#national peanut month

[sawthemusical]

You all know we're huge fans of peanut butter 😏 here at Saw The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody of Saw. So naturally, we have to pay tribute to the month of November - Thanks to the dear player who notified us of the...special status of this month.

#adam is a very happy camper #saw the musical #saw #musical theater #off broadway #national peanut butter month #horror #parody #comedy #musicals #live performance

[bemboob]

facts (?) i have learnt about etho

- lives in the middle of nowhere in snow

- his gaming setup is incredibly cursed

- these revelations about his setup confirm that he does in fact have at least 2 arms. unsure about legs.

- his headphones are cursed in ways i don’t want to think about. but this is Proof he does in fact have a head

- a kid recognised him from his voice

- he hates onions

- used to help with his parent’s plant nursery business before it closed

- helped a girl out of her car after an accident

- has multiple generators

- doesn’t have a phone 😭😭

- probably chops wood and digs ditches?

- he still uses double tap to sprint

- a plastic bag once got stuck under his car and got burnt and stunk his car up for months

- he gets a nosebleed when he drinks carbonated drinks

- he had a cat named snuggles or snuckles who kiLLED A DUCK

- he likes baked potato but it’s actually baked in the MICROWAVE. for 3 hours?????

- a moose once broke his fence

- a moose once bit his sister (?)

- he went camping in the rocky mountains and messed up his ankles

- he likes peanut butter on bananas but he dropped it once but ate it anyway

- he made fireworks in his garage when he was younger and burnt a hole in a table

- he got stopped in an airport for having a BB gun i think it was

- his stopped uploading videos during the olympics. i don’t think this is a coincidence. i believe he is in the national hockey team. i have no proof.

- he is ripped with a 6 pack??

- he didn’t get vaccinated for a while when he was a kid?????

- he can make a popping noise by sticking his pinky finger in his ear

- always wears socks but hates sandals. not sure about the verdict on socks + sandals

- he can rotate his feet over 180 degrees. i think someone said it was 300 degrees but the thought of that makes me uncomfortable

- he likes the colour Green

#hermitcraft #ethoslab #etho #mcyt #mcytblr #trafficblr #hermitcraft etho #i think i made some of these up #etho is a figment of my imagination #these came to me in a dream

[reasonsforhope]

"A clinical trial studying severe allergic reactions in the U.K. is being called “life-transforming.”

Five United Kingdom National Health Service (NHS) hospitals are participating in the £2.5 million ($3.2 million) trial to help patients live with their food allergies.

The study is being funded by the Natasha Allergy Research Foundation, Sky News reported. The foundation was formed in the memory of Natasha Ednan-Laperouse, who died in 2016 after eating a baguette that had sesame in it...

The trial is studying clinical oral immunotherapy treatments in which patients are given small doses of the food to which they are allergic to build up their tolerance. The food is given under medical supervision by trained staff, The Telegraph reported.

The study has 139 people participating who have allergies to peanuts or cow’s milk. They range in age from 2 to 23 years old, the BBC reported.

The Food Standards Agency said 2 million people in the U.K. have a diagnosed food allergy. In the U.S., about 5.5. million children have a food allergy, the National Institutes of Health reported.

One 11-year-old who was diagnosed with a severe peanut allergy when he was an infant can now eat six peanuts.

A 5-year-old with a milk allergy can drink 120 ml of milk every day and can enjoy a daily hot chocolate, the BBC reported.

“To have a patient who has had anaphylaxis [Note: Anaphylaxis is an allergic reaction so severe that it's potentially fatal without immediate treatment. It is very common with peanut allergies in particular. x] to 4mls of milk to then tolerate 90mls within six to eight months is nothing less than a miracle,” Sibel Donmez-Ajtai, a pediatric allergy consultant and principal investigator at Sheffield Children’s NHS Foundation Trust, said, according to Sky News.

The final results of the study are expected to be released in 2027.

Similar studies have been conducted in the U.S. To find one, visit FoodAllergy.org.

Earlier this year, the NIH released the findings of a study of an antibody treatment that would help children consume allergy triggers safely."

-via WHIO 7 Local News, May 8, 2024

#allergies #allergic reaction #anaphylaxis #epipen #peanut allergy #milk allergy #peanuts #milk #medical news #public health #immune system #immunology #united kingdom #good news #hope

[murderousink23]

03/01/2023 is National Nutrition Month 🌏, Baba Marta 🌱🇧🇬, Beer Day 🍺🇮🇸, National Day of Gratitude 🇰🇿, National Fruit Compote Day 🍓🇺🇲, National Horse Protection Day 🐎🇺🇲, National Peanut Butter Lovers Day 🥜🇺🇲, National Pig Day 🐖🇺🇲, Irish-American Heritage Month ☘🍀🇺🇲, Women's History Month 🚺🇺🇲, Self-injury Awareness Month 🇬🇧, Marie Curie Great Daffodil Appeal 👩‍🔬🇬🇧, St. David's Day 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

#national nutrition month #baba marta #beer day #national day of gratitude #national fruit compote day #national horse protection day #national peanut butter lovers day #national pig day #irish-american heritage month #women's history month #self-injury awareness month #marie curie great daffodil day #st. david's day

[betterbooktitles]

"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

Consider subscribing to the Screen Time newsletter.

Other articles include:

An essay on Claire Dederer's book Monsters and movies made by monsters.

Writing inside a Toyota Service Center.

Writing mistresses.

#writing #essay #essays #lit #literary #funny #lol #drugs #books #humor #reading #better book titles #dan wilbur #bibliophile #pot #d.a.r.e #just say no #comedy

[iznsfw]

Like a Feather From a Swan’s Broken Wing

LE SSERAFIM's Nakamura Kazuha x Male Reader Smut

7,468 words

Categories | agent!You, ballerina!Kazuha, cunnilingus, daddy kink, spanking, fingering, slight bondage

Masterlist | Mobile Masterlist | Commission me!

This is a commission in which I was given the task to write literally anything I wanted (thank you!)

“The art of pleasing is the art of deception.”

— Luc de Clapiers

-

The gun’s in a steady direction, only looking forward. It’s aimed at the dark, at wherever the partners of the man you��ve been hunting for months might hide. On the darker side, you wish that if there would be anyone coming out, it would be the man himself so you'd be able to shoot him. He's the source of more headaches than you could count and the one who keeps you up late at night, and never for a good reason.

It's the selfish part of you speaking. You shouldn't let that interfere with the operation. 

You're in uniform, wrapped head to toe in camouflage green. It feels heavy on your skin, but that doesn't stop your determination. You'll carry the weight of your uniform before you carry the burden that is him, who prolongs the operation, leaves your coffee powder short, and keeps the nation in distress.

Today, you'll catch him, once and for all.

Look around briefly. The night covers you completely, and hopefully doesn't cover the enemy, too. You only take a flashed look; quickness is a skill you once were unlearned in but developed later into the senior years of your profession.

Physical strength is another—the door meets the ground with a harsh thud after you kick it down. Training isn't easy by any means, but it's worth it. Hopefully this mission is the same as well.

Teamwork is a skill you learned, too, for like a flock of crows, you and the squad enter the warehouse. Altogether, they're shouting. They call for the victim (add an "s" for plural form, if necessary), telling her she's okay. Everything's going to be alright, they say, no need to worry.

However, they promise a much bloodier end for the kidnapper, who's probably lurking in the shadows.

"Come out now!" Yunjin shouts. She's frightening when she's angry; her brows are downturned and her fierce eyes are locked onto any movement. Hands on her gun, she's always prepared. "We're not going to ask again!"

"Scan the whole place," Sakura, your leader and chief, commands the rest of your team. The hate for the man glistens in her eyes; for her fierce predator looks, the team often dubs her as the cat of your group. "Don't leave one stone unturned."

The cramped warehouse is emptied out by the sounds of boots on the stairs. You take over the mission half and half: you, Sakura, and Yunjin on the first floor and Chaewon, Wonyoung, and Minju on the second. 

Your half of the team knocks over the boxes. They spill out packing peanuts and hints of drugs packed in Ziploc bags. Doors fly open and welcome you into empty darkness. Above you, you hear the newer ones in the squad yelling. It's an amateur habit, but maybe it would work. Maybe it would finally draw the criminals out to justice, and all of this would be over.

But, of course, when they run down the stairs with faces devoid of any recognition and your face mirroring theirs with disappointment, it's clear that this whole thing is far from its end. 

In fact, you're only at the beginning of a long, uncertain road. 

-

Thread twisted around pins lead to everywhere but the answer. You've been staring at the billboard for too long, trying to piece together the olden newspaper scraps and sticky notes, but there's nothing. Any signs of an answer bring you to nothing. Each path, strung by thread and yarn of colors signifying this and that, draws to a dead end.

If you don't work harder with your team, Bae Suzy would be dead, too. 

So why haven't you caught the abductor yet?

You and your team sit at the rounded table. They look solemn, and perhaps a little irritated. You can't blame them—the mission you thought would be the last became another one to the list of failed rescue operations. 

They're getting tired of this, and if it were any other case, they'd let go of it. But this is Bae Suzy you're talking about—she's famous, reputable, and intelligent. She's an accomplished actress, a loveable idol, and an excellent model. All of these make her the treasure of many high-class individuals who’d pay billions and fans who'd give their lives to have her back, so you have to go through. Whether you like it or not, that’s how the story goes.

Your boss, chief Miyawaki Sakura, crosses her arms sternly. High curved nose, straight-set lips, and eyes that never failed to scour through the team, she nods at you. It doesn't take a sign language translator to get what she means: start talking.

"The mission was aborted due to fallacies in translation and sources," you say. You're using your classic, signature neutral tone for meetings like this one. There's an edge to it today, though. No one dares to tell you about it. "One of our sources translated the location and transferred the information to us incorrectly, hence bringing us to another failed operation."

Your teammates nod. Sakura sighs, pinching her nose.

"Due to this," you continue, slapping down on the table a picture of Bae Suzy, in which she smiles charmingly and waves to a mass of reporters, "we must conduct further readings into the case to ensure that the information is accurate. For Bae Suzy, and for us."

Another series of nods from across the room. Most of them are half hearted.

"So, do any of you have a proposal as to where the kidnapper is now? And where he might have brought miss Bae?"

The quiet Kim Chaewon raises her hand. She used to be the one who brought and made the coffee, but after she helped you solve a cold case during her night shifts, you brought it upon yourself to let her join the team. She listened to the seminars well and was excellent in the training. She had potential, is what you're saying, so you're more than glad to hear from her side.

"I believe the kidnapper is a dancer. Maybe he’s brought her to a studio."

"That isn't relevant," says Sakura, venom in her voice. It’s wholly unintended for her to lash out at the new member of the squad, but her exhaustion is getting the better of her today. 

Chaewon blushes. "I believe it is, chief," she retorts timidly. "He left ballet shoes and leotards in the last operation. It might lead us to his location, especially if he's the sentimental type."

"And you say that after we ransacked an old man's warehouse? After he thought we were little shits playing soldiers and looking for some coke?"

“B-but the operation was your idea!”

"I launch all operations, honey," Sakura informs her, smiling with fake sweetness. "What do you do?"

"Sakura," you warn. Your words are tight. You don't have it in your soul to deal with her feistiness today. Any other day you would have let the bickering go on, but the failed mission has downed your spirits. 

Silence passes around the table. Wonyoung's looking around, waiting for someone to speak. Sakura's staring daggers into the flushed Chaewon. Minju and Yunjin are as quiet as they can be. 

Let the silence ferment with acknowledgement: "Thank you, Chaewon, for your input. Any other ideas?"

"I believe Chaewon is right,” Minju pipes up. “We received a letter from the suspect after the operation.”

You smile, both at the good news and the fact that Minju is, so far, the prettiest out of the squad, and doesn't have only a pretty face but the good wits to back it up, too. That's part of the reason why you love welcoming her point of view, but a letter sounds interesting. Probably even more interesting than getting close with Minju, a thought you entertained more than you should.

“Were there fingerprints?” you ask.

She hands you the letter, which is wrapped in an envelope with newspaper and magazine letters carefully pasted on its front. “No. He probably used gloves.”

You carefully rip the hood of the envelope upwards and pull out the folded paper. You then read it out loud:

"To the police, agents, and detective teams—

"You won't ever find me. I float through the crowds unseen. I glide through the lake of circumstance like a swan. I bring her along, and though she's a kitten scared of water, she's mine now. Forever.

"It would take years before you're even able to save your precious little Suzy. It might not even happen at all.

"For that reason, although I abhor you more than you'd think for you all are built on a system of lies and corruption, I offer you this clue:

"I have flown to other nations where my flock calls for me in our garden. Will you be able to shoot me down?

"Soar with me,

"The One Who Dances, A Flame Eternal."

It must have taken hours to cut out all those magazine letters. That's one thing you'll commend the abductor for.

"'The One Who Dances,'" says Wonyoung in awe. She realizes that Chaewon was right about him being a dancer. For someone as young and new to this side of the profession, it’s like watching a thing straight out of a thriller movie.

"'The One Who Dances,'" Sakura repeats, but in a more sarcastic tone than the interested girl. She scoffs. There's a smile on her face that’s amused despite the situation. "Boo, what a fucking nerd. Did he take up human sciences or something?"

"That's not relevant," you tell her, avenging Chaewon (and defending yourself, too, because you also studied human sciences. That's not fair. You aren't a nerd.)

"I’m telling you, those essays they make those kids do rot their brains. Oh, and shut the fuck up. This is why you aren't a team leader."

Choose to ignore her. "I… I just don't get it," you say hopelessly.

Your hair is thin between your fingers as you crawl your digits into it. They're tense, just like you are. You've been tight and stressed through the whole investigation process, in fact, because you've rolled through every possible location: a school, a secret hideout, an old building. None of them are occupied by the criminals. None of them have Bae Suzy.

"We're getting there," replies Yunjin softly. She pats your shoulder and looks at your billboard of pictures and clues, too. "We already know Suzy's being held captive. We just don't know where."

She's lying. That's what friends are for: to lie to make you feel better in situations where it's impossible to be. In that case, Yunjin’s an excellent friend because you're getting abso-fucking-lutely nowhere. It's been one failed rescue mission after another, and it doesn't seem like the next one would be successful either.

"That's the problem, Yunjin." Twirling the black ocean of coffee with a teaspoon, you point to a newspaper clipping thumbtacked to the west side of the board. "Last time, they said the kidnapper took her to the USA because she was seen at the airport."

You rise from your swivel chair to tug out a printed screenshot of the CCTV at said place, and raise it for everyone to see. It shows the timestamps and Bae Suzy looking scared as she stares into the crowds.

"But then she went back to Dutchland," Sakura adds. 

“Correct.” Take another grayscale photo where Bae Suzy waits unwillingly at the airport, and tap on the sign at the very front of the line she's in that says the name of the country. "The sources are just as confused as we are."

Yunjin's furrowed brow quirks. She picks up the folder and goes through it. The papers reflect in her black-rimmed glasses. "Why would she be in Dutchland?"

"Because," jab a thumb into the picture of Suzy again, "Dutchland means something to the kidnapper. He wouldn't have gone with Suzy there for nothing. It risks everything."

Dutchland is the main setting of the case, actually. Everything begins and ends there. Everything you know about the kidnapper lies in the note he addressed to the police, issued by Minju earlier.

Wait—

Pull out the kidnapper's letter again. It's impossible to mistake it for anything else even through the mess on the table when it's smoother than the other scratch papers. The identifying marks are your fingerprints from pen ink branded onto the thin piece of parchment.

Open it, rolling it out on the table like a mantle. It's a mantle of clues you run your finger on. Flown to other nations… soar with me… our garden… The One Who Dances…

Your breath catches in your throat. "Chaewon," you say, looking up at her, “you’re a fucking genius.”

-

One Leaf Academy is a rich, well-established school for aspiring ballerinas and professional dancers alike. There can't be any other the abductor was referring to. There's only one particularly famous ballet academy in Dutchland, and since he's mentioned that he was the one who danced, this was it. The "garden" mentioned in the letter helped map it down to one location.

It looks good even from bird's eye view. You can see it properly without the pane of a window standing in the way. When you’re part of the squad, flights aren’t taken on planes. Instead, you use helicopters, government-owned and government-approved. 

It took only two days for Dutchland to issue an agreement to let you through the borders. They love Bae Suzy, too, apparently. They love her so much that the process went by quickly and you weren’t even stressed about it. There’s more things to stress about later on, but there’s no use in lamenting the future when the present is already good as is.

The green helicopter lands in the forest behind the school. It camouflages among the leaves and trees, giving you the freedom to hop out of it as noisily as you’d like. 

Twigs and branches snap under your feet as you do, and you have to catch Sakura to stifle her trip.

She slaps your hands away and brushes down her dress, as if your touch ruined it. "Keep your fucking hands to yourself."

"You're welcome, Sakura," you say, shrugging.

"Can you two please stop fighting?" Wonyoung asks. Her delicate voice, irresistible even to the hardhearted Sakura, ceases the argument before it could continue.

Pull the ridiculous blazer they made you wear on and look at the team. "Everyone ready? You know your jobs?" you ask. 

"I'm the mother," says Sakura spitefully. She glares down at the gradient dress assigned to her. "I'll pretend to take pictures and talk to you through the phone."

"Who's the baby daddy?"

"For once, I beg, shut the fuck—"

"Guys," Wonyoung repeats with a more pleading voice. 

Sigh. The fight was on you and it's up to you to end it as well. So, turn to: "Wonyoung?"

"I stay behind and watch out for suspicious people," she replies, back to her usual bright but professional self. You hope she doesn't lose the shimmer in her eyes years down the road of being on the investigative team. You'd hate for her to go through what you had to deal with.

"Yunjin?" 

"First round of backup with Chaewon unnie." Yunjin taps the gun hidden in the loop of her jeans. 

"Minju?"

The girl blushes. "Look for Bae Suzy," she says in a small voice. She looks pointedly at you. "And you?"

"Find the abductor." Look down at your shoes and wonder if they'd ever experience a trip that isn't about work. "Put an end to everything."

Everything's been fleshed out already. There are backup plans of backup plans, earpieces hidden on the sides of your head when the need to communicate comes. This is how it usually is with undercover work. 

You ponder, for a moment, and think if it would forever be like this: a game of cat and mouse, always led on but never going through. It just fuels your passion to find Bae Suzy once and for all.

"Remember, this is a recital," Sakura informs all of you. She points to the backdoors of the ballet academy, which suppresses classical music from the inside. "We have to fit in. Don't drop your cover."

She looks at you and narrows her eyes. “Even if somebody tempts you.”

-

"Operation One Leaf, launched immediately."

You enter the recital with the subtle earpiece strapped to your lobe and your steps light. You carry your posture well, and with the suit, draw looks from the other parents and from children, too. They're wondering if you're the owner of the place, or maybe you're a well-dressed teacher? A wealthy father? They'll never know because you won't dare tell them. 

Regard them with a cold yet polite nod and walk through the sides of the chairs. There's not much of the audience left, but you still have to play your part. 

You lock eyes with Minju, who steps into the recital wearing preppy yet casual wear. Mouth her good luck. She smiles, but proceeds into the backrooms without another word. Right. She plays a part in the mission, too. You shouldn't disturb her.

"You're here, agent," she says anyway, tapping onto her own earpiece. Her voice rings in your ear. "Break a leg."

Sakura gets in a little while later. As per her job, she pulls out the communication device disguised as a phone and lifts it to the air, "recording" the dancer on the stage. 

Blend in with the crowd as you will. You're a little embarrassed by the attention you draw with your suit since the whole thing is supposed to be undercover, but there's no going back now. You have to act the part.

So: stride confidently into the room, never looking down. Take the first seat you see at the very front and look at the performance.

That's kind of how it all started: a look. It wasn't supposed to be anything else, but yes, one single look keeps you hypnotized, not just because of the dance, but the girl who performs it.

She might as well be a swan in disguise. She's got this resilient, princess-like look on her face that's more alluring than it should be. Even her hair serves her royalty; it elegantly floats around her neck and shoulders as she prances and twists.

The uniform, a long-sleeved blouse finished off with a flattering tie and a flowing skirt, doesn't hide her gracefulness. She moves in it as if she were the swan lake herself. Her movements are as fluid as can be. Each rush and lift of her leg guarantees an upskirted moment in which you're allowed to bask in the beauty of her legs and the fullness of her butt, and you know you shouldn't look. You're better than that; you shouldn't let a young, pretty girl stall your job, but there you are, front seat at a recital for professional senior high ballerinas, hypnotized by a ballerina's dance.

You have to snap out of it. You have better and more important things to do than mentally undress a pretty dancer, yet your eyes are glued on her. It's like your vision was programmed to catch every twirl and glide she makes across the platform, to relish the poke of her chest through the blouse that's a little too small, to yearn for her.

The music is just a dreamful background to her. You're dazed. Hypnotized. Locked into a passive position because of her. 

You want this ballerina. You can't do anything but look and want and long.

It's almost heartbreaking when her performance ends. She bows deeply, and you swear she's fired you a wink right before she rises up again. 

You have to get to know her. You want to ask her out, maybe even escalate things further on the first date if she’s willing. But you have a mission to do. The squad and saving Bae Suzy come first.

Regretfully, you stand from the monobloc chair and turn your heel. But then there she is, dressed in perfection and uniform, and looking prettier up close when she shouldn't be that close but she is close and you swear one more centimeter closer and you'd be closed up to her lips.

"Hi," she says, casually. 

That deep voice, fuck.

Wait, when did she get here? 

"I, uh, hi? Wait, how did you… why are you—"

"Please." She rolls her eyes, sets a hand on her tiny pinch of a waist. "Did you think you weren't obvious staring me down?"

"Well, uh—"

(What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you stuttering and stammering and stumbling over your words like you aren't more mature and older than her? How could she say that to you and disregard that fact? 

You couldn't be assed to know, but she's intimidating you in a whole different way: making you feel like the platform she dances on by acting sweet but not too sweet, flirty but not over the top. That's what you know, but here's the problem: you have little idea what to do.)

"Calm down," she says. She's a tall girl, but smaller enough to smooth down your blazer and close it softly around your chest. Her eyes are enticing. "I'm just playing with you." 

Swallow. Try to collect your composure back into a neat pile, but it overflows and ceases. "Excuse me," you say, voice shaking, "do I know you?" 

She pushes out her pink bottom lip, bites it, then shakes her head. "It's Kazuha, if that rings a bell."

"If I didn't know your name, Kazuha," you say, "I'd say I recognize you from somewhere."

"You do?"

"Yeah." The more you talk, the more she looks like Bae Suzy. "You, y-you kind of look like someone I'm looking for."

Kazuha guides you with a hand around your wrist and walks you to the backroom. You have no sense of direction when your eyes are sealed onto her gorgeous face, perfect with their brown eyes and sculpted nose. It's a tour guide to danger, and you don't even know that you're hiking.

"Is she your wife?" She rubs the back of your hand with a thumb, looking at you with such authentic concern that you almost fall for it. Almost. "Girlfriend?"

"No." Breathe through your nose. "Just someone I have to look for."

Slam. The door shuts, and now you're effectively pinned upon its wood like a poster. Amazing how a woman smaller than you could do you like that: have you weak at your knees as she keeps you on the flat of the door, stares you down with no hatred in her eyes, but sultriness. You don't know how you pick up all those clues when she's not speaking, but Kazuha, as you come to find out, isn't like any other girl. She's known her whole life to speak through her body, and the message from her hands pushing you into a flattened position and her leg propped next to your hip is clear.

You’re not sure if you want to open her note and read it.

"Tell me," Kazuha says, chastely, although her actions are anything but, "am I as hot as her?"

Your eyes widen. It's utterly unprofessional; you as an agent shouldn't even begin to engage in a conversation about how the victim's sexually attractive when she might be in the most vulnerable place right now.

Stutter again. Broken words become a new language you're fluent in, and might as well be a native speaker of with how much Kazuha learned you into it. You have her slim, hot body pressed up against yours to thank, and the look in her eyes. The tilt of her pretty little head. Her subtle, knowing smirk.

"I can't talk about that with you," you say, because it's true—you can't. You have a mission to do and your morals to keep.

"Sure you can," Kazuha counters. Her eyes glimmer. "I'm the top student in One Leaf. They basically made me a star when they knew that my name meant 'one leaf,' too. Isn't that funny?"

"What's your point here?"

"The point is," she says, leveling your gaze, "if I fuck you right here in this room, they wouldn't give a damn."

She has a hold of your hands, imprisoning them and trapping them on the slopes of her sizable chest. Your breath hooks on nothing and is released incompletely. Kazuha's breasts are so soft, not the biggest but fill your hands up so well that you'd take them over any other pair. 

Have to resist the voice inside you telling you to squeeze. "What are you doing?" you ask. 

"Tell me, what do men like you want?" 

Kazuha curls your hand into her flesh so that she's making you squeeze—

"Tits—" 

—then leads it below her pleated skirt, lets it cup the globes and touch places that should otherwise be left untouched—

"—or ass?"

Both are tastes of heaven. The two choices are soft yet alluring. But you really shouldn't, though you want to rip that skirt clean off her legs and spank her till her cheeks are red. She deserves that for tempting you, for being such a bad girl when she's otherwise excellent at being a ballerina.

"I can't talk to you about that," you have to repeat. But it sounds more like you're convincing yourself rather than her. 

Oh, and she's far from being budged. 

Kazuha pulls you by the tie and drags you to the nearest monobloc chair. There are plenty of other seats just like that here in the utility room, but she chooses to throw a beautiful, toned leg over each side of your hips and sit on your lap instead. Her ass snuggles your crotch and her legs keep you trapped onto the chair.

"What about now?" she asks. 

Then her hips start to sway—it's another coax for you to drag out of your shell and do what you shouldn't. It's another dance besides ballet that she knows well, and you can tell from how her thighs flex and bounce underneath your touch, she's very good at it. 

"K-Kazuha… fuck—"

"Come on." She's straight up dry humping you, dragging her perfect pussy up and down your growing erection. Her eyes and mouth both pose a challenge: "Tell me I should stop. Tell me you want to do anything that isn't to fuck me."

Kazuha rubs herself on you. She uses your clothed cock as a personal toy for a few delicious seconds, then rises from your lap to unbutton her blouse. One by one, they undo themselves and the pale skin of her chest is revealed. There's her small cleavage. A collarbone carved from perfection. Her beautiful chest. Too much is what it is, yet your perverted self can't stop gawking.

You remember Sakura's words earlier. She told you not to drop your cover, not to get tempted. You dislike Sakura, yet it's her warning that ignites your hesitation. She suspected that you'd fall like this. She was only trying to hold you back.

"Well? What's gonna happen then?" Kazuha crosses her arms. They frame the underside of her tits, a perfect picture. "Do you want to go out there and find some stupid girl or fuck the one on your lap? What's it gonna be, daddy?"

You're not a daddy kink type of person. In fact, you don't really have that much of a sex drive. Intercourse and the like are things you have no time for when your job is like this, much less a discovery of a daddy kink.

So why is your dick so much harder now that she's said it?

Why are your hands on her hips?

Why are you carrying Kazuha's lithe form and placing her right on a desk?

Why are you kissing her?

When your lips and hers meet, an apocalypse is birthed. An apocalypse of sex, hunger, and desire breaks out. Your eyes are closed, yet your hands and Kazuha's own know exactly where to touch and hold. She unbuckles your belt and pulls down your pants. You slide your greedy fingers over Kazuha's perfect buttcheeks. Tug off the ridiculous shorts that saved her performance from being pornographic. Rip off the panties that are sticky with need.

"Oh, ohhh, you like that?" Kazuha moans while you kiss her neck and chest. Don't bother to rip off the uniform when it looks incredibly sexy on her fit body. "You like me calling you that, daddy?"

"Quiet. We're making this quick."

"So you do want to fuck me."

Thighs touch your lips when you make your way down. Or is it the other way around? Whatever, the point is that Kazuha's thighs are a delicacy. They're full yet sculpted and would look great looped around your head. Luckily, you find that the sopped core between them is more delicious.

Lick a line from the bottom of her slit right up to her bundle of nerves. "Who says I want to fuck you?"

"D-daddy!" Kazuha gasps, covering her mouth. 

"You're quick to call me that." You kiss the insides of thighs then start trailing your tongue around her clit. On top of it. Under it. Each side is subject to immense pleasure. "Where's the shame, little dancer?" 

"Right on with the nicknames." 

You splay Kazuha's pink lips and stick your tongue in between them. Her hips buckle forward. Her eyes are all wide and eager and needy, and it takes a few more thrusts of your tongue to have them shut. 

However, it doesn't take a lot for Kazuha to moan. Her voice is tinged with deep tones, and they pronounce out prolonged cries as you toy her cunt with your tongue. Her thighs threaten to crush your head, but, if anything, you'd welcome it. You're happy to be trapped in between her luscious legs and keep the feminine scent of her pussy right up close. Her juices could be your water, the food would be her core itself—you're already eating it like a meal anyway.

"Of course. If you want to play games, I'll give in." Toy with her clit, then proceed to give it harsh sucks and slurps that her lower body spasms. "I'm just playing along."

Kazuha bites on a bated breath and beats the table with a bent hand. "What if I'm not playing around, daddy?" 

"Hm?"

"What if, fuck, I'm not playing around?" She pushes you deeper between her legs and wraps them around your head. She toys with the sides of your ears. "Maybe I like fucking people who obviously shouldn't be doing it. Maybe I like calling a hot man daddy. It just feels so good for me. Did you ever think about that?"

And maybe you like fucking a girl who's a hindrance to your mission. Maybe you like eating out her wet cunt, driving your tongue deeper into the soaked fuckhole, and doing everything you wanted to do to her when she was onstage. 

But all of that is just one maybe after another. As far as you're concerned, you don't actually like doing it, yet when Kazuha whines and squirms like that, your mind is quickly changed.

Self-discovery, you guess.

"So do it," you challenge her. Look up at her while you quickly rub her clit. "Call me daddy."

"Daddy, hngnnn, fuck, daddy!" 

Kazuha's pussy creates the most obscene wet sounds. Your index finger doesn't rest; it fires away at her clit, her most sensitive spot, and urges it to become more swollen. More sensitive. More desperate.

Push her other leg up for more access. As you expected, it effortlessly rises. Who knew that her years of dancing as a professional ballerina would translate well when eating her pussy? You love how her thigh quivers and tries to stay upward while you eat her out. That's one thing ballet didn't teach her: to stay stabilized when there's a tongue and finger assaulting her center.

"Are you usually this wet, Kazuha? After you dance out there with your legs and thighs out for everyone to see?" 

"No, no, I'm not wet! You're, hnnn, daddy," her eyes lose focus and she rolls her head back, mouth gaped, "oh, fuck, daddy, I'm gonna cum!"

Start to jack yourself off to the unholy, R-18 scene of Kazuha approaching orgasm. Is it a known thing that ballerinas are the most beautiful when they cum? If not, it should be, for Kazuha's blissful face—eyes shut, mouth wide with moans—and her shaking legs enchant you. They draw you into her and have you rubbing and tapping at her core to coax out more euphoric reactions from her. 

Slip your fingers inside her. Be greeted with a fountain of liquid and scent. Appreciate how tight she is when it's only your fingers in her.

"God, daddy, not there!" Kazuha screams. Have to dodge a few times for her kicking and flailing legs to miss your face. "I'm so sensitive there, oh no, you can't—oh, fuck—daddy!"

Her deep voice thrills your erection, and you could have cum on the spot with her if you were more focused on rubbing her orgasm out. A bit of squirt stains your fingers, but you end up getting more stains of girl cum on yourself as you go on fingering and rubbing. 

Kazuha rubs her own nipples as she settles down from her high. "That, that was—daddy—"

You hush her. There's no time to talk. You unravel Kazuha's tie and wrap the little gray thing around her wrists. You knot them tightly after you wring her arms behind her back. She watches on with confusion, wondering why you're suddenly being so horny. 

If she asked, you'd explain that it's because of her. Who else could be the culprit when she's there with her incredible thighs and perfect, fuckable body? When she's the feistiest little thing who just turns out to crumble if the right guy crosses her? Everything about Kazuha seems to be designed and fabricated to tempt you, and look at you giving in.

"You're tying me up, daddy?" she asks, tone varying between disappointment and excitement.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

She's so cute, really—she closes up to you with the biggest eyes of hurt and want, with her slim lips curved downwards into a pout. "You have to fuck me," she says, like it's a promise you made that she's been waiting on to be granted for a while. "It's not fair. You can't even fuck well, daddy, and you're tying me up? You must be joking."

Scoff. "I wasn't so bad at fucking when I ate your pussy."

"I was just moaning to make you happy." Kazuha leans forward, presenting her exposed cleavage and face that looks otherwise innocent besides the smirk. "I love making big handsome daddies like you happy."

Her words and cutesy tone send chills down your spine. She's so attractive that it's becoming scary, even when she's bound by the hands. 

"Don't you feel bad, daddy?" she asks with a timely lull of her head to the side. "You're giving your whole career away to fuck me. You're supposed to be doing something else, aren't you? Something other than fucking me? So why are you here?"

Her words hit too close to home. "You don't know anything about me, Kazuha." 

"Sure I do."

"Turn around."

"Make me. Holy shit, daddy, you have such a big cock, but you're so pathetic. You didn't expect to fuck a girl tonight, did you? But you saw me and thought about it. And now that I've figured you out, you got mad. Why's it the fault of a good little girl like me that you're doing the wrong thing? Maybe it's because you know you're such a bad person, a bad guy—"

You grab her and push her stomach down on the table. Your rod slips inside the ballerina, and she breaks.

And it's everything you've ever wanted: she's hot and tight and wet around you. Her bouncy ass lives up to its description as you pump at a rapid fire pace inside her. Her pussy's so tight that it feels like it's pinching you to keep you inside, and you do exactly that. You'd never want to be anywhere else.

But you still make sure to pull out to let your length breathe, then submerge them into the tightness of her vagina again. Her lips cling to your dick. They don't want you to be anywhere else either. 

“Say you’re sorry.”

"S-sorry, daddy!" she's quick to say. A broken mirror lies across the table, and from there you can see the expressions of winces and moans on her beautiful face.

"Fucking mean it." 

"Kazu… ha, Kazuha… Kazuha's sorry, daddy!"

There's a certain power you impel on this thrust specifically, and it sends her legs buckling. Place a hand on her bound wrists to keep her in place just like she did when she had you trapped to the door.

Frankly, you did it for the chance to slap her cheeks. Spank one and it jiggles beautifully. Spank the other and her hole tightens. Make it a point of yours to spank there particularly, all while keeping the unyielding quality of her hole. It's how you keep the brat that is Kazuha on a leash.

"Daddy, daddy, fuck!" she screams. "You're so, so good, please keep fucking me!"

"Contradicting yourself." Pull out, much to her disappointment, and slide your cock up and down in the plateau of her asscheeks. The flesh of her ass hugs you. 

"Why'd you pull out, daddy?" Kazuha asks. She looks back at you and pleads with the shimmer in her eyes.

"I wanted to see if this ass is as soft as it looks."

For a few blissful moments you fuck Kazuha's ass cheeks, but never really entering her puckered pink hole. It causes her to whine and pout. It's impossible to not give in to such a pretty face, so you continue for a few seconds, letting the pleasure entice your cock to a full solidness, then pause.

"Are you a good girl, Kazuha?" Rub her pussy then bring your slick digits to her mouth. 

Kazuha licks them clean and nods repeatedly. If you weren't so focused on riling her up, you'd go back to the moment your squad nodded their heads as you went over the mission plan. "Yesss, daddy."

"So much you'd let me fuck this perfect pussy till I'm spent?"

"Yes!"

Twist Kazuha around and prop her on the desk. Then, you tear her blouse. Buttons soar in the air to make way for her full, ab-ridden midriff to be exposed. Her tiny slutty waist has your mouth agape. Her small breasts peek through her black lace bra.

"And let me cum all over this midriff?" you ask, staking the deal higher.

"Oh, what's that?" Kazuha smirks. "Is little old daddy scared to breed me?"

Her character when she's not being fucked confuses you just as much as it arouses you. She looks way better when she's being a submissive little dancer, though.

"Bad girls don't get to be bred."

Push inside her. Yes, you're doing this again. Kazuha's abs flex, and the breaths she takes and releases become more strained. 

As you pound her, she looks at you with this face that's lost any elegance from dancing. It's looking like she's slightly sleepy with pleasure, like she wanted to lay there while she let you have your way with her. And you'd be glad to—her ripped uniform and pretty legs would spur you on in no time.

You grab her ass and start dragging her to yourself, too, to fill her deeper. It works; your tip makes it to her womb and right then and there you're tempted to be hypocritical and breed her anyway. You'd love to imagine how her face basked in pleasure would look when you fill her with your load. You'd love to see her pull the weight of being bred well and dance out there with no care that your semen's rolling down her soft legs. 

But she doesn't deserve it.

"Pleaaaase, I'll be so good!" she says. Her hands end up on your shoulders and she's kissing you everywhere. "I'll be a good girl, daddy, just fffucking fill me up. I'll never… I'll be…. oh!"

You're going too fast. Your sudden burst of energy leaves her on the edge. On the wall, to be more precise, because you're ruining and rearranging her insides so well that she's knocked onto the walls again and again. 

"Daddy…" 

Kazuha winces. Moans. C-cries? She doesn't know what to do. Her legs feel hot and she feels like she's going to burst anytime soon. Your cock's impaling her in all the right ways, grazing her cervix and G-spot but also parting her walls just so that the pain transforms into pleasure. "Gonna cum now, daddy, please let me—oh, please—"

The last word comes out wrung in between pitches. Kazuha shudders and squeals. The pleasure's overwhelming her so much that she's let go of her strength. Her legs feel too weak. Her throat, although you haven't fucked it, is sore. Then you're painting her abs, white fluid against and above and over white skin, and she immediately fingers some of your release and pushes a digit inside herself. She's a resourceful girl besides being an excellent ballerina. Good to know.

"You really didn't breed me, daddy?" she asks sadly.

You regret not doing so seeing the hopeless look on her face. "Sorry, but I've got to—"

Your eyes size up to planets.

—"go."

It's only at the finish of your sentence that you realize that you're right. You do have to go. Why are you here when you have a mission to find the abductor? 

"Shit, shit, shit!" Pull your pants up and fix your blazer. It's cool inside the utility room, but your blood's run cold. "I have to go, Kazuha. I—"

Kazuha rolls her eyes. "Fix your earpiece first, daddy. You're a mess."

You blindly follow her words before you even suspect why she knew about the earpiece, or why it's off. After you tap on it, you hear the following, haunting words:

"Mission aborted. Mission aborted. We've been betrayed."

"No, no, no." You shake your head over and over. You can’t believe that was happening and you missed out on assisting your teammates out. Speak through the piece in a shaken voice, "What's going on? Yunjin? Yunjin, what's going on?"

"What the fuck?" she says, obviously infuriated. "I've been trying to reach you, agent! Where the hell are you?"

Look around. "Uh… I met a girl. We're in the back."

"Fuck. What's her name?"

"Kazuha."

Yunjin's voice reaches an alarm you've never heard from her. "Get the fuck out of there, agent! Get away from her, kill her, I don't give a fuck, just run!"

"B-but why?" 

"The kidnapper's not a 'him,' she's a 'she'! It's a trap!"

As Yunjin's voice echoes from your earpiece in the small room, Kazuha's creepy smile grows. 

"Yunjin," flash a look at the ballerina, who’s still smiling, then at the ceiling, "I don't understand."

"Get your fucking head in the game. 'The One Who Dances', agent. 'One Leaf'! The answer was right in our face, it's her!" Yunjin's practically shouting now. It deafens you, but you hear every word loud and clear. "She impersonated Bae Suzy at the airport, agent. The ‘cat’ in the letter wasn’t about Suzy, it’s about Sakura! She betrayed us!”

You look at Kazuha, and suddenly her smile isn’t as alluring as it was when you were fucking her. It speaks of an impending doom. It tells you that you should really run, but there wouldn’t be much change if you did because she’d still catch you. You’d still end up dead.

Suddenly, all the pieces to the story that played behind the scenes fall into place. They connect too well for it to be false. You never questioned once why Sakura led you in each of the operations, and now it’s clear why she did: she was holding you back from saving Suzy. There was a reason why she was team leader. How did you not catch it?

And Kazuha… she didn’t come up to you just because she wanted to, did she? She had a partner and a purpose. You were searching for the culprit ever since you stepped foot into the academy. It didn’t hit you once that you might be fucking her. 

Kazuha takes a few steps towards you and lays her forehead into your chest. “You’re not mad, are you, daddy?”

How did her tie suddenly disappear from her wrists?

#kpop smut #female idol smut #idol smut #girl group smut #genshin smut #lesserafim smut #le sserafim smut #nakamura kazuha smut #kazuha smut #lesserafim kazuha smut #le sserafim kazuha smut #idol x reader #idol x male reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #pov smut #kofimission #commission

[beatrice-otter]

There is FINALLY a women's hockey league that pays its players a living wage. There's been women's hockey before; the National Women's Hockey League was founded in 2015, later becoming the Premier Hockey Foundation. They got bought out in 2023 and rebranded as the Professional Women's Hockey League. Unlike its predecessor leagues, PWHL players should not need to work second jobs to have an income to live on in addition to playing hockey; the PWHL has minimum salaries. All players must make a base pay of at LEAST $35k, which is crap but at least it's crap you could theoretically live on. But most of the players are going to earn more than that, because there is also a team average minimum. The salaries for the whole team combined have to average out to at least $55k, and the top six have to each make at least $80k. But these are base pay rates; they also get a housing stipend ($1500/month) on top of that and a "daily meal allowance" when traveling, and all of these rates are contractually obligated to increase each year (3%). It's still peanuts compared to men's hockey, of course, but it's something you could make a living at, at least. And when you add in the housing stipend, a full-time player is actually making a minimum of $53k/year.*

Anyway! The first PWHL game took place on January 1, 2024, and you can watch the games on the PWHL Youtube page. I hope they do well, because female athletes should be treated (and PAID) better and while "a living wage" might seem a low bar it is still one that women's leagues too often fail to clear. So far, they seem to be doing okay; the January 5th game (Minnesota vs. Montreal) SMASHED the previous record attendance at a women's hockey game. 13k people attended; the previous record worldwide was a game with 8k attendees in Sweden. The North American record was 6k, so this is double that.

The thing that interests me is that they are CLEARLY not branding the teams, they are branding and repping THE LEAGUE. None of the teams have a name other than the city they're from; none of them have a logo of their own, just the PWHL logo; the uniforms are pretty identical, just different colors. (each city name printed diagonally down the front.) I read an article that the teams are expected to each rebrand themselves next year, but I'm still surprised that they're not trying to build up any kind of team loyalty from the start, just league loyalty.

The closest I get to being a hockey fan is occasionally reading hockey RPF (there are a TON of great writers in that fandom, if you've never checked it out before). But I support women's sports, and with games being on Youtube it will be pretty easy to just stream it on my TV (muted) while I go about my evening. I know it doesn't ad up to much in ad revenue, but it's something that costs me nothing. (And it's not like I'd be going to a game in person even if I lived in one of the six cities that has a team.)

*If you're wondering "why do they pay base salary + housing allowance instead of just saying what the whole salary is up front" I'm guessing there are tax incentives to do it that way. It might be either tax deductible for the team or untaxed for the player, or both.

#hockey #professional women's hockey league #pwhl

[simatomica]

OC Questionnaire

Ty for the tag @midnightsquartz @sertrallne <3

Emilio Mercury

NICKNAME: Milio, Mercurio, Merc, Lobo

GENDER: Male

STAR SIGN: Scorpio

HEIGHT: 6'5

ORIENTATION: Straight

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Puerto Rican

FAVORITE FRUIT: Mango, Coconut, Kiwi

FAVORITE SEASON: Summer

FAVORITE FLOWER: Flor de Maga

FAVORITE SCENT: Freshly brewed coffee

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee, black

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 8-10

DOGS or CATS: Dogs

DREAM TRIP: A month long trip in Alaska.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: a single thin sheet

RANDOM FACT: Emilio hates peanut butter. He'll eat in a pb&j but there has to be a certain ratio of Jelly to PB.

I tag: @lilamausmaus @kuroashims @eslanes

#oc: Emilio #emilio faqs #emilio mercury

[choicesmonthlychallenge]

Choices March Challenge 2024

I asked and you answered. It seems like flowers and spring are prompts you are interested in for the March Challenge!

I hope you enjoy the prompts I chose. There is a mix of flowers, spring related words, March holidays, dialogue prompts, and visual floral prompts. I also posted some floral dividers that you're welcome to use.

Have Fun + Happy Creating!

Prompts + Guidelines below the cut!

Flowers (these are some possibilities, but all flowers are accepted)

Bleeding Heart Flower

Carnation

Chrysanthemum

Coneflower

Corpse Flower

Daffodil

Daisy

Gladiolus

Hydrangea

Iris

Jade Vine

Lavender

Lilac

Lily

Marigold

Moonflower

Nightshade

Orchid

Pansy

Peony

Poppy

Rose

Snapdragon

Sunflower

Tulip

Wildflowers

Spring

Awakening

Baby animals

Butterflies

Clear skies

Daylight saving

Fresh air

Growth

New Life

Outdoor activities + sports

Picnics

Rain boots

Rainy days

Renewal

Spring cleaning

Sunny weather

Warm temperatures

Longer days

Umbrella

March Holidays (these are some possibilities, but all March Holidays are accepted)

March 01: National Peanut Butter Lover's Day

March 08: International Women's Day

March 09: National Barbie Day + Get over it Day

March 11: National Napping Day

March 15: The Ides of March

March 16: National Panda Day

March 17: St. Patrick's Day

March 18: Awkward Moments Day

March19: First day of spring

March 23: National Puppy Day

March 30: National Take a Walk in the Park Day + Doctors' Day

March 31: Easter

Dialogue Prompts

"The flowers in the park seem to have a secret language, don't they?"

"Why does every spring bring back memories of that garden?"

"I can't believe you kept that secret from me all these years."

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"Do you believe in second chances?"

"I thought we were in this together."

"You're not the person I thought you were."

"Sometimes silence speaks louder than words."

"Is it too late to start over?"

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"We're running out of time."

"Why are you really here?"

"Your laughter is my favorite melody."

"If our love story were a book, every page would be filled with the softest words and the sweetest kisses. What chapter are we on now?"

“Will you please shut up”

 “Of all the things i love about you, this is my favorite.”

Visual Prompts:

If one of these inspire a creative work from you feel free to use it. You can list the prompt topic + # (ie: Rainbow 3)

Guidelines + Rules

Submitted works will be featured on a weekly masterlist

Every form of creative work can be submitted: fanfiction, drabbles, moodboards, edits, drawings, poems, songs, sketches, and more—all are welcomed.

Work from any book and story from the Choices (and Pixelberry) universe are welcome (new and old alike)!

You can participate as many times as you want during the month

Clearly list the prompt your used

You can combine submissions for this event and others

Please add a cut to avoid long posts and exposing other fans to triggering/disturbing content.

If your work is NS*W please label it as such and use appropriate warnings. Adult content should be hidden under the page break.

You can get creative with the prompts. It can be a variation of the word and/or concept. It doesn’t have to be exact or literal. If the word inspires a train of thought that led you to something different, put that in the notes and send it in! Have fun with it! Make them work for you! The ultimate goal is just to find joy in creating!

Please tag @choicesmonthlychallenge​​ and if you’d like to add me you can do so as well~ @lovealexhunt​​​ (feel free to DM me your work too since Tumblr tags are fickle)

Please do not submit work that has been created with AI. Works that contain AI will not be reblogged. If reblogged inadvertently and I find out they have AI, they will be deleted.

Late entries will be accepted through April 5

#choices #choices game #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices monthly challenge #choices march challenge #choices march challenge 2024 #choices monthly challenge 2024 #march2024

[thesweetnessofspring]

Kiss Cam

In honor of Katniss's birthday, here's an Everlark fic I've had bouncing around my head for a few weeks. Modern AU; fluff; rated G

“I don’t know if I want to go anymore,” Katniss says from the passenger seat of Peeta’s car. But they’re already a half mile from the stadium, stuck in the traffic with everyone else going to the game. She fiddles with the vent to blow the cool air directly into her face, something to calm her.

“Come on, these seats are right behind home base!” Peeta says. 

“I know, but I can’t stand baseball anymore.”

“You shouldn’t let him take something you love from you.” Peeta waves a car through to merge into the narrowing lanes. 

“It’s just a game.”

“Not just a game. The game,” Peeta says. “Consider this a bit of exposure therapy.”

“You promise to get me as many nachos as I want?” Katniss asks.

“And peanuts and cracker jacks.”

The Mockingjay’s stadium came into full view then, no longer blocked by surrounding buildings. Katniss hates that Gale has soured baseball for her, the game her father had introduced to her, the memories she has of catching a fly ball and getting it signed by Haymitch Abernathy, of summer nights spent in the yard perfecting her throw and her swing. And the only way she could cope after her father’s death was by giving her all on the field with her teammates.

That’s where she’d met Gale, on the varsity baseball team at Lakeside High School. She had been the only freshman to make the varsity team that year and he was one of two sophomores. Together, they became an unstoppable pitcher/catcher duo. Katniss knew Gale’s every move, could read his decisions like they were her own thoughts. 

She thought it would always be like that.

“I talked them into putting on extra jalapenos.” Peeta hands Katniss her first round of nachos as she sits down following the national anthem.

Katniss takes the food from Peeta and dives in. There was nothing better in her mind than this–salty, creamy, spicy, with some crunch to top it off. She hums with approval at her first bite and smacks her lips to lick up the gooey cheese. When Katniss looks up to offer some to Peeta, she notices his eyes on her mouth–just briefly, but it sends a warm rush down her body.

She startles at the feeling and focuses instead on the players taking the field, getting a sense for the lineup. But Peeta reaches over to take a chip teetering with orange cheese and that flustering feeling comes back at the proximity, his shoulder bumping into hers.

Of course when he looked at her mouth, he was probably just noting how she was eating–he’d often teased her before about how ravenously she ate. That certainly made more sense than what had flitted across Katniss’s mind. Peeta was, after all…Peeta.

He moved into town their sophomore year of high school and immediately became popular. He played football, wrestling, and of course, baseball. This is where Katniss got to know him, an outfielder far away from where she was at home plate. Still, his arm was reliable in throwing the ball far, all the way to where she would catch the ball and get the out. She and Gale had already been dating for a year, but they’d never been that couple that excluded others. While Peeta socialized with anyone, he always prioritized the group Katniss had acquired (Gale, Darius, and Madge), and usually brought along the girl he was seeing at the time. None of them ever lasted too long.

Katniss had never been able to figure out why exactly Peeta had never been able to date anyone longer than two months. Sure, in high school that felt like forever, but when they moved onto college, it got stranger that of all the girls interested in Peeta, none of them seemed to stick around for longer than a couple months. So strange when Peeta had been the most loyal friend Katniss had ever had–or maybe she felt that way because while everyone else went away from their hometown for school, Peeta had stuck around just like Katniss, attending community college and then the local university.

That was the first big fight Katniss and Gale had gotten into. Gale received a scholarship to play baseball in a city four hours away. He wanted Katniss to come with him the next year, but she couldn’t leave her family. Her mom had to work overnights at the hospital and sleep during the day. She wasn’t going to leave Prim. Gale pointed out how he was leaving his family, too, and that they had to look at the future. The school he got the scholarship for was better than the small state school that didn’t boast any major sports teams. Better opportunities, better future. Katniss had stuck to her decision, though. She couldn’t leave Prim.

Long-distance had sucked, but Gale had seen her through some of the hardest years of her life and Katniss was never one to abandon someone she loved.

She should have just broken up with him then.

The Mockingjays versus the Mutts, their rival team. Katniss had to keep it together not to hiss when the first batter went up to the plate.

She wouldn't admit it to Peeta, but it was nice to get back into baseball again and she feels glad he pulled her out to the game today. Just watching it on TV hadn't been enough to remind her of how much she loved it. She needs the sun, the spring air, the cheers of the crowd and the kick of the nachos to bring back to life she'd once been so passionate about.

Then the first inning ends, and the jumbotron focuses in on a man and woman with a heart around them and in bold letters the instructions: GIVE YOUR SWEETHEART A KISS!

"Ugh," Katniss says when she sees it. "I hate kiss cams."

Peeta grins. "All right. Let's hear it."

"It's totally rude," Katniss says. "It puts people on the spot. Some people hate PDA. Some people are just friends, or they're siblings. And it's totally heteronormative! It pressures the kiss out of the people they feature and comes out of the blue so they're unprepared."

"Those are good points," he says. "After all, we're here together. And we're not dating."

"Exactly," Katniss says, though she wonders why her heart is squeezing in her chest so much hearing him say it.

"Though...we are both single," he says. The way he's talking, so measured and considering, makes her focus in on his words, connecting her gray eyes to his blue. "So if the kiss cam lands on us, you can kiss me if you feel like it."

She feels the blood rush to her cheeks and she doesn't know how to respond except to giggle, the thought of kissing him sending a strange flutter through her body.

"What?" Peeta asks. "That bad?"

"No," Katniss says. "No, I...I guess I'll allow it. On the cheek, of course."

"Of course," he says.

The next inning gets started and Katniss adjusts her hat to cover her face a bit more while her heart pounds in her chest. Why was the idea of kissing Peeta having such an effect on her? They were friends, had been friends for years. He'd been her best friend since the break-up eight months ago for sure. She shouldn't be having these feelings for him.

But as they talk and cheer for the Mockingjays, Katniss can't help but feel curious. She'd always thought Peeta was cute, even if she would never have admitted it out of loyalty to Gale. Plus there had been talk...she'd just been so confused about how Peeta, ever the kind, funny, warm, loyal man never kept a girlfriend for very long. Katniss had brought it up to her friend Johanna, wondering if maybe Peeta was actually gay.

"I guess I can't rule out bi," Johanna said. "But he's definitely into women."

"How are you so sure?" Katniss asked.

"Dude, we hooked up freshman year," Johanna said. "All I'm saying is, no gay guy is as into kissing a girl as Peeta Mellark."

"Was he...good?" Katniss asked. Being into and being good at were two separate things, after all.

"Really good," Johanna confirmed. "If he wasn't so goody-goody it would have been perfect."

Maybe that's all it is, Katniss thinks. Loneliness mixed with friendship and the burden of knowing that friend is apparently a really good kisser.

Between the fifth and sixth inning, Katniss gets up to go pee, hoping for the line to be short, but of course it's not. She takes her place and checks her phone, where a text from Prim comes in.

Having fun at the game?

Katniss types out a response: Yeah, only I think I might be into Peeta now?

The message is sent off with a swoop noise. That's when a woman coming from washing her hands stops and plants herself in front of Katniss.

"Hey, Katniss Everdeen!" she says. It's Clove Sanchez, someone Katniss had gone to school with, and was one of the girls Peeta had briefly dated.

"Oh, hi Clove," Katniss says. "How have you been?"

"Great!" Clove gives a smug smile. "My Instagram has hit a hundred thousand followers, and District Knives is sponsoring my content. Plus, I'm dating Cato Larsen."

Cato Larsen, the Mockingjay's starting shortstop. He looked like a caveman to Katniss, but Clove had always been the type of person to go for the best, which is why she'd sunk her claws into Peeta for a few weeks in high school.

"How about you?" Clove asks, and by the glint in her eye Katniss can tell she's trying to goad her.

"Good," Katniss replies briefly. "Yeah, things are good."

"I heard about you and Gale online." Clove pouts with fake sympathy. "So sorry about that."

"Well, it was for the best." Usually Katniss hates that kind of cliché phrasing, but dealing with people's comments about the end of her seven-year relationship warranted them. The only people she'd really shared her thoughts with about the situation had been Prim and Peeta. Other people like Madge and Darius warranted more details than others, since they were also friends with Gale, but it wasn't anyone else's business.

Finally a stall opens up and Katniss says, "Good catching up. I'm just going to–"

She points toward the toilet and escapes Clove. In the stall she takes a few deep breaths. Damn Gale.

They'd survived long-distance through college and Gale was getting scouted by the major leagues. The Mockingjays had made an offer, and Katniss had been ecstatic he could come back home. Then the offer from The Trappers came along, and they were a better team. The Mockingjays, admittedly, hadn't been good for the past fifteen years, so it was the better career move.

They were going to do one more year long-distance while Katniss finished up her bachelors degree. But something shifted then. Gale was the hot new rookie, pulling The Trappers from a middle-ranking team to battling for a spot in the championships. And college was very different from the pros.

Katniss, who had never been into social media much and kept everything private, had hundreds of requests to follow her from random people she didn't know. But they had figured out she was Gale's long-term girlfriend from his own posts and were curious. Worst were the comments on his pictures. Most were kind, but others seemed determined to drag her down. Criticizing how she looked, how they perceived her personality, claiming she wasn't hot enough for him, or only with him for the money. Katniss asked Gale to not post pictures of her anymore, which upset him.

"I'm trying to build my image," Gale said. "I'll get better brand deals if I have an angle to it, and part of that is you. You're my girlfriend. I want to be a solid example of a good family man, and you're part of that."

"Family man?" Katniss asked. They'd talked about kids in the far future, but they didn't have any plans soon. They hadn't even discussed marriage outside of a future, undetermined time.

"Yeah," Gale said, "After my dad left us, I had to look to other men to figure out who to be. I want to be that for other boys who might be like me."

"I hate the attention I'm getting, though," Katniss said. "I don't want to live a public life!"

"This is my career," Gale said. "It's part of the job."

They had never really been able to settle the argument. Gale didn't post pictures anymore without Katniss's permission, and occasionally she'd allow a story, but nothing permanent. Toward the end of Gale's first season, Katniss had flown out to see a game, but in his hotel room they ended with an argument about the same issue regarding social media and Gale's career. Then Gale proposed a compromise: they get married and have a baby.

"What?" Katniss asked. "How is that a compromise?"

"I'll be able to play up the dad angle and you can stay private," Gale said.

Katniss's mouth flew open. "I can't believe you want to have a baby to market yourself."

"We're going to have one anyway eventually!" Gale said.

"I don't want my kids all over Instagram where any creep can see them!"

They never recovered from that. Katniss went back home a single woman for the first time in seven years. Several pity parties with Prim and Peeta, a new job, and some time later, she felt steady enough.

Her phone pings with Prim's response: Well it's about time you realized how you felt about him.

Katniss types quickly: What do you mean by that????

It's not until Katniss is back in the stands with Peeta, who has gotten a fresh batch of nachos that Prim's response comes in.

Look, you've always had a soft spot for him. You've always said he was the greatest person to ever exist. Then when you and Gale broke up, it was like you didn't have to censor yourself. That "platonic cuddling" you were doing during winter when our heater didn't work sure didn't seem so platonic. You could have gone to his house where there was heat, after all. You give him really long hugs good-bye, you smile when his name is mentioned, you're constantly wondering why he hasn't dated anyone longer than a couple months. It's in your eyes most of all, when you think he isn't looking. Maybe I'm wrong and you're just really, really good friends, but it doesn't seem that way to me.

"Everything okay?" Peeta asks. Everyone else is on their feet and clapping at Phillip Gloss hitting a home run, while Katniss's eyes are fixed on Prim's text, trying to absorb it.

"Prim's having some boy trouble." She rolls her eyes. "Sent me a huge text about it."

"Well, good thing she has you to protect her." Peeta gives her one of his sweet smiles, with just a touch of shyness, that she's now realizing is only for her. She's never seen it on his face when greeting Prim or joking with Madge, or with any of the over dozen girls he's been with since she's known him.

Katniss puts her phone away and tries to focus on the game, but she can't with Peeta so near. Everything he does seems to draw attention to his mouth. Cupping his hands to his face so his shouts of encouragement can be heard, leaning in close to her ear to compete against the noise around them, sucking cheese off his thumb from the last of the nachos (okay, the last of his nachos–Katniss polishes those off).

Then during the seventh inning stretch, the person beside Katniss pushes against her shoulder and points to the jumbotron. There her own face stares up in confusion with Peeta's in a giant heart and those words GIVE YOUR SWEETHEART A KISS! above their heads.

Peeta shrugs with a lift of the corner of his mouth. He's prepared for a peck on the cheek, the main way to assuage the kiss cam operators to not continually embarrass those who try to refuse the attention. But some impulse comes over Katniss and she seals her lips over his. He jumps a little in surprise, but is quick to return the gesture, cradling her face with his hand and parting his lips to her. He tastes spicy and salty from the nachos, but underneath that, like an incredible delicacy. Katniss becomes so warm in her belly she's sure she swallowed a star and it's burning up in her body.

When they pull away, they're no longer on the jumbotron and a group of guys behind them whistle. Katniss shifts back into her seat, unable to look at Peeta. Oh, god. She just kissed her best friend.

Trying not to have to deal with the aftermath of this quite yet, Katniss takes out her phone and texts Prim:

Katniss: I kissed Peeta.

Prim: !!!!!

Katniss: It was for the kiss cam.

Katniss: But I liked it. A lot.

Katniss: What am I gonna do? He's my best friend. I can't lose him!

Gale had been her friend, before. Then he'd kissed her and she felt like she had to go along with it so she wouldn't lose him. And she had loved him before, had told herself that the love she had for him was good. It wouldn't be like when her mom lost her dad. Safe. That's what Gale had been.

Prim: I don't think you could ever lose him.

Then a different notification comes up on Katniss's phone. She'd been tagged in a story on Instagram. Curious, she opens the notification and saw that Clove had posted a video of the kiss cam footage to her story with the comment:

Guess @Katniss2008 is over @PitcherGale

Katniss watches in the story with horror, clicking back several times to watch the way she moves in so insistently, the way Peeta takes her up on this chance, and the eagerness both of them display kissing each other. Gale might not see this, he got tagged in so much now. But Clove, a player's girlfriend with over hundred thousand followers, had certainly assured that the whole baseball community would be talking about the kiss. This is exactly the kind of thing she'd wanted to get away from!

"Oh no," Peeta says. Katniss looks over and sees that he has the same story pulled up on his phone. He looks up at her, apology all over his face. "Should we go?"

Katniss nods her head and they gather up their things and trash to get out of that stadium. They walk briskly, mostly because Katniss has to get away from the crowds, to feel like she might have some kind of privacy in this stupid social media world.

The sky has turned orange and red with the sunset as they reach Peeta's car. Once inside, Peeta won't take the silence anymore.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks. "How are you?"

She chokes out an incredulous laugh. "I don't know! Angry, upset, embarrassed. I want to use one of those sponsored knives and cut her!"

"I'm sure you could explain to Gale," Peeta says. "If you're worried about him. About him thinking we..."

And he stops, blinking and turning away. And Katniss caught the a glimpse of the rarest emotion to cross Peeta's face–pain. He was always the first to help, the first to offer a smile or a kind word. Katniss wonders if what she's thinking is true, if Peeta has feelings for her, what it must have been like. Her and Gale together for so long, then her rants against ever dating again after what happened.

"I don't care what Gale thinks," Katniss says and meaning it. "I just hate that Clove put our personal business up for everyone to see."

"We did kiss in front of thousands of people," Peeta says. "But I get what you mean."

They sit in spent anger and simmering disappointment until Peeta says, "So, did this totally ruin any chance between us?"

"No," Katniss says. "Not for me, at least."

Peeta exhales a chuckle in relief. "Good. Because I've liked you forever."

"Forever?" Katniss asks, surprised. She'd thought it must have snuck up on him like it had for her.

"Since the first day I saw you," Peeta says. "Mrs. Trinket's history class. You looked really cool, with your leather jacket and long braid, and then Dylan Marvel threw an apple toward Rue Jackson and you reached out your hand and just caught it and threw it back at him, right on his head."

Her mouth hangs open. She vividly remembers this happening, but her memory hadn't clocked Peeta being there.

"That was the first day of sophomore year," Katniss says. "You've liked me all this time?"

"Yeah." That shy, sheepish look is back. "But you were always with Gale and it seemed pretty set. I tried to date other girls, but it didn't feel fair to date them when I still had feelings for you, so none of them really stuck."

I'm the reason he's dated so many girls, Katniss realizes. Not commitment issues or because he was closeted. Because of how he felt about her.

"But these past eight months?" Katniss asks. "Ever since Gale and I broke up?"

"You needed time, and you needed a friend," Peeta says, brushing hair out of her face. "I figured, if it was going to happen, it would happen when you were ready."

He's perfect, Katniss thinks. And then she's leaning over the car console and he's following and they're kissing, finally, finally just for themselves. And she knows it's only the second kiss of many, many more to come.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #modern au #fluff

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit Part Three on AO3

Part One

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

It wasn't supposed to be like this, of course. You could blame poor planning, a shit build, worse luck, but the fact of the matter remains that you're just not supposed to be here yet. Hard to plan for a winter you weren't supposed to see.

If there's one thing you've come to firmly believe over the last few months, it's that if you frown too long at a forecast, the forecast eventually frowns back. Another fucking night below freezing. It's not the biggest deal - at this point you can even manage it without a heat source - but your joints already ache at the thought. Something about the high altitude, cold temps, and humidity that gets trapped in the Wrangler after a full night with the windows up is the perfect storm to have you hobbling around the next day like your dear departed Gran.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, of course. You could blame poor planning, a shit build, worse luck, but the fact of the matter remains that you're just not supposed to be here yet. Hard to plan for a winter you weren't supposed to see.

The plan had been to stay put until May, head north when you were well and truly sure the biting cold had been chased off. You should have known your fucking ex would ruin even the relative safety of that plan - had in fact resolved yourself to weather whatever storm he threw at you without complaint as you got your ducks in a row - but after the shit show he'd pulled on his birthday, you'd known staying with him another couple of months was more likely to land you in a grave than successfully escaping in the dead of night as per your perfectly laid plan.

So you'd run. And you'd run fucking hard. It was tempting to stop off somewhere in the Midwest, but ultimately you'd scared yourself off settling for longer than a night anywhere within a two state radius of Phil. And once you were north of the fortieth, the siren song of national forests and undisturbed parking kept drawing you up and up until you were finally at your original destination anyway.

Impatient, stupid. You know winter doesn't relent its stranglehold overnight.

You sigh, weighing your options, limited though they were. John had been kind enough to let you belly up to his bar for most of the evening (and that was… something you were going to have to address in the cold light of day) but the worst was yet to come and you needed a game plan. You could drive out to the closest twenty four hour superstore and wander around until they realized you weren't going to purchase anything more than peanut butter. You could save gas by going to the gym, which had the added benefit of a hot shower. The night clerk there had definitely figured out you were homeless by now. It was fine, she was chill, but you suspected she may have blabbed. Ideally, you'd sleep in the Jeep for the first leg of the night, spend the coldest hours on the treadmill, then return to the Jeep and sleep on through until mid-morning. However, the gym manager had been keeping watch lately to make sure you didn't loiter in the parking lot for too long. You never thought you'd miss the craziness of the city, but you can't deny the anonymity had its appeal. Back in Dallas, you could park for any number of hours and the only person whose business it was was the meter maid. Here, streets and parking lots were mostly deserted, and a Jeep with a privacy screen was pretty inconspicuous. It made it difficult on nights like this, when you wanted to be close to some sort of twenty four hour shop when the coldest hours of the night came around.

You decide on the superstore, given you'd gotten ready at the gym earlier. It was unlikely the same employees were there, but that owner could take a gander at your check in times if he wanted and you'd like to deny him the satisfaction of spotting you there twice in one day.

You head west along the main drag, sighing in longing at all the help wanted signs. Some seasonal work is exactly what you need, but jobs require background checks, and background checks set off pings around all your former domiciles, and Phil has his dirty little fingers in all sorts of dirty little pies. You just need time for it all to blow over. Eventually he'd get sick of the hunt - or find a new victim, more like - and then you'd be free. The thought made you a little sick. Not for the first time, you wished you'd found a charge that stuck to him, or maybe a bullet to lodge in his skull; but Phil made friends with cops like it was his job (it kind of was), and ultimately, you just weren't built right for murder. So instead, you'd scrimped and saved over the course of three years, slowly reorganizing your life to exclude him. You weren't well off by any means, and you'd intended to be able to save for a few months longer, but provided you don't blow your fuel budget in the first few months because you're the idiot who decided to test a Montana spring, you should be set 'til the end of the year. And that's with the move down south come fall.

If it comes to that. You're still hoping to try your luck in a few months, put feelers out to see if Phil is still actively searching for you. You'd rather stay up north if possible. You've had enough southern summers to last you a lifetime, and while you'd talked a big game to John, this nomad lifestyle you've found yourself stuck in isn't feasible.

Fuckin' John. You feel for the coaster surreptitiously as you pull into a parking space in a quiet far corner of the lot. All your planning and you hadn't accounted for John. Really, you hadn't accounted for any love interests. When you'd left Dallas, the possibility of what you'd do if someone had caught your fancy had been so fucking far from your mind it would have been laughable if it wasn't so fucking sad. After a man like Phil, there was no 'rebound' phase, no 'get back on the horse' phase, no 'someday, two and a half kids from now, this'll just be another shitty ex' phase. There was just run, survive, and heal; and then maybe someday, years and years down the road, some better version of you could maybe consider getting fitted for a proper saddle.

So why, then, did the massive, intimidatingly handsome (and generally slightly intimidating) man refuse to leave your mind?

When you'd first run into him on the trail he'd scared the piss out of you. You'd become rather timid over the years and didn't appreciate being snuck up on - not that he'd been trying, mind, but a deep gruff voice calling out to you in the woods was probably enough to set anyone on edge, let alone someone with your history. When you realized the stranger was some ridiculously attractive Englishman, you'd been even more wary. Men with pretty blue eyes and good, straight noses had never in your life bode well, a lesson you'd made an exception for exactly once and it had blown up in your face.

But when he came close, you saw nothing but warmth in his eyes and kindness in his smile. He was quick, funny in a slightly (but not annoyingly overt) self-deprecating way you didn't usually expect from people who looked like him.

He also smelled absurdly, disarmingly, distractingly good.

You couldn't even really pinpoint what it was. There was pine and loam, which shouldn't have been considering the sad, wet state of things; a dark, smokey scent like expensive tobacco; something toasty and rich which you've since realized is probably the smell of his distillery; and above all that, or perhaps the sum of all those parts, a homey scent you wanted to bury your face in - like a well-loved quilt.

In the days that followed your little run-in, you'd tried to convince yourself John had only been so charming because he was trying to drum up some business. You reminded yourself that you couldn't really afford a fancy stiff drink right now anyway. And more importantly, you scolded yourself to just leave it the hell alone. What was your end goal here? A quick romp? What are you gonna do, take him back to the Jeep? A spring fling? You could barely stand to touch yourself right now, how were you going to casually tell someone why you need a joint to loosen up and no sudden moves every time you fuck?

A real relationship? Christ.

Still, John was on your mind like an early aughts summer bop. You'd even tried hoofing it a little further north just to avoid the temptation but the area up there was less developed, which made your life far too difficult, needing access to amenities like 'roofs' and 'running water'. Besides, you didn't really want to leave Columbia Falls. After driving all over God's green earth, this was the first place you could see spending a good, happy summer. And you'd even seen a bear! You loved bears. It was kinda scary, sure, but it was also a hell of a motivator to secure your food properly and remember to carry your damn bear spray when you went hiking, damnit.

So, you'd made your way back, and you'd told yourself to just cool it already, and everything had been fine for a few days until you'd parked the Jeep in Columbia Falls, a hair downwind of some fancy whiskey bar and you'd smelled it like some sort of frickin' bloodhound and suddenly you remembered there was a charming man in there who made for decent company and also it was a bit cold out on the street.

John's overt flirting had been unexpected. You'd figured he was just angling for a good tip and had been willing to let him, but when he caught you stealing food off his plate like a fucking Disneyland squirrel and only responded by helping you take more, you'd started to doubt your initial assessment a bit.

The coaster itself is pale, a classic design with high contrast. John's blocky lettering follows the outer edge. You'd thought the woman next to you was going to clap and cheer when he'd handed it off. You shouldn't even be considering texting him. Part of you thinks this is some school girl's crush on the first exceedingly handsome man to ever look your way (not that Phil was unattractive, just not really your type) - that months from now you'll pull your head out of your ass and realize you were blind sided by handsome, masculine eyebrows and basic human decency and you'll be embarrassed to admit you'd fallen for it. Fresh off an abusive relationship, no less.

But a larger, perhaps much more desperate part of you was convinced this was a route worth exploring.

You sigh and tuck the coaster into your visor for now, start busying yourself with the privacy screens. However you decide to proceed, it would be buck-wild to do it right this moment anyway. You may be a notoriously impulsive person, but this could be one of them there baby steps to betterment you're always hearing about.

There's never much sleep to be had in parking lots. The privacy screens help to block out the bright lamps, sure, but they combine to create a perfect IMAX shadow theater where any movement outside projects onto the screens around you. You're in a quiet corner of the lot, but it's not exactly deserted. Occasionally people shuffle past and it always raises your hackles to see a perfectly human silhouette standing right next to you. As long as you keep your lights out, they can't see you - but you also can't really see them and it usually makes your breathing run shallow until they clear out. Still, you manage to catch a fitful few hours before the humidity and cold combine to make your chest hurt too much to stay put so you pack an inconspicuous purse with some dirty dishes and washing supplies and head inside.

The bathroom is cold, and the water is scalding as you try to maneuver a bowl around the tiny sink. It feels good on your joints but leaves your skin feeling too tight, so you make sure to sample some lotion as you wander around. Godbless underpaid retail workers, who do not seem to give a singular fuck what their frequent homeless shopper does while trying to dodge the cold. You stay respectful, stick to sampling designated tester bottles and dishes, and never leave a mess for them and they strike up friendly conversation if they're not otherwise occupied. No such luck tonight which is a bummer because you could use some incentive to stay on your feet, but that's okay. You spend some time tidying a particularly messy T-shirt display, grab your peanut butter, and go.

You charge your phone on the drive back to West Glacier. You don't really need to, as it's only been turned on maybe twice in the last week, but it's probably best to be safe. You refuse to acknowledge the coaster tucked neatly into the visor above your head.

***

There is a grunting noise coming from the passenger side of the Jeep. It's still a little early. Around nine AM if the light spilling through the privacy screen can be believed. You're not certain because you don't want to crawl around in search of your phone and alert whoever or whatever is outside to your presence in the process. It's been about ten minutes of this - small snuffling, grunting sounds moving back and forth on the wooded side of the car. As you've laid there, you've managed to convince yourself by turns that it was one, just a raccoon; two, your actual imagination; three, Phill in the flesh come to torment you; and four, just some other campers stretching their legs. You're debating the benefits of taking a small peek around the screen to soothe your mind when a deep, animalistic groan is the only warning you receive before the whole cab is rocked on its shocks in a way you've definitely experienced before.

"No fucking way!" You exclaim and tear your blind back only to be greeted by the massive, furry chest of a frankly unreasonably large grizzly.

You should be fucking terrified. You're definitely not.

"You again!?" You ask, a laugh bubbling in your chest.

The bear backs up enough that it can duck its head toward your window, its huge golden eye gleaming as it looks directly at you. It huffs, quiet now that it's been caught, and lowers itself back to the ground, head bobbing as it sways in place a bit.

"This your favorite parking lot or something, big guy?" It's the same spot where you first saw it. Maybe the bins aren't cleaned out often enough?

Of course, the bear does not respond. It sits on the ground with a low cow like sound and just looks at you for a moment. This is probably the right time for panic to set in, seeing as this very large predator with zero natural aversion to humans has approached your car twice now, but you suppose begging sweetly for scraps is better than outright attacking your car. Besides, it's so fucking cool.

You lower the screens, trying to get an unobstructed view. The bear watches you curiously but makes no move other than an idle scratch of its own belly. Not for the first time in your life, you find it massively unfair that evolution designed something so goddamn hug shaped and then gave it the approachability of Charles Manson.

It belatedly occurs to you that you may want to remember this and you scramble to the console to grab your phone. It takes a minute to power on, but the bear just continues to sit and watch you, almost expectantly. It cocks its head and huffs when you finally snap your pic, then stands and lumbers in a big circle when you snap a few more. It's huffing becomes slightly agitated and you can't help but tease it rhetorically:

"What? Prefer your solitude?" The bear moos. "Well don't worry, I don't have anyone to show anyway." A small huff, breath steaming in the morning air. It continues to move in a slow circle. You watch it for a little bit but your body is quickly catching up with the fact that you've slept in a cold, cramped space for a few hours and nature is calling. "Don't suppose you're gonna clear out so I can pee, eh?"

The bear takes a step back, cocks its head as if inviting you to try your luck.

You chuckle as you climb into the driver's seat, ferreting your keys out of the hideaway within the seat cushion. "No thanks, big guy. Not quite that stupid. Also, you should know I'm not gonna feed you. So, much as I enjoy your company, maybe find a new Jeep to frisk down?"

Of course, it only continues to stare at you. As you pull out and drive off, it stands to watch you leave and you're struck again by how fucking huge it is. You've never seen a grizzly in person so you guess it's like seeing a moose for the first time. One thing to hear about how massive they are, another to see it in the flesh and realize your imagination is quite limited.

After finding a good place to do your morning ablutions without the threat of mauling, you climb back into the Jeep and take a minute to flip through the photos you took. You want to share them with someone because it's so fucking cool that you shared a morning with a bear, but you hadn't been lying when you'd said you didn't have anyone to send it to, anyway. No social media for obvious reasons, no real friends because Phil had driven wedges between you and all your loved ones long ago. You kept meaning to reach out, but shame and fear of Phil having done so first keeps you away. Your mom, maybe, but you and her had never been close, and randomly sending her cool pictures in an effort to share your life with her would probably make her more concerned for your safety than finding out you'd been in an abusive relationship and were resorting to homelessness had seemed to.

In the visor above you, the coaster hangs like the least assuming sword of Damocles imaginable. And you've got a feelin' someone's gonna be cuttin' the thread.

Next>>

#bearshifter!price #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fatted rabbit

[wowbright]

National Clean Your Home Month Day 18

I avoid paperwork more than I avoid cleaning, so one of my focuses this month has been doing household-related paperwork-type stuff that I tend to put off. Today I did a mix of that and house chores:

- Checked credit card receipts against bank statements and shredded

- wrote my will (it only took 20 minutes!) and worked on other related stuff to help others out if I am suddenly dead or incapacitated (I have no reason to believe that this would happen soon, but my dad died suddenly without a lot of his important information easily accessible to any of us, and it was a mess)

- started putting together a list of documents I'll need to have notarized so that I can plan a trip to the credit union to do them all at once

- printed shipping labels for mailing out wool dryer balls! 🎉 I am so excited they will be of good use!

- worked on using up some stuff in the pantry and fridge by making sunflower seed "peanut butter" cups and tofu-chocolate no-bake cheesecake. When I first tasted the batter, I was worried it would end up tasting beany, but after I finished adding all the chocolate it didn't taste beanie at all, it tasted delicious. It's sitting in the refrigerator now, I'll try to remember to let y'all know tomorrow how it turns out and if it's good, to share the link.

- did a load of laundry and folded and put away what went in the dryer; I hung the rest to dry

- cleaned a single tube and single set of headgear for my CPAP machine. It goes much quicker when I don't make a big project of it by waiting for multiple tubes and headgears to pile up lol

I hope everyone else had a great day today, whether that means taking things off your list or taking a day of rest or self-care, or somewhere in between.

#naclyoho #gpoy #I forgot to mention what I listened to #not so Molly Mormon podcast #and #little dorrit by Charles Dickens

[sawthemusical]

Someone tell Adam that it's national peanut butter month.

We'll get right on that...

#thanks for letting us know #inbox #questions

[bluerazzslushie]

Introducing My Hogwarts Legacy MC: Rory Ebony!

GENERAL INFORMATION:

Name: Rory Evans Michael Ebony

Age: 15

House: Ravenclaw

Patronus: Raccoon

Boggart: Themself, corrupted by dark ancient magic like Ranrok was. It was what they could have been, or yet to be.

Hair color: Black

Eye color (s): Yellow and Dark Blue

Skin tone: Caramel

Nationality: Brazilian

Height: 5'5 1/2

Clothing Style: Typically casual and easy to move around clothes works for them best. When the Option arises, they always choose to take off their school robe. They prefer to dress more masculine, would rather Avada Kadabra Themself then wear a skirt or dress. Hands get cold easily so they always keep on fingerless black gloves. Also enjoys keeping Solar Specticals on at all times, due to their light sensitivity!

PERSONALITY, LIKES AND DISLIKES

Personality: Rory is a very straight forward serious person, especially for their age. Preferring to outsmart their opponents then go in headfirst. They mostly spend their time in the Room of Requirment studying for classes, making plans to stop Rookwood and Ranrok's lot, and occasionally reading up on astronomy. Besides for a handful of teachers and students, They would very much prefer to not talk to anyone and be alone

Traits: Sarcastic, Smart, Cold, Brave, Witty, Snarky, Sassy, Stubborn, Very VERY stubborn

Likes: Silence, Alone time, Cats, Raccoons, Dueling, Lemon tea, Astronomy

Dislikes: Children, Crowds, Loud noises, The Smell of Peanut butter, Squirrels, Ignorant People

Habits: Fiddling with wand absentmindedly, Being too blunt with people, Overworking, Cutting Sleep, Skipping Meals, Pushing people away

Hobbies: Drawing, Writing, Playing Violin, Studying Astronomy, Talking Shit abt people to their Kneazle

Fears: Being Forgotten, Letting people down,

Favorite Class: Potions/DADA

Favorite spells: Diffindo, Depulso, Incendio, Glacius, Disillusionment, Alohomora

Favorite Professors: Prof. Sharp, Prof. Fig, Prof.Hecat, Prof.Weasley

Favorite Beast: Kneazle/Hippogriff

BACKGROUND/ LORE

Aurora and Thomas Ebony were a loving Muggle couple living in a nice town in Brazil, Where Aurora herself was grown and raised up in. They wanted a child, and after a few tries they we're expecting, how splendid! ! After 9 months, outcame little Rory Ebony. Looking like the splitting image of their mother. Unfortunately, The Ebony parents began to lose affection for once another as their child grew. When they were about 4 years old, Their mother left for reasons they never got the chance to know about. Once She left, Thomas decided to move back to England, where he was born, with his child. Thomas was always a serious, No nonsense man, With the temper of a Graphorn. More often then not he always took out his anger on his child when things went wrong. Rory learned how to know when to stay out of his way when he was upset, and how to lie on a whim to ensure no punishments came about. Along the way taking the small child and changing them to a mature, quiet, and more reserved one.

Thomas also worked a dangerous job, constructing and sculpting different parts for tools that would be used to build more buildings and places for England. He got busier and busier as the years went by, until he barely came home. He couldnt find the time to care for his child anymore, so the next thing Rory knew they were trying to adjust to living in a Orphanage. It wasn't easy, and they mostly just stayed alone on their bed even when people came to try and adopt different children, not even attempting to be picked for a "forever home". Instead they spent their days reading books and writing story's, filling their head with imagination and knowledge. They had a thirst for it if you will. They stayed in the Orphanage until they were 15, when very odd leader showed up on the front stoop, saying something about. . . " Hogwarts"? Nobody else at the Orphanage seemed to know what the letter was forced or who it was from. But, Perhaps the old man in rather flamboyant blue attire looking for Rory specifically might know something?

RELATIONSHIPS WITH STAFF/STUDENTS

Professor Fig: Father Figure #1. person Rory was able to trust, and I mean fully trust. They bonded well over the few months before Rory attended Hogwarts, Getting taught about the Wizarding World and its inhabitants. Their bond only strengthened once the whole Ancient Magic ability came about. They were a lot alike, Clever, Sassy, and unbelievably courageous. Fig was their emotional backbone throughout the journey, giving words of encouragement and praise all the way. As much as they would have rather died then admit it, Professor Fig was basically what They always wanted in their father. A kind man who would support them and be able to trust. If only he could still be here. . .

Professor Sharp: Father Figure #2. Rory always liked Potions, and Professor Sharp's class in general. They always found it odd how people hated his class, Perhaps those students were just to weak when it came to "Intimidating" people telling them what to do. The two didn't start to truly bond until after Professor Fig's death, Sure they knew each other and were friendly. . . But that's all it was. It wasn't until Rory was in the Potions classroom every other hour trying to hide from People asking questions about the battle under Hogwarts and Professor Weasley's kind but overwhelming Mother Henning, the potions professor and the Ravenclaw really started to actually know each other. They were a lot alike in personality and mannerisms, To Professor Sharp. . . They were too alike for his own comfort.

Sebastian: Buddies. Ever since first day DADA, Rory and Sebastian grew to be close friends. Investigating the triptych and that damned Relic, the two had their own hate/love dynamic. There was only so much tomfoolery and idiotic statements Rory can take before having to "take a break" from Sebastians presence. . . Who doesn't need a break from that.

Natty: Platonic Soulmates, From the First day in class, to the troll attack in Hogsemead, and the many more adventures the two had go on. Natty and Rory were joined at the hip, Close as can be. Natsai was one of the only people Rory could be around and genuinely smile, Making sly jokes and Sarcastic comments back and forth at one another. One of the most powerful duo's in Hogwarts I'd reckon.

Poppy: Close friends. Poppy is more of the opposite of Rory, The sun to their moon if you would. Saving beasts from poachers, Successfully returning a dragon egg to it's mother, and befriending the Centaurus, the two grew close over the school year.

Ominis: friendly aquaintances, besides trying to stop Sebastian from doing anything too idiotic for the most part Ominis and Rory don't talk much. The two mostly conversate in Professor Binns class, since they are sat right beside one another.

Amit: Friends! Amit and Rory are two buddy's who love the stars and it's wonders, when the chance arises the two can be found in the library or in the astronomy tower info-dumping about their own discoveries of the cosmos.

Garreth: Friends! Since the two are both adept in potion making, they mostly bond in potions class. Sometimes getting partnered up together for specific lessons. Thankfully for Professor Sharp, Rory manages to keep Garreth from doing anything explosive when paired together.

CREATOR/ AUTHORS NOTE! ! !

Hey all! You can call Me Razz, and this is my goofy little Hogwarts Legacy Oc! HL has been rolling around in my brain for a HOT ASS MINUTE and I've seen so many lovely people on here sharing their MC's so it's my turn lol! If you like Rory and want to see more LEMME KNOW I LOVE DRAWING THEM!!

#hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #amit thakkar #garreth weasley #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #poppy sweeting #natsai onai #professor sharp #professor fig #Rory Ebony #ravenclaw mc

[colorblindstories]

Last year in September I went hiking in my home mountains, Retezat National Park. Here are a few words I wrote down in my journal after that experience.

Meeting Jenna again births a desire in me to continue writing, telling stories through photos and written words. Being in the mountains with friends I haven't seen in such a long time, reconnecting with old friends, and new, sharing stories with Marc, Shanley, Jenna, Lelde, Eathan, Lidia. This is freedom, to be able to roam freely in the mountains. I wish to experiment more with hiking and fasting. I felt empowered. Water tastes different with altitude. And being focused on the path, every time it becomes overwhelming, coming back to the breath, remembering.

Breathing through the nose, pranayama is so vital, practicing more and more makes the body more resilient, more prepared for this kind of exposure.

After six months, I return to these words and to the photos, glimpses of past reality captured in time. The desire is still alive, action is needed.

I have been dreaming of these mountains many times in the past months, their magnitude and vastness always bring me a quality of peace and humbleness I haven’t experienced anywhere else.

Hiking up on the rocky trails we shared the journey, the beauty, the stories, the encouragements, the effort, the treasures found in the depths of our backpacks in the shape of homemade peanut-butter and jams and other goodies, the smiles, the fresh air and the celebration after reaching a summit.

After we parted ways with our friends, we returned to our campsite and witnessed an exquisite play of light and clouds as the Sun was swallowed by the sleeping mountain giants.

In this sunset light I met my brother, another moment of peace and shared love for the beauty found in Nature.

We decided that we will go to sleep in our tents and wake up early, hike up to the ridge where we would receive the Sun and the new day.

Waking up early when sleeping under a clear starry sky seems easy, yet the hike turned out to be harder than expected.

It was still worth it. The gift of the moment is priceless.

My brother loves coffee so much that he even carried his moka so we had a nice hot cup of coffee while waiting for the first rays of the Sun to touch the landscape and our cold skin.

It’s really hard to explain with words the sensation I get when I start the day this way. It’s not the first time I have done it and for sure not the last. Every time it’s different and yet it’s already familiar, the moment when the night surrenders to the day, bowing down in front of the light, feels divine. It’s like being in a temple and witnessing a sacred ritual.

With Rumi’s words:

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don't go back to sleep.

So I will try no more to explain the profoundness of the experience. I let the images speak. Let them move you, let them allure you. Let the mystery speak to you.

#photography #nature #love #transylvania #mountains #landscape #wild #beauty #sacred #sunset #sunrise #friends #ridges

[hollygl125]

How Do You Shave in There; or, More Face to Lick: A Pre-Season-7 Deleted Scene*

September 2006.  Las Vegas, Nevada.

Sara Sidle hauled her duffle bag along to the front door of the townhouse she’d been calling home for under two months.  Several days and night of attempts at forced relaxation at a yoga retreat had, if anything, made Sara less rather than more relaxed.  As she had drawn nearer and nearer to the home she now shared with her two favorite gentlemen, however, Sara’s spirits had begun to lift.

These two gentlemen had been the reason Sara had signed up for the yoga retreat.  The retreat had provided cover for the four nights of camping their family of three had enjoyed at Zion National Park immediately beforehand.  This camping trip had made Sara Sidle, for perhaps the first time in her life, understand the beauty of a vacation, and she would have happily withstood several more days—or even weeks—of yoga to pull it off.

As Sara opened the door to the townhouse, she called out to her family, “Hey!  Is anybody—oof!”  Before she could finish her question, a warm mass of brown and white fur had slammed into her.  Sara set her bag down beside her and closed the door, then she bent down to give the wriggling boxer the attention he so clearly desired.

“Hank!  Oh, who’s my good boy?  Yes, who’s my good boy?  You are!  Yes, you are, Hank!  You’re my good boy!”

“And here all this time I thought that was me.”

Sara laughed.  She slipped the boxer the peanut butter dog cookie she’d tucked away in her pocket for just this moment, then she straightened up, so she could greet the other leading man in her life.  “I don’t really consider you a boy,” she said playfully.

“Fair enough.”  Her man leaned in to kiss her hello.

Before their lips could meet, however, she stopped him by placing a hand on his chest.  “You shaved.”

Grissom straightened up.  “Oh.  Yeah.”  He ran his hand over his chin.  “Is it bad?”  He’d had the beard when they’d finally started dating.  He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about the change.  “We had a triple homicide come in right after I got back, so I didn’t get the chance to do anything about it then.  Plus I hadn’t brought any shaving supplies when I went to Marina del Rey to see my mom, so after that and the four days of camping and everything else….  It was looking a bit disheveled.  I thought maybe it made sense just to shave the whole thing off and start fresh.”

Sara still hadn’t said anything.

Grissom ran his hand over his chin again.  “It won’t take long to grow back, though.  I can grow it back.  Sara….  Uh, what do you think?”

She was still staring at his face.  “It’s just….”

“Yeah?”  She was making him nervous.

She was kind of peering side to side as she looked at him.  She raised her hand.  “It’s just….”  She ran the back of her hand over first his right then his left cheek.  “It’s just….  It’s been so long since I got to see all of your face.”  She laughed.

At Sara’s laughter, Grissom began to relax.

“I mean, seriously, what was the last time I got to—oh.”  Sara cut herself short and laughed again.  “I guess we all remember the last time I touched your bare face.”  Large segments of the Nevada legal system probably knew about the last time Sara Sidle had touched Gil Grissom’s bare face.

“Chalk?”

“Yeah.”  She laughed once more.  “But even then….  That wasn’t the same.  I mean, even those few times we were, ah, together before I officially started working here, it wasn’t really the same.  You weren’t…. Well, you weren’t mine then, if you know what I mean….”

“Yeah.  I know what you mean.”

She had her fingers on his left cheek and jawline.  “It’s so smooth….”

“Yeah?”

She ran a finger over the cleft in his chin.  “How do you shave in there, anyway?”

Grissom was starting to get hypnotized by the gentle movement of her fingers over his face, but he laughed as he thought back to their very enjoyable evening with Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant from a month earlier.  “I, uh….  Well, next time I shave, I’ll let you watch.  You can see for yourself how to do it.  Then, how about the next time I grow the beard back then decide to shave it all off, I let you be in charge?”

“Me, shave off your beard?”  Sara laughed.

“Yeah.  Why not?”

“You’d trust me to do that?”

“There’s no one I trust more.”  He gave her a knowing look, full of love and trust—as well as the lust that always simmered just below the surface (when it hadn’t boiled right over the top, that is).

Sara smiled.  “Okay.”  She was still moving her fingers over his face as she continued her visual inspection.  “I think I like it like this.”

“Yeah?”

“For a change, at least.  I like the beard, too.  But this….  This is nice for a change.”  She was still studying his face.  Then she leaned in and kissed him on the right side of his jaw, which had previously been covered by his beard.  “Yeah.”  She switched to the other side, kissing him on the left side of his jaw.  “Yeah, I think I like this for now.”

“Okay.”  He smiled.

She switched to his lips, gently kissing the left corner of his mouth. “Yeah.”  She kissed the right corner next, then she moved her lips slowly toward the middle, her hands now cupping his face.  “I think I like this quite a lot….”

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming….

NOTES

*This is a bonus scene for my story “No, I Never Meant to Cause You Pain: Grave Danger to Law of Gravity: Various Encounters,” which is now complete. This scene fits in after the eighth (i.e., second-from-last) chapter of that story.

Many, many thanks to @figsr, who brought up the Audrey Hepburn line shown above in the context of both that story and our mutual love of Charade, thus prompting this short scene!

#csi #gsr #sara sidle #gil grissom #sara x grissom #grissom x sara #jorja fox #william petersen #💛: survivors in the night #survivors in the night: a las vegas love story #gsr fanfic #fic #fanfic #fan fiction