looked before dropping your gaze. Suddenly, you were way more interested in the guns on the table than anything else.

Johnny came to stand next to you as the team gathered around the table. Price loved to gather everyone around before it all went off. John was like a father to most. You were no exception. You liked to tease the boys that you were his number one. His girl. And well, by law, you were. Considering that he pulled you out of the foster home, you owned this man a lot, even if he said that it was all in the past.

"You know the drill; go in, grab what you need, and get out. Try to keep it clean", Price said, pulling three sheets of paper and scattering them around on the table. "Soap and Ghost, you're together. I'll go with Gaz. Sugar, you're alone on this; we will clean the path for you, though". It was supposed to be a joke that name. You wanted something cool. Something as cool as Ghost, but Johnny was quick to remind you that his nickname was soap "And sugar", He had said, "That's quite literally white death". So it stuck.

You nodded your head, only to find Ghost shaking his. "Got something against it, LT?", you snarled. His eyes met yours over the table. With the war paint, his eyes were even more radiant. "She can't go alone. She doesn't know how to hold herself back and will do something stupid", now it was your turn to growl. Scratch the fact that you found this man attractive. You will suffocate him with a pillow in his sleep when you return to base. "Want to go with her, Ghost?", Price said calmly, knowing full well the answer would be a hard no. "We meet in the safe house afterward", Price continued without acknowledging the death glare Ghost was wearing, "Come back in one piece, you bunch". Everyone nodded quietly, reaching for the masks, double-checking the cartridges and radios. You were all climbing into the motorcar when Soap nudged your shoulder. "I'll hold you to the undressing part", he winked, hurrying to sit down. Your anger simmered down as you flipped him off in return, his laughter booming. It was Ghost, whose unimpressed eyes followed you two, gripping the gun in his hands tightly as he chose to stare ahead.

It was nothing—the mission. The base that needed to be checked out was pretty much abandoned. A couple of kills. A smoke bomb here and there. It was easy. Simple. They laid a clear path for you to do your thing. Your small frame was what they needed here. Air vents weren't the best of friends with hulky soldiers. "Do your worst, Sugar", Price had muttered into the radio some time ago. Your response was a cold, "Copy". The four of them were left to watch over the main entry points. Yet sending you into the belly of the beast felt wrong. At this point, Simon had lost count of the number of times he had reached for his radio, ready to call out to you. But he talked himself out every time.

"Got it", your voice pierced the silence. Ghost's shoulders drooped. "Good girl, bring it home", Price called back. Soap looked out of the window, "We should go meet them at the-", but his voice was cut by the cracking that came from the radio. Then it all died down. Silence. Soap locked eyes with Ghost. "Price, you copy?", Soap called out. Silence struck again. "All good here, you copy?", the captain called out. "Positive", Ghost muttered into the radio. Gunshots echoed deep within the base. It was you. The noise had to come from you. Ghost felt his heartbeat picking up. He had to find a way to get to you. To cover you. Yet the rational side of his brain screamed at him, saying that there was no way for him to do so.

The crackling filled the air around him once more as they rushed toward the spot where the team had agreed to meet. "Abort", your breathless voice came through the radio. "Get your asses out", you were panting. Ghost could hear you reloading your gun. "Sugar, what's the situation?", even Price's voice sounded more panicked. And the old man kept his cool. They all did. This whole shit could have been a setup for all they knew. Even outside, the sound of bullets pierced the silence didn't ease. Simon wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but your labored voice still twisted at his heart, "Get. Out."

The safe house had never felt so quiet. Usually, at least Soap was a never-ending chatterbox. Now the male stood in front of the window. Not moving. His eyes were glued to the forest in front of him. Price was half a bottle down on the bourbon. Gaz's leg hadn't stopped bouncing. They all had minor bruises, but that was expected.

"We need to go back", Soap said, rubbing his palms together. "You know that we can't, Johnny", Price puffed out a cloud of smoke. He was no doubt thinking of ways he was going to break the news to his wife. "She wouldn't fucking leave us", Soap snarled back. You would expect a handful of army men to be able to hold their composure in situations like this, but... You had dragged them all out of a dark pit. You were undoubtedly good at what you did, yes. But you offered much more. The safety blanket. A proper homemade meal when there was time, and that was a lot for a man who had been stuck in the base for months, missing home. There had been so much more laughter and smiles since you joined the force. As if you had breathed back humanity and a sense of life into their ice-cold bones. And now they all had to go back to...

The handle of the back door creaked. All four of them reached for their guns in unison. But no one besides them was supposed to know where the keys had been stashed. A lucky coincidence? The odds were too slim. But the door jerked open, and they all lost the breath they were holding.

"What a fucking greeting", you muttered, dropping your helmet to the side. Soap moved toward you first. Simon would have loved to beat him to it, but he found himself sitting back down, his legs suddenly feeling wobbly. "Here", you yanked the chip from your vest, pushing it into Soap's hand. "Mission complete, captain", you eyed Price. Before moving to undo your gear. "How many?", John asked, taking a drag from his cigarette. The blood on your forehead was crusted. But the sound of drops hitting the wooden floor was constant. "Six", you breathed, moving to undo your vest, and that's when the first growl left your lips.

"You're bleeding", Johnny breathed, reaching for your shoulder, but you pulled away. "I'll lick my own wounds", your tone was cold. It was colder than it usually was. Ghost watched you slowly walk towards the stairs, but not before you had reached for the Bourbon. "I'll come to stitch you,", Price had called out, only to be harshly cut off with a harsh, "No".

You locked the doors behind yourself. Your vision was going hazy. You had managed to get away. You had no idea how because there had been a moment when you were sure that death was standing right behind your back, breathing at your neck. You had killed before, had blood sprayed all over you. Yet something about this felt different. Maybe it was the fact that there was a moment where you weren't the one in control. When they had managed to yank you across the floor by your ankle. You shivered at the image of a knife being jabbed on either side of you as you dodged blow after blow.

Your hands gripped the sink. You will do this. You will patch yourself up. Swallow a couple of pills and go to sleep. You knew there was no way you were getting your shirt off, so you wasted no time as you sliced the fabric with your pocket knife, wincing. Slowly peeling the damp material from your shoulder. Would this be easier if someone else did it for you? Yes. But you didn't want anyone's hands on you. Not now. Not when your brain was still fuzzy. The trickle of blood ran down your chest and through the sports bra you had on. You knew what followed next. You've done it multiple times. Drink bourbon. Splash some on the wound. Dig the fingers in to fish for the bullet. More bourbon. Stitch it up. You ran yourself through the steps one more time. One more look in the mirror before you force yourself to do just that.

Simon's hands were gripping the chair he was sitting on. Every little whimper from upstairs ripped at his composure. Stubborn girl, never knowing how to accept help. And a whimper, a whimper he could handle, but when a loud cry filled the quiet space, Simon was up and going. Every other step was skipped, and he was right in front of the second-floor bathroom. Hand on the handle as his shoulder hit the locked door. "Open up", Ghost banged his fist into the surface. "Go away", your voice was barely audible. Too long. He had sat downstairs for too long. He should have come barging in the moment you tried to play a big girl. Should have carried you back downstairs. "Don't make it bloody difficult", Simon's voice was husky. His own body ached, but he wasn't about to sit back and watch you bleed out.

You didn't answer him. "Sugar", he called out, "Open the fucking door, or I will break it", he wasn't even sure why he was bargaining with you now. But he respected your privacy. He always did. Even in the room you shared. His face was always facing the wall when he knew you were taking a shower. Just in case you had forgotten your clothes and would need to quickly get to your side of the room, this was different; his stalling could cost you your life. So he doesn't say anything else. Backing a couple of steps back, Simon braced himself for the impact. The hinges were old, so one shove from him was enough to break them; the rest he could handle with his two hands.

Ghost's breath hitched once more. "Stubborn, bloody woman", he hissed. The floor was covered in your blood; there was not a single clean towel. Your figure was slumped by the bath. "Price", his voice was more of a roar that made even you jerk your head up. "Get out", you breathed, trying to put distance between you two. "Like fuck, I will", Simon grunted, reaching towards you, his palm pressing into your shoulder. You cried out, your nails digging into his wrists, but the pressure didn't ease. "Fucking hell", the captain called from behind, "Get her downstairs".

"No", you hissed as Ghost lifted you, "Get away". But you knew that it was over now that they'd seen you. Simon tried to lower you down, but you whizzed in pain. "From the back", you say through gritted teeth. "What?", His eyes searched yours; you knew he was struggling to understand you. "The bullet", your breath, "from the back". Simon's eyes darted up to John, who slowly nodded his head, "Keep her up, then", and you could feel him pulling the rest of your shirt off.

"Liquid courage", a bottle was dangled right in front of you, and you could just about make out Soap's shaky hands. "I don't need it", you muttered, feeling the way Simon's chest rumbled with a disapproving growl. "Don't fight it, kid", Price called out from behind you, "You know how it's done". He was looking through the medical bag, no doubt making sure that he had everything he needed on hand. You open your mouth, and Soap quickly takes the hint, tilting the bottle upwards.

"Bite this and hold onto Simon's shoulders for me", the captain delivered his words like an order, but you still shook your head. "Jesus women, do you have a death wish or something?", Ghost muttered, hands moving from your legs that were still wrapped around his torso to your hands, pulling one of them over his shoulder and the other, the injured one, across his torso, so Price could work on it easier. But your palms stay pushed away from his skin. So does your chest. He was too close. You couldn't. Simon doesn't like his personal space being occupied by anyone.

"Deep breath for me", was the only last warning John gives you before you feel a pain like no other ripping through your back. And that was all it took. All it too, for your hands to clamp around Simon. Nails were in his skin as you yelled out, trying to pull away from whatever Price was doing. Simon's big palm cupped the back of your head, guiding you down onto his shoulder. "You got this, love", he muttered against your ear. The grip he had on you did not falter, not even for a second. "Almost there, Sug, just a bit more", Price said through gritted teeth. You could feel him digging through your back. The burning icy cold now.

Your body was working on its own accord. Hand reaching for the side of Ghost's face as another wave of pain ripped through you, making you holler out. Simon didn't pull away. And maybe you were high on pain, but you could swear you felt his lips against your palm. Kissing your skin through the material of his mask. Your breathing got shallow. You wanted to pull back to look up at him. Into his eyes. At least one more time. But your body felt heavy. Your fingers gently caressed the side of his face. The smell of him calmed you. You pressed a weak kiss against his neck, feeling a shiver running down his back.

"Keep her talking, Simon,", Price grumbled in frustration. Something probably wasn't going how it was supposed to. But it was okay. You had made your peace with it. "Come on, look at me", Simon pulled your limp head away from his shoulder, tapping your cheek a couple of times. "Keep your eyes open, eh? Or I'll leave my wet towels all over our room for the rest of the month", there was a tinge of something new in his voice. Some kind of light worry. Frustration. You blinked a couple of times, the corners of your lips turning upwards. "You wouldn't dare", you rasped out, your mouth feeling way too dry all of a sudden. "Why is that?", Simon asked straight away, his eyes not leaving yours. You let yourself breathe for a bit; you didn't have enough strength to answer right away. "I'll get you pink sheets and...", a cough made your body seize, and Ghost's grip on you tightened instantly. And there. There it was. A flash of worry caught his eye. "A fuzzy rug", you finished finally. Simon's palm ran over your sweaty forehead. "I'd like to see you try, darling", he breathed out, but there was no amusement in his voice.

"She's too fucking pale, Price", you heard Soap's voice from the side, or at least it sounded like it. "Shut up, Johnny,", the captain grumbled. "Don't close your eyes, Sugar", you felt another nudge from Ghost, making you blink up at him once more. "It's cold", you muttered, feeling your hand slip down his torso, falling limp by your leg. "John", Ghost said in a warning tone. He was trying to make you hold back on him, but your hand slipped away every time.

It was the way your hand limped against Simon's face that sent the last wave of panic through him. Your clammy skin pressed against him. And he was back there, back in the house where his family was killed. No, he couldn't lose you. Not now that he had found you. Not without you knowing that he also cared, just like everyone else. "Y/N", he called out softly. He had never called you by your real name. Never had a chance to see if your eyes would shimmer when he did. "Don't do this", he breathed again your not injured shoulder, "Don't you dare fucking die on me". But he was met with nothing. Only then did he realize that he would have to live with nothing but regret and your blood on his hands. All because he couldn't find a way to let your light shine through his cold demeanor. All because he was afraid of the fact that he had found himself caring again.

#simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost cod image #ghost cod x reader #cod imagine #cod x reader #simon riley x reader

[poipoipoi-2016]

Apropos of nothing

If you are the techiest person in the house (and for many of you, this is not techy at all), today is a good day to build a pihole thanks to Google's new TLDs.

For the record, this straight up stopped Dad from getting computer viruses when coupled with the Ublock browser extension, so I will volunteer my time to get you set up. We will find an evening and do a Zoom call. I am serious.

Prerequisities:

Before you start, this will be way way easier if your router has a magic way to:

Set static IP addresses

Set a custom DNS server

If you can't do this, I'm not saying you're stuck, but there's some non-obvious failure modes and maybe it's time to buy a better router.

Parts:

Raspberry Pi 4B. 2GB if you just want to set and forget, 8GB if you want to do more things on this than just your pihole (Coughs in a MarioKart box) -> https://www.raspberrypi.com/products/raspberry-pi-4-model-b/

Spare USB-C charger if you don't have one already. I'm a fan of https://www.amazon.com/Argon-USB-C-Power-Supply-Switch/dp/B0919CQKQ8/ myself

A microSD card at least UHS class 3 or better. 32 is fine for just a pihole, I have a 512 in some of mine that I use for more stuff. https://www.tomshardware.com/best-picks/raspberry-pi-microsd-cards

Some method of flashing the card if you don't have one (Some come with SD to micro-SD adapters, if not a USB to SD/micro-SD adapter is about $10 off Amazon)

If you really feel like going nuts, go buy yourself an Argon case and then very very carefully never ever install the software for the fan that does nothing. The value is entirely in having a big giant brick that is self-cooling. If you want to play MarioKart, I would consider this a requirement. https://www.amazon.com/Argon-Raspberry-Aluminum-Heatsink-Supports/dp/B07WP8WC3V

Setup:

Do yourself a favor and ignore all the signs telling you to go get Raspbian and instead go grab an ISO of Ubuntu 64-bit using RPi Imager. Because Raspbian cannot be upgraded across version WHY U DO THIS

Download Rpi Imager, plug the microSD card into your computer,

Other General Purpose OS -> Ubuntu -> Ubuntu 22.04 LTS

So now you have an operating system on an SD card.

Assemble the case if you bought one, plug in the SD card, power supply, ethernet cable if you have one or mouse and (mini) HDMI cable if you don't. If you bought that Argon case, you can just plug a keyboard (server OS means no mouse gang; In this house, we use the Command Line) and HDMI cable into the Pi. Turn it on.

Gaining access

The end state of this is that your pi is:

Connected to the internet by cable or wifi

You can SSH to it (Also not scary)

If you plugged in an ethernet cable, once it's done booting (1-2 minutes?), you should be able to ssh to "ubuntu@<the IP of the system>". Look it up in your router. It may make sense to give the static IP NOW to keep it stable.

If you've never used SSH before, I think the standard is Putty on Window or you can just open a terminal in Mac. (And if you know enough Linux to have a Linux computer, why are you reading this?)

If you didn't plug it in, and need to setup the wifi, there's magic incantations to attach it to the wifi and to be quite blunt, I forget what they are.

Your username is ubuntu, your password is ubuntu and then it will ask you to make a new password. If you know the meaning of the phrase "keypair-based access", it may make sense to run `ssh-copy-id` at this point in time.

Router settings (part 1)

Give your new Pi a static IP address, and reboot your pi (as simple as typing in `sudo reboot`).

Open a new SSH session to the pihole on the new address.

Installing pihole

Open up an SSH session and

curl -sSL https://install.pi-hole.net | bash

This is interactive. Answer the questions

When it's done, on your other computer, navigate to <the ip>/admin

Login with the password you just set. Router settings part 2

Give your new Pi a static IP address then point your router at that address

Set the DNS servers to the static IP

Then ensure you're blocking something. Anything.

Then do what you want to do. You'll probably need to whitelist some sites, blacklist some more, but the main thing is going to be "Adding more list of bad sites". Reddit has some lists.

And... enjoy.

/But seriously, there's some stuff to do for maintenance and things. I wasn't joking about the pair setup.

[weebsinstash]

People keep asking me if I have any 'yandere Alastor vs. yandere Lucifer fighting over Reader' ideas, and I gotta say one of my favorite ones is uh

Ok so I just am trying to kick myself in the ass to write this in of itself, but, I really like the idea of Alastor just straight up tricking you into giving him your soul. "Oh what if Reader takes a deal from him" no what if he makes a deal for your soul and you don't even fucking realize what you're doing and it's completely unintentional. I'm talking, my specific idea, is that after a prolonged series of events where you both gain and then lose Alastor's respect, he then approaches you when you're just like DRUNK DRUNK and, you're being all social and slurring and honestly he's embarrassed for you but at least you're talking to him, and, he sets his trap: making it seem like just an innocent little game, Alastor suggests you two have some kind of drinking game, and the winner can take ANY ONE THING from the other, and he's even all "oh, you don't even have to bother yourself with thinking about it! I could simply JUST TAKE IT and not even inform you, so then you wouldn't even have to worry yourself about whatever it is I decided to... acquire for myself :)"

And here's your drunken delusionally confident ass, thinking YOU'RE gonna pull one over on HIM, YOU trick ALASTOR "oh haha there's definitely nothing I have he wants lol, what would he do, take my cellphone or some of my shitty clothes or collectibles, lmao, I'm gonna win and I'm gonna ask him for some sort of special power or cool thing or gossip, this is low stakes high reward for sure"

Cue you like IMMEDIATELY losing his challenge, and even then, you're all smiles and laughs, "aww, I thought I had you there! So what are you taking?" And he just "Ohhhh, nothing :) actually I... even already took it from you!" And he starts LAUGHING laughing and you're just like "oh, you bastard, you got me! >u< more drinks, yay!"

I like the idea that Reader wakes up the next morning STILL in compete ignorance but uh, eventually you find out exactly how terrifying having someone else own your soul is when Alastor gives you some sort of command of something you REALLY do not want to do and you can't even control your own body to stop yourself from doing it anyways. Just the... violations of privacy, the loss of autonomy. He can force every thought and secret out of your mouth, your head, and move your body to the best of its abilities, and also just, PLUCK you to his location at will

So. Lucifer finds you just absolutely BROKEN in bed, like emotionally devastated, you are as close to suicidal as you can be for someone who cannot die, and, maybe you've even self-harmed. And after some gentle prodding from the Devil, you reveal what Alastor did, but, even more than that, how it made you FEEL. Alastor had approached you as some kind of friend, then started to want to exert some kind of ... control over you, commenting on your lifestyle choices, wanting you to do things with him in HIS way, and then when you resisted, he acted like you were a disappointment, even stopped spending time with you, and THEN, after you thought he was done with you, TRICKS YOU into giving him YOUR SOUL. It's just completely destroyed your psyche. It's reinforced horrible things you've thought about yourself your entire life. It made you feel alone, and now, you don't even have your soul anymore

So naturally Lucifer is like, "That's horrible! I'm so sorry he hurt you like that, I won't let him do this!" AND JUST FUCKING UNDOES IT. Contract WHAT? Radio Demon WHO? this is HELL and Lucifer is, you know, THE DEVIL FROM UH, THE BIBLE, and he's just snapping his fingers and you FEEL your soul come back to you and now you're breaking down crying for entirely different reasons while Lucifer holds you

MEANWHILE ALASTOR, who is fucking off elsewhere, may or may not be lovingly gazing at whatever form your soul is taking within his grasp, HAS IT RIPPED AWAY FROM HIM AND STARTS LOSING HIS MIND. Some "Wait, what just happened? Ffffuck." shit for real, he's, abruptly jerking out of his chair so hard it's sliding across the floor and he's racing back to the Hotel. Charlie stands up for him and shouts down her father that he has no right to ask the Radio Demon to leave, but, Charlie "attempts" to give Alastor "a stern talking to" about how "friends don't take other friend's souls, taking other people's souls is not how we get into Heaven" which, of course, falls on deaf ears, but Charlie isn't the Morningstar Alastor is wanting to concern himself with

And of course, there's Lucifer, making sure he's standing close to you, maybe even between you and Alastor, standing in front of you protectively, MAYBE EVEN HOLDING YOUR HAND TO COMFORT YOU. Alastor just immediately putting two and two together what happened and all but grinding his teeth into dust. Not only has Lucifer interfered and taken something IRREPLACEABLE from him(which was something he took from YOU lol), but, Lucifer has driven a wedge between you ans the Radio Demon. Alastor is watching you regard him with nothing but anger and sadness and fear while clinging to the tiny fallen angel and just, ohhhh, if looks could kill, the staredown these two are having with each other over you...

You've got one yandere who had your soul within his hands and had it taken back before he even got to enjoy having it, didn't get to DO anything with it, and another yandere who, quite understandably, feels that it isn't safe to let you leave from under his protective wing, and BOTH of them are convinced you have to be protected from the other while ALSO being super powerful

You know, the perfect combination of dangerous abilities and dangerous minds :) obviously our favorite Appletini is the more powerful one, but I think our Bambi could give him a good run for his money through sheer trickery alone. If you thought it was annoying getting pulled into antagonistic musicals BEFORE--

#yandere x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #Lucifer x reader #hh #sinprompts #yandere stuff

[gawkingatyourface]

Set in Motion | preview

summary: back in the 1930s, a certain waitress was barely making a living. She went to a popular club that one of her friends owned, Mimzy. That night changed everything. She caught someone's eyes. A familiar radio host that was intrigued by the second. What would happen when this waitress and radio host meet?

characters: human!Alastor x waitress!fem!reader

warnings: gore, angst, romance, swearing, mentions of death and murder, kidnapping, yandere

notes: hi loves :3 this is a new story I'll be working on once I'm done with Sweetest Tail. hehe so excited for this! But I don't want to work on so many ideas all at once lol I'll burn myself up xD so decided to give you guys a little preview about this story. Exciting news, I'll be posting the new chapter of Sweetest Tail this weekend so keep a look out for that! Enjoy loves! <3

"[Y/N]! Sweet Pea! You finally made it!"

Hearing a familiar voice, [Y/N] had turned away from chatting with the bartender as she noticed Mimzy walking towards her with a wave and big smile.

"Mimzy, darling! After your countless times coming to the café demanding me to come and see you perform. Kinda forced me didn't cha?" [Y/N] teased her playfully before taking a sip of her glass.

"Aw sweet pea! You wound me!" She faked her tears before laughing and giving [Y/N] a side hug before sitting beside her. "How you enjoying my club? You like it?"

[Y/N] nodded in agreement. It surely was the most popular place in town. Yet, that wasn't what caught her attention. The place was surely had an ease environment. Calm and very jazzy in her eyes.

But something else caught her eye.

A certain person that was clearly popular judging from the crowd that was surrounding them.

Mimzy noticed her attention somewhere or rather someone. She had turned around to see what caught her friend's attention. Once she found it, she smirked at the realization.

"Ohh..I see someone has caught your eye Sweet Pea."

[Y/N] hardly heard her as her eyes was glued to a certain someone. He was surrounded by women and men. All with smiles and laughter. She couldn't help but be awe at his smile. It was the most beautiful one she's ever seen.

"Um..Sweetie? Don't tell me you've fallen in love with him already." Mimzy commented with a laugh.

That broke [Y/N]'s trance of the mysterious man as she turned to Mimzy whom was still laughing at her. She hid her face in embarrassment that she had been staring too much at him. She gulped her whole glass as she looked at the bartender for another drink whom nodded at her.

"Don't be silly, Mimz. You know I don't do relationships."

"That's what everyone says Sweetie. But once they meet that certain someone, BOOM! They are suddenly fools in love!" Mimzy said as she took another sip of her glass. "If you must know, that's Alastor. The famous radio host and obviously everyone wants a piece of him."

[Y/N] was shocked to realize that it was actually him. The famous Alastor, the radio host that got so popular. She knew from hearing his radio station that his voice was so mesmerizing and alluring to everyone especially hers, but now she actually saw him. Saw what made everyone love him. She would be lying if she said that she didn't find him attractive. He clearly was.

"I'm not like that Mimz. You know that. I can see why everyone is so smitten about him. I'm surprised you haven't."

"Oh no sweet pea. He's just an old friend of mine. Nothing more. He's a doll but not my type, you know that."

"I do." [Y/N] let out a laugh which caused Mimzy to laugh with her.

"Well, it's almost time for my performance. Cheer for me would you sweetie." Mimzy said as she stood up, fixing her hair.

"Don't I always Mimz. Have fun up there."

"I sure will. I'll come over afterwards sweetie."

After that, Mimzy walked backstage to get ready for her performance, leaving [Y/N] alone at the bar. She sighed as she glanced back at Alastor whom was still surrounded by even more people. She was so lost in thought that the bartender placed a new glass in front of her which caused her to jump slightly.

"Apologizes dear."

"Oh no, I apologize. Got lost in my thoughts once again." She said with a nervous chuckle as she took a sip of the new glass.

The bartender nodded as he was cleaning some glasses, keeping the conversation going about who knows what.

[Y/N] smiled at him as he was making her laugh from his corny jokes. It distracted her until Mimzy's performance. After that, she would call it a night since she did have work in the morning.

As she kept her attention at the bartender, she didn't realize a pair of eyes on her.

Those pair of eyes had been on her ever since she walked in the club. Alastor had been in the club for quite a while. After his radio show, he would come here to socialize here and there. Sometimes to find some fresh meat for dinner. Most of the time, it was to see his old friend Mimzy and her performance.

But today was different.

He caught a sight of [Y/N].

Once he noticed Mimzy walking towards her and giving her a hug; he grew curious about her. Who was she? How did she know Mimzy? Is she new in town?

So many questions about her that he needed answers.

He had never seen her before especially in Mimzy's club since he is always here. He kept the people around him entertained by the stories that he would report in his radio show while keeping his eyes on her. He wanted nothing more to leave everyone behind and march up to her, introduce himself and hoping to get her name.

His grip on the glass tighten as he noticed one of the ladies getting a bit too close to him, touching his arm which he didn't like. He wasn't too fond of touch from strangers. It irked him. He only allowed certain people to touch him. He quickly pulled her hand away from him with a smile before pretending to pay attention to one of the men that was telling a rumor going around town.

But the other reason why his glass was so close to breaking was because the sight of her and the bartender sicken him.

The way he was making her laugh. The way they both were looking at each other.

He didn't like it one bit. He needed to go to her quick.

Before he could make his escape, the lights dimmed and the stage lights came on revealing Mimzy.

It was time for her performance.

It was a perfect time. He would be able to escape and head towards her.

As Mimzy's performance started, he would always watch her being her usual self. She was always such a grand performer. He'd give her that but tonight, he was distracted by a beauty that was sitting by herself at the bar. He glanced to see her smiling at Mimzy whom was so lost in her performance as claps and whistles were heard all over. He watched as how she clapped throughout Mimzy's performance. She looked so happy as she watched her friend's performance.

That made him smile.

He wondered if she would smile at him as she watched him on his radio studio. Smiling as he hosted his radio show. He could just imagine her being there with him, supporting him, inspiring him. Just the thought gave him goosebumps.

He broke the sight of her as he turned back to see Mimzy had finished her performance.

Everyone stood up and clapped for her. Such an astonishing performance like usual. He smiled at his friend and clapped for her performance. He looked back to see his mysterious darling but his smile faded as she was gone. He stopped clapping as he looked everywhere for her. She was no where to be found. He walked towards the bar and looked around to see if she was nearby, but nothing.

She was gone.

"You need anything sir?"

Alastor looked at the bartender with a frown on his face for a second before flashing him a smile.

"I'm looking for the lady that was sitting here just minutes ago."

"Ah yes, you just missed her. She just walked out in a hurry."

His eyes widen and nodded at the bartender as he ran out, not listening to people calling for him. He didn't care about them. He needed to see her. Needed to hear her name, her voice. He ran outside in the cool weather as he looked around for any sight of her.

None.

He ran a hand thru his hair as he ran to the corner to see if he could catch up to her somehow but luck wasn't on his side.

She was gone. Gone of his sight.

He couldn't believe it. He had just seen her a few minutes ago and now it was like she disappeared out of thin air. He let out a deep sigh as he leaned back against the wall. He looked up at the dark sky, stars shining brightly. His lips curved into a smile as he watched the sky.

"I hope I see you again darling. My sweet darling…"

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #human!alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin imagines #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x you

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

Would you mind sharing your planning process of the comic? I'm starting to brainstorm a fiction idea and right now the ideas are very messy and I wanted to know if you could show how you plan what happens on a season and on an episode, maybe with an example of a season episode you already published, so I can learn how to organize myself?

I really, REALLY appreciate you coming to ask me for help with this. It's awesome to hear that you respect my writing enough to seek me out as an authority on such things, or at least enough to ask for advice.

But I'm gonna be real with you - what you're asking for is not a quick slapdash reply that I can whip up in my free time. What you're asking for is an hour long video essay (with examples) on the level of an educational creative writing online course.

And I--I don't know if I have it in me to do that right now. Not with everything else I'm trying to do. (Sorry.)

BUT.

What I can give you instead is a basic rundown, and maybe some recommendations for where to this stuff.

To be absolutely brief: For me, the best way to visualize how I plan would be to make a flowchart.

Keep in mind that....... I don't ever actually.......MAKE. A flowchart.

Mostly, I am just using this as a visual representation of how my ideas flow from and to each other in a coherent way. The reality is that this skill is something you have to develop until it becomes second nature.

As an example, let's take the episode(s) where I introduced Seaglass.

This little arc was planned in season 3, but really started to come into play in Season 4.

To make it happen, I started with the obvious main idea: SEAGLASS.

I then broke it down into multiple smaller ideas:

If you notice, the main plot of this doesn't even start when the Seaglass exposition does. Steven makes Seaglass back in season 3, but doesn't know about it. But these ideas are still important to acknowledge as being a part of the main plot.

I then fill in MORE space between these larger ideas.

This whole set of steps is just a logical progression of me playing 'how do we get there'. I make up plot points and say 'what happens to get from A to B?'

And keep in mind - this may seem kinda obvious. That's because... it should be! But that's how the planning happens.

Realistically, it's just a bunch of asking myself questions. The same exact questions I refuse to answer in asks.

"What happens next? What would happen if....?" "Why doesn't Steven know about ....?"

"How would Steven find Seaglass if he doesn't know she exists?"

Well she's small and green, kinda like Peridot. So he goes looking for Peridot and mistakes Seaglass for her.

BAM! You've got yourself a plot point. That's a plan, baybee!

And then just kinda rinse and repeat.

And eventually, you want to make sure that you have some sort of connection back to the main plot point. In this case, it's the realization that Steven CREATED LIFE.

Again, I want to stress - I don't actually........plan.... by writing this down.

I do this process in my head. Often, multiple times per chapter, writing and editing to make it make more and more sense. The important part is about asking yourself questions. The same questions your readers should be asking.

"Why is this character doing this?" "Why is this event happening NOW?" "How will A find out when they realize what B has done?" "What is the BEST time for B to find out...? What is the WORST time?"

All of this takes imagination. It isn't about organization. It's moreso about learning to tetris plot events into their most snug spaces. It's about thinking of events as a staircase, which eventually leads to a larger staircase of plot arcs.

And as a final note, I will say that someday, when I'm less busy, I may make a video about plot. But it will take more time and effort, and for now, please just watch videos by other creators! I'm sure they're just as good at it as I am.

#chekhov answers #plot

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Remember me as small (I fear I've swallowed the sun whole)

comfort came against my will - series masterlist here

pairing: mentioned dick grayson x reader, platonic bruce wayne x reader

length: 900

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: bruce is a sort of father figure to reader, reader kind of has a meltdown, dick is idk downstairs partying while this happens

a/n: soft launching Good Dad Bruce Wayne here before I let y'all have the bruce wayne verse, I think it's nice to read it isn't always easy before this but it's unnecessary

You're standing in Bruce's study when he finds you, drink in one hand while the other stays wrapped around your own waist - like a child clinging to their parent, except the only person you had to cling to was yourself. You don't move when he approaches, quietly closing the door behind him and coming to stand next to you, eyeing where the joint contract of your company's new deal with Wayne Industries sits framed on his wall amongst his various other professional achievements. 

"Have I made enough of myself?" you ask quietly, and the tone of your voice sends warnings through Bruce's head. He's heard you like that before - small and scared and tired. Unsure. And you never let yourself be seen as unsure. But he'd seen it a few times, many years ago when he'd first met you, a lost child with your hackles raised too high to let him help you. He didn't like hearing that voice coming from you, especially not now when you were here in his home - somewhere where you should be safe and happy.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" he prompts gently, tenderly pulling your drink out of your hands and setting it on a nearby table. You look at him with wide, watery eyes and his heart clenches.

"Have I done enough?" you whisper, as if speaking any louder would tear holes in the blanket you've pulled over your emotions. "I'm not small anymore, right? Not like I was. I… I'm bigger now. I'm good now. I grew into something good, right? I made… I made something of myself… didn't I?"

"If you made any more of yourself, sweetheart, you'd outgrow the sun," he whispers back as he takes one of your hands in both of his, flipping it so that your palm is facing up and he can smooth over the tension under your skin with gentle thumbs and soft pressure. 

"Do you remember when I was small?" you ask tentatively, keeping your eyes trained on your joined hands while he keeps his own trained on you.

"Yes," he says easily, squeezing your hand in acknowledgement. I'm here, it meant. I'm here and I remember you. "Although you were hardly small, even then. Your heart was so big, you just needed time to grow into it."

"Did I grow up well?" your voice wavers and Bruce pulls you closer to him by your joined hands before placing your palm on his chest over his heart. I'm here. I'm here and I'm real and I remember you. He hopes you can feel that through the beating of his heart.

"You grew up perfectly," he says, conviction clear in his voice. "And I couldn't be more proud." You make a small, wounded sort of sound at that and your breath hitches in a way he knows means you're about to cry. He begins to move to pull you into him but pauses when you brace yourself on your own two feet, determinedly steadying yourself on your own against the tidal wave of your emotions.

"Bruce?" you ask. He hums in response.

"I want to go back to being small." That throws him. Of all the confessions that could have passed your lips, that wasn't one he was expecting. The tears that begin to stream down your face, at least, he's prepared for. "I want to be small again, I - I want to go back to when I was small and you offered to love me and take me in and - and I want to say yes this time." You're really crying now, hot tears streaking your cheeks and your chest heaving. "I should've let you when you offered and it's too late and I just - I want to go back to when I could've been loved because I can do it right this time I can say yes I -"

Bruce stops you then, finally, shushing you gently (but firmly, in that authoritative, fatherly way that he does) and pulls you closer to him so that you can bury your face in his chest and sob into the fabric of his dress shirt. He holds you like that for a good long while, doing his best to soothe you despite the worry that knots in his stomach. This isn't like you, he thinks. He doesn't like seeing you collapse like this. A part of him, though, although guilty, is almost relieved - pleased that you've turned to him instead of managing it on your own. As much as he hates to see you cry, he would always rather be there than turn away from you.

"Listen to me very closely, sweetheart," he says gently, once your sobs have quieted and calmed down to little sniffs and hiccups. You pull away to look at him. "It's not too late," he promises. "You're always home here - always. And I'll always be here. And… and I do love you. I've never been the best at showing it. I'm sure - I'm sure Dick's told you enough about that." You huffed out a laugh.

"Yea, uh, he's mentioned it."

"Yea," Bruce says, shifting his weight. "But, I do love you, and you're just as much my child as the others. I'm sorry I… I'm sorry I didn't realize you needed to hear that sooner. I'm sorry I didn't help more. I thought that maybe letting you keep yourself upright was the best thing to do. I didn't want to push, I - I was so afraid of pushing you away. But I never, ever, wanted you to feel unloved. You're home here, I promise."

#smsn.writes #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x you #nightwing #nightwing x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x you #good dad bruce wayne #batman #batman x reader

[ahgasegotarmy116]

I Did it for You | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You love your children but they will always be the reminder... Pairing: fem!reader x Father in Law Jungkook Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: Yädere, suggestive and explicit language, reminders of infidelity. a/n: Okayyy here's the epilogue of the original story Do it for Him and Part two Do it for Us requested by the lovely @coralmusicblaze I hope you all enjoy the ending and thank you thank you thank you for all the love!

6 years later...

"Baby slow down!" I yell after my daughter, scared she'll hurt herself. "It's okay, she'll learn" my husband says coming up behind me wrapping one of his arms around my waist while we watch our daughter play with the family dog. "I know, but I hate watching her cry. I just wish I could protect her from everything and everyone" I say turning around to look up at him but catch his father watching our interaction from across the yard first before quickly doing what I had intended. 

"I know, I do too" he says brushing the hair off of my forehead and placing a feather light kiss on it, holding both sides of my face and pulling away to look deep into my eyes. "Are you okay? You seem a bit more on edge today. Is it the baby?" he questions, hand gently caressing my stomach, now just starting to show. "Maybe but don't worry, I'm not in any pain" I say giving him a soft smile. "You better take better care of your mommy sir" he says now leaning down, eye level with my little bump. 

"Honey please, they'll start staring" I say feeling flustered with his actions and urging him to stand up. "So what? I'm trying to discipline my son" he says with a fake angry face making me laugh out loud. "I just want you to be okay. After the beautiful daughter you've given me I couldn't imagine being more in love with you. And now, your body is going through it all over again to give us a son. I just want you to know how incredible you are, and how much you mean to me" he says and I break eye contact, feeling that same wave of guilt wash over me as it does time and time again. 

"You mean the world to me" I say after I look away for a second, now gazing into his eyes again with mine glossing over, overcome with the devastation I feel for my past actions. "Baby are you okay?" he says, face now full of concern. "It's okay I'm fine, it's probably just these damn hormones. I'm going to go freshen up inside" I say giving him a quick kiss and making my way back into the house to take a second to collect myself. 

Once inside I find myself being pulled aside instead, away from prying eyes, looking up to see the one man that I wish I could never see again. "Are you okay Pretty? I saw that you were crying out there" he says brushing the hair out of my face, just like my husband had done moments before.

"I'm fine" I say pulling back out of his grasp and making moves to leave but he grabs me by my wrist and pulls me back to him, to which I decide to surrender, knowing thats there's not much he could do to me in this setting even if he wanted to. 

"How are you liking the party? I wanted to make sure that our daughter has an amazing 5th birthday". "My daughter" I spit out at him, throwing up my defenses immediately, not having the desire nor the patience to deal with this today.

"Our daughter. Or would you rather me tell my son that she's actually mine?" he threatens, raising a brow at me. I take a deep breath conceding to the one request he always has, referring to her as 'our' daughter in private. "The party is fine. She loves it and that's all that matters to me. Now if you'll excuse me" I say trying to leave but being pulled back once more. 

"How is our son doing?" he questions, caressing my bump in a more provocative way than my husband had just done. "He's fine" I say grabbing his wrist and shoving it off of me and thankfully he keeps his hands to himself this time. "Is he healthy? Have you been taking care of yourself?" he questions as if he actually cares. "I told you he's fine and my wellbeing is none of your concern, it's my husband's" I say finally walking away, with him giving up on talking to me any further. 

I had hoped to avoid him at all costs today but unfortunately he always wants to speak to me, and takes every chance he can to do so. As if my children are not enough of a reminder of my infidelity, he decides I need to always have it thrown in my face since, to my knowledge we are the only ones that know, and I need to keep it that way. I can't lose him, I can't lose my husband. I know day in and day out I'm digging myself deeper and deeper into this mess, him unknowingly raising his sister, thinking she's our daughter and soon will raise his brother the same way. 

Every time she calls my husband dad or daddy I feel my heart break for her. If only she knew what a horrible man her true father is. The one I let manipulate me into having her and doing it all over again, guilting me into trying for a son so we can properly 'continue the family line' even though nothing about this could ever be described as proper. If I could turn back time I never would have called him back, or told him he could come over to 'talk' or play into his twisted games.

I wish I would've been stronger, more sound of mind. But I was vulnerable, and he took advantage of that. The thought of never being able to have children with the man I love breaking my heart, the disappointment on his face when all of the tests came back negative, the stress his family had placed on his shoulder.

If I could take that away from him I would, but not like this. I would've waited for the doctor, I would've waited to get more than a few months worth of treatment and tried time and time again instead of living this lie. 

"Mommy! Mommy! Look what grandpa got me!" my little one calls out to me, her eyes twinkling with her own little galaxy shining through them. I wish they brought me joy, I really truly wish they did, but they remind me of her father. "Yes baby? What did he get you?" I say when she grabs my hand, dragging me along to the garage to show me the pink and purple big wheel bike. Her favorite colors...

"What do you say sweetie?" I say smiling down at her, doing my best to act accordingly when she's around. "Thank you grandpa Jeon!" she says and sits down, twisting and turning the handle bars. "Of course love. After all, I did it for you" he says, looking down at her lovingly before bringing his vision back to me, giving me a disgusting knowing smile that makes my stomach twist and turn, leaving me swallowing down the bile that I can feel rising in my throat. 

"Baby are you alright?" I hear my husband say after entering the garage, rushing over to me, steading me on my feet. "I- yes I'm fine" I say clearing my throat, trying to cover how faint I started to feel. "No you're not, come on we're going back inside" he says lovingly, not believing the brave act I had tried to put on, holding my hand and wrapping his arm around me, taking a few steps to make our way back inside.   

"Daddy! Look look!" our daughter squeals in excitement when she see him. "Wow baby that's so cool!" he says giving her a bright smile, trying not to brush her off while also tending to me. "Daddy can you come and watch me ride it?" she asks hoping to keep him here.

"It's okay honey I'm here, I'll watch you. He's gotta go take care of Mommy, he'll come watch you later" My father in law says. "Oh okay. Mommy are you okay?" she asks with her doe eyes, showing concern and confusion. "Yes baby don't worry I'll be fine. Go play with Grandpa okay? We'll be back later" I say and give him one last glare, daring him to 'slip up' in front of her. 

"Okay Mommy, feel better" she says before turning back in her seat, waiting patiently for the okay to start peddling down the driveway. "Yeah, take care of yourself and our little baby boy on the way" he says giving us a genuine smile for my husbands sake, making me falter again, hating that again he's reminded me who my children belong to.

"Come on Darling we're already half way there, let me take care of you" my husband says and I gag, my body jolting forward with the sheer force of it, gaining the strongest flashbacks of the time his father had told me that. The night I broke our vows...

The End.

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[stevelieber]

Thoughts on giving critiques to comics artists.

Seeing lots of discussion from students about sour experiences with an unhelpful art teacher, so here's a long, long post about giving critiques.

NB: I have no formal training as a teacher, but I was a student, and I've spent decades giving artists feedback on their work.

When someone brings me a portfolio, I like to establish my limitations & clarify my perspective. My work is firmly rooted in traditional US comics storytelling (i.e., not manga or art-comics.) I can give feedback on other approaches but they should know where I’m coming from.

“We've only got a little time for this, so I'm going to spend that time focusing on things to correct. That doesn't mean you're doing everything wrong, or that there’s nothing good here, but it’ll be more helpful if I identify some problems and show you how to fix them.”

Why? Because for many young artists their entire sense of self worth is wrapped up in being good at what they do. (It was for me!) In school they were probably the best artist in their peer group. But now if they're hoping to turn pro, they’re at the bottom.

Sometimes you know what’s up when you see page 1, but try to keep an open mind. Some build their portfolios by sticking new pages at the back & don’t weed out the old stuff up front, so the work gets better as you go. When it’s like that I ask: “Show me your best 8 pages.”

I ask questions: "What's the goal? Do you want to be hired to work on someone else's project, or to get the story you're showing me here published?"

If 1, I steer towards a portfolio that'll showcase hirable skills. If 2, I look for what tweaks will make that particular story more effective.

"Do you have teachers giving you regular feedback? What are they telling you?" Sometimes a student is getting bad advice. In cases like that, I'll do my best to be extra clear WHY I'm giving them advice that's 180 degrees from what they've been hearing.

“What artists are you looking at? Is there someone you admire or try to emulate?” This often helps me understand choices they're making, and I can sometimes incorporate things those artists do into my suggestions.

I ask myself questions about what I’m seeing. First: Is there a narrative? If not, I make it 100% clear I'm not speaking as any sort of expert. I'm good at critiquing storytelling, but don't have anywhere near as much to offer illustrators or designers.

Can I follow the story? Or am I confused about what's going on? Are the characters and settings drawn consistently? If not, is the artist at least making use of tags (distinctive clothing, hair etc.) to keep the characters recognizable?

Does the artist demonstrate a good command of basic academic drawing? If not, Do I think they need it? Do I focus on "how to draw" or on "what to do when you can't draw?" Is the artist putting the viewer’s eye where it needs to be to tell the story effectively?

(At this point I’m usually doing little doodles to go with my instructions. I scribble out ugly little 5 second diagrams that I hope will clarify what I’m talking about. Or they might make me seem demented. Hard to say!)

Is the artist making choices that are creating more work than necessary? Is there a particular weakness? I once spoke to an artist with a portfolio full of great work when he was drawing animals and monsters, but his humans were amateurish in comparison. I spent that critique talking about drawing people.

A crit can be a grab bag. In addition to big-picture advice, I'll point out tangencies, violations of the 180-degree rule, wonky anatomy, weird perspective, places where the artist neglected to do important research, odd choices in how they spotted black, whatever catches my eye.

I also try to make a point of defining the terms, so that jargon like “tangency,” “180-degree rule,” and “spotting black” don't go over their heads. Find simple, concrete ways to talk about these things, & clarify why it's a problem when they aren't done correctly. Draw diagrams!

Recognize that even a perfectly phrased explanation might not sink in. Some lessons can only be learned when a student is ready, and it might take a year or two of work before they can understand what you were saying. It's good to plant seeds.

Are there other artists who are particularly good at solving the problems the student is trying to solve? I steer them towards that artist's work. And I always recommend life drawing & the use of reference to give work variety and authority.

Despite what I said earlier about focusing on what's wrong, I try at the end to find something encouraging to say. And if I’ve really piled on the criticism, I emphasize that I only spent the time and energy to do so because I take their efforts seriously.

If I've done my job right, they'll leave my table with tools to make their work better. And maybe in a few years they'll be looking at some younger artist's work, surprised to discover just how much you can learn when you're asked to teach.

#comics #protips #my work #comic book art #essays #teaching

[lvrsparadise]

matt doing ur makeup✊

'PRETTY GIRL' - M.S

synopsis - "you're so pretty. my pretty girl."

warnings! - kissing, fluff, i think one or two curse words, relatively short :)

A/N - i love matt sm it's not even funny atp. i was listening to melting by kali uchis when i started this, it worked so fkn well. anyways, i'm obsessed with my new theme 🤩

"Stop moving!" Matt giggles out as he chases my eye with the makeup brush, which is covered in glitter.

"No! That is so much fucking glitter Matt!" I try to wiggle out of his grip, but it's no use as he grabs the back of my head, effectively making me stop moving, the brush coming in contact with my eyelid.

I close my eyes to keep any glitter from getting in my eyes.

"See? There, looks beautiful!" He does my other eye before I hear the brush being set down on my vanity.

I open my eyes and look at the light purple glitter on my eyelids.

"You know, this is actually pretty good." I check myself out in the mirror a bit, watching the glitter shine in the dim light of my room.

"I told you." He's grinning like a madman.

"You almost perfectly replicated my normal makeup." I smile at him through the mirror.

"Now, last but not least, lipstick!" He shifts through my lipsticks and stuff before pulling out a dark red lipstick I wore on our 2 year anniversary.

"I remember this one! I really liked it." He turns back to me, grabbing the side of my face, tilting my head up.

I part my lips and just inspect his face as he applies the lipstick. The pure concentration.

"Annnnd, all done!" He recaps the lipstick, putting it away before standing behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

I check myself out in the mirror again, inspecting the finished look. It really is an almost uncanny look of my normal makeup. Just with a bit of Matt-ness.

"It's perfect." I look into his eyes through the mirror and grin.

"I know."

I stand up from the stool and hug Matt, my arms going around his neck and his around my waist.

"Gosh, you're just so damn pretty."

I giggle and pull my head back, kissing him, all over his face, leaving behind lipstick marks before kissing his lips.

"You look pretty too." I grin back at him and kiss him one more time.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his hands moving to my hips, gripping them tightly as he does so.

"You're so pretty. My pretty girl." I feel him smile against my lips and I smile too.

After we pull back from the hug, he pulls his phone out, opening tiktok.

"What're you doing?" I furrow my brows and watch as he sits on my bed, finding an audio before pressing record, a goofy smile on his face as he lip-syncs the lyrics.

"Showing off my girlfriends artwork." He stands up from my bed, kissing me again, earning a laugh from me.

"Hang on." I pull out my own phone, doing the same he did, recording a video of his artwork.

"I did do a good job on your makeup didn't I?" He places his hands on his hips, that same grin on his face.

"I would've wiped it off already of you didn't." I giggle and kiss his cheek again.

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

Tags ! ✮

@dwntwn-strnlo ✮ @ssturniolo ✮ @strniolo ✮ @20nugs ✮ @prettysturniolo ✮ @mxqdii ✮ @thetriplets3 ✮ @slaysturniolo ✮ @gwenlore ✮ @opheliaofficial07 ✮ @gabbylovesreading ✮

If you want to be added to the list, all you have to do is ask ! ✮

I love you all !

And I hope you all have a good day and / or night ✮

#l writes! #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine

[angeart]

Tips for not getting stressed out from writing, coming to you live from someone who has done this for 18 years and got a degree in it:

- remember that you write for fun. This is the big one. You write because on some level you enjoy it. Sometimes you gotta lasso that abd reel it into your heart and hold it there so it stays.

- keep compliments close at hand. And i do mean this literally. I print out AO3 comments and friends compliments and keep them in a jar to pull them out at random when I need a little brain boost. I keep a folder of screenshots of nice things people have said on my pc.

- accept that not every day is going to work out. Even the best authors have days where the words wont work, days where they wont flow at all. Its okay to take a step back and not worry about it. Refer to my first tip: youre doing this for fun, you dont have to force yourself

- get silly with it. If youre really having a day where you want to write and its not working and its frustrating you but you cant put it down it is TIME for the sillies. Set a tiner. 5, 10 minutes. Write whatever comes to your brain. Fully turn your editor off. I get sentences like "And the doh turned blue and whacked rhe tennis ball with its tail into the bridge". Utter nonsense. It helps to get the wiggles out

- handwriting can also be helpful. I keep several journals, and glitter pens, and fun markers - sometimes doing the task physically instead of digitally helps to get the wriggles out.

- sometimes you have to accept an idea is not working. It takes experience to figure out when this is, but youll get there. Come at ideas from different angles, back out entirely and rewrite older scenes to make new scenes work.

I hope these help you!!!

thankyouuu for sharing these!!! <3

it's true that the positive comments are always a great motivation. maybe i need to start a collection for myself. indulge a little. (shut up the eternally dissatisfied part of my brain-)

i'm honestly struggling to find a balance between knowing i write for fun, and the pressure of it. (they're happening simultaneously, sometimes seemingly too closely intertwined.) but maybe one has more weight than the other, and i have to realise that only one of those should really hold any priority.

i'm very tired now, but i'll be rereading all these again later and letting them settle in gently. thank youu

#ange answers #writing tips #for staying safe and sane

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((

Past (xii) - Finnick

[ 21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he hasn’t slept for the past two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now, he glances to his left, the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that has been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he has to write you a letter, but the thought fills him with a sense of despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like…there’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced. 

What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he will...he will do nothing.

It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?

He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

No, he realizes, it doesn’t.

He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.

Dear Finn,

I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you. 

I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.

Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch. 

I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.

Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul. 

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system. 

In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.

That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them. 

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other, because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’ . Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Maybe , he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow …It always comes back to Snow. 

Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned. 

He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.

Still. 

He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself. 

He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk. 

He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one. 

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.

Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders. He writes you goodbye. 

When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now. 

With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made. 

He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.

Past (xii) - You 

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to. 

You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause. 

The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it. 

My heart, 

My moon and stars. 

I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years. 

There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.

It pains me to think it, let alone write it. This will be my last letter to you. 

I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings. 

It ends here. 

I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me. 

But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto. 

Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours. 

I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you. 

Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you. 

I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you. 

I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing. 

There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper. 

I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself. 

I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.

But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit . Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.

And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two. 

Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be. I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you. 

God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.  

I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand and hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.  

We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.  

-Yours until words lose meaning,  

Finnick O.  

You reread the letter. Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together. 

It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't. 

But he’s ending it. He ended it . Why would he—? He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be. 

You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank. 

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know. 

The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.

He promised he'd stay with you, he promised , and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other. 

The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk. 

No . You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have? 

A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears. 

You look down at the paper and find wet spots, ink more smeared than it was before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?

Stupid. You wipe at your cheeks roughly—angrier at yourself than you are at him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. What it feels like to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it feels like to have your mind broken. 

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same. 

You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you. 

You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals. 

“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this on my own.”

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sitting rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs . Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected. 

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. Maybe if you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. You wanted to give him your heart, but not like this.

Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright. 

You scoff. 

You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?

He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them. 

You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway. 

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

Present (X) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee. 

The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles while nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.

“Finnick, I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”

He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…

He looks at the camera. There will be fourteen victors coming up to perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?

"My love, my star . My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen. Look how far we’ve fallen, Star. 

“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.” 

“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”

They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind , he scoffs. And as he settles on the raised platform beside her, he briefly squeezes her hand. 

You okay? He mouths and she nods with a smile. 

One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.

Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.  

He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.

From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and he realizes he’s missed something.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Maybe you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It has always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.

It wasn't your favorite thing to do, by far, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory. 

“You’re kind of putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.

And you play .

It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him. 

The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick—who holds his breath. 

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it. 

It sounds like a goodbye. 

You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

“That was marvelous , my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad. 

“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry. 

You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—

He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes. 

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.

"If it weren't for what? What?"

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating. 

“Call off the games!”

“This is cruel!”

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…that’s certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous. 

Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow leads them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now. 

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity. 

“Stop the games!”

“Call them off!”

Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.

Present (X) - You & Finnick

[23 & 24 ] - THE CAPITOL

“Star!”

It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.

”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “ The message was for you! ”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? God , it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy. 

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.

“What?” The lingering crowd fully parts for him as he approaches, and you regard the gathering audience warily. 

“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats. 

He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.

You look over to Chaff for some kind of help and he smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape. 

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes. 

"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, just look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach out to you, but hesitates. 

This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always just walk away, turn your back to him and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt. 

You don't owe him anything, let alone your time. 

And, yet. 

Maybe you can get some kind of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena—and that reasoning sounds weak even to you.

Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.

Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has. 

Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign. 

You pull him aside away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. You feel like a spectacle, with how front and center Finnick has made this, but when haven't you?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”

“I don’t care.”

“—There’s already so much…what?”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”

Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.

“Please, Star. Just…just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him. 

“Not here.” For a moment, he thinks he’s being rejected until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this. 

Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense. 

Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backward glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”

Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.

“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.

“What the hell is a baby shower—”

“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.

“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.

Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.

Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?

It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence. 

Present (X) - Finnick

[21 & 22] -  THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.” 

He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”

“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”

“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.

You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re just not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them…I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that. 

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down into a kneel before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his inspiration. 

You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.

“I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”

“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”

You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.

“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”

He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said—”

He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.

“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”

“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?” 

“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this ? What could have possibly been worth giving you up? 

“Snow he–he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you . I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”

You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off. 

"Star?"

You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you. 

“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and he’s been tired for even longer.

“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."

Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less. Long periods where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol…Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now .

"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking— God .” He stops and shakes his head. All of the lost time, the unnecessary pain. 

“Come sit down, Finn.”

Finn. 

He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.

It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make. 

“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”

Your head whips up.

“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express in words how good it feels to be seen.

"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”

“...You don’t?” 

“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just… couldn’t . I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”

His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless. 

“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved by the fact that you’re still facing him.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat. 

He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel . The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you. 

He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes. 

"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry ?"

He thought you both had changed, changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He had always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you were able to lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?

"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s more than a little hard to dissociate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s entirely unexpected and truly enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.

Far below them, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.

“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.

“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”

“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.” 

“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.

“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.

You hum, appraising the jewelry for a second before passing it to him. He can’t help but smile when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.

The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”

He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. 

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair to.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." He'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart if you let him.

“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”

“What was?”

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. Honestly, I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

“ Star .” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him and he grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”

You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.

A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY

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