#the ones at the end got real depressing real fast

[cagesings]

J.OHANNA  B.ARKER  ︰  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑    𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁    𝟶𝟶𝟷    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.        

NAME  :  j.ohanna  b.arker

EYE  COLOR  :  green

HAIR  STYLE  /  COLOR  :  falls  past  her  waist,  curly,  yellow  (  a  shade  close  to  wheat  ).  i  have  a  whole  post  about  it  here

HEIGHT  :  5′2″  /  157  cm  

CLOTHING  STYLE  :  despite  her  ‘wealthy’  growing  up,  johanna  prefers  more  simple  dresses.  she’s  also  pretty  sensitive  about  certain  materials  &  dresses  get  bonus  points  for  being  looser  around  the  stomach  area.  johanna  cannot  stand  tight  clothing.  if  she’s  wearing  a  dress  that  makes  her  feel  insecure  about  herself  (  if  it  makes  her  stomach  look  larger  in  her  mind,  her  shoulder  broad,  her  arms  rounder  ),  she  covers  it  up  with  a  shawl  to  protect  herself.  post  canon  she  tends  to  prefer  long-sleeved  dresses  since  it’s  comforting  &  they  hide  the  scares  from  the  madhouse.  johanna  usually  wears  pinks,  blues  &  whites.  never  black.  she  refuses  to  wear  back.  

BEST  PHYSICAL  FEATURE  :  hair.  because  of  her  body  dysmorphia,  jo  finds  it  really  difficult  to  find  really  anything  she  loves  about  her  physical  appearance  -  except  for  her  hair.  she  actually  loves  her  hair  &  is  very  proud  of  her  curls,  though  she  probably  won’t  ever  admit  it.  

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟸    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.        

FEARS  :  the  loss  of  her  freedom,  loosing  loved  ones,  going  insane,  r.ape,  her  guardian  

GUILTY  PLEASURE  :  in  modern  verses,  she  loves  watching  d.isney  movies.  she  missed  out  on  them  as  a  kid  &  they  calm  her  down  a  little  bit.  

BIGGEST  PET  PEEVE  :  people  underestimating  her  really  gets  on  her  nerve  because  she  survived  an  insane  asylum,  she  freed  herself,  survived  an  encounter  with  a  serial  killer,  etc.  just  because  she  looks  like  a  small,  frail  victorian  woman  does  not  mean  she  has  survived  nothing.  she  also  hates  it  when  people  assume  things  about  her.    

AMBITIONS  FOR  THE  FUTURE  :  obviously  during  canon,  her  biggest  drive  to  trying  to  free  herself  from  her  abusive  guardian,  but  post  canon  johanna  mostly  just  wants  to  see  the  world.    

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟹    :    𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒.

FIRST  THOUGHTS  WAKING  UP  :  when  she  does  sleep,  she’s  probably  recovering  from  a  nightmare  or  some  sort  of  night  terror.  :’)  

WHAT  THEY  THINK  ABOUT  MOST  :  whatever  is  worrying  her  at  the  moment.  this  can  be  as  drastic  as  ‘my  literal  guardian  wants  to  marry  me’  or  ‘are  all  of  the  words  in  the  entire  world  doing  okay  right  now?’    

WHAT  THEY  THINK  ABOUT  BEFORE  BED  :  again,  everything  she’s  worrying  about.  it’s  bad  to  the  point  where  she  can’t  sleep  or  just  doesn’t  for  hours.  

WHAT  THEY  THINK  THEIR  BEST  QUALITY  IS  :  personality  wise?  jo’s  pretty  self-deprecating  &  was  raised  by  turpin,  so  she’d  probably  say  her  hair  again.  but  anyone  else  would  probably  admire  how  she  can  still  stay  soft  after  everything  she’s  been  through  

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁    𝟶𝟶𝟺    :    𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒        𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑?

SINGLE  OR  GROUP  DATES  :  single.  group  dates  would  probably  stress  her  out.      

TO  BE  LOVED  OR  RESPECTED  :  loved.  she  takes  love  over  most  things  because  she  was  without  it  for  so  long.  

BEAUTY  OR  BRAINS  :  brains      

DOGS  OR  CATS  :  .........birds

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟻    :    𝐃𝐎        𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘…

LIE  :  she  was  raised  by  one  of  the  strictest  men  alive  of  course

BELIEVE  IN  THEMSELVES  :  no.  she  needs  some  self  esteem  so  bad.  

BELIEVE  IN  LOVE  :  despite  everything,  yes.  johanna  saw  it  out  her  window  all  of  the  time.  one  day,  one  day,  she  hoped,  it  would  happen  to  her,  too.    

WANT  SOMEONE  :  desperately  

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟼    :    𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  …

BEEN  ON  STAGE  :  nope.  she  would  die.  

CHANGED  WHO  THEY  WERE  TO  FIT  IN  :  not  really?  she  doesn’t  really  have  anyone  to  ‘fit  in’  with.  but  she  would  pretend  like  there’s  nothing  wrong  in  order  to  fit  in.  

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁    𝟶𝟶𝟽  :    𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒.

FAVORITE  COLOR  :  blue

FAVORITE  ANIMAL  :  birds.  she  cannot  pick  a  single  favorite  bird,  but  she  does  actually  own  larks  so.  

FAVORITE  BOOK  :  her  selection  of  books  were  quite  slim  growing  up,  but  she  would  probably  say  one  of  shakespeare’s  works  was  her  favorite  during  canon.  post  canon,  she  discovers  j.ane  a.usten  so.  

FAVORITE  GAME  :  this  girl  was  so  sheltered  she  doesn’t  know  what  a  game  is.    

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟾    :    𝐀𝐆𝐄.

DAY  THEIR  NEXT  BIRTHDAY  WILL  BE  :  february  20th

HOW  OLD  WILL  THEY  BE  :  eighteen

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟿    :    𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.

I  LOVE  :  my  larks

I  FEEL  :  worried

I  HIDE  :  myself  

I  MISS  :  leaving  my  room  

I  WISH  :  i  was  loved

tagged  by:  @luckhissoul​  (  thank  you  so  much!!!  )

tagging:  steal  it!  

#the ones at the end got real depressing real fast #long post tw #*❈ ‣ ❝ 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏，𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏，𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ❞ — ( dash games. )

[mecub]

Is it normal to feel angry when the people around you fall in love? Like, I love my friends and I’m happy and proud that their crushes worked out and they have partners, and it’s not like they’re leaving me behind at all, but I’m angry for some reason?

Maybe it’s because they have something I literally can’t have? I’m ok with not having a romantic partner ever, but maybe less ok than I thought?

#aroace #aromantic #ughhhhhhhhhhhh whyyyyyy i just wanna be happy for this one friend #and then i see that their partner has something about how much they love my friend on their social media #and i’m angry???? #WHY #why am i angry this is not a reason to be angry #i don’t want romance #i know that #BUT MAYBE I DO WANT ROMANCE EVEN THOUGH I’M OK WITH BEING ALONE AND ROMACELESS FOREVER? #i guess i want the security of a romantic partner #and the feeling of having something “special” #stupid “more than friends” #I hate how romantic partners are treated as the ultimate relationship #one special person who nobody else can compare to #if that’s the case then all my friends will end up leaving me right? #if that’s the case then i’ll never matter to anyone fully #anywayyy that got depressing real fast #thank you to anyone who read all this #vent #rant

[romanarose]

Scars

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x pale!fem!reader (see immersivity warnings)

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Summary: You and Joel are taking things slow, really slow. You find that he's easy to open up to about your depression, but you find it's hard to tell him the full extent.

Warnings: Talk of depression and self harm, self harm scars, descriptions of said scars (healed, not bleeding or recent) piv sex, oral f!recieving. Comfort sex. first time between couple, not loss of virginity.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, no specified age. This is a fic i started last year when i was doing very, very poorly and relapsing. I wanted to write something for myself. I usually really try to make things as inclusive as I can but the descriptions of scars are detailed and they are detailed to my skin, which is pale. I'm sorry, but I wanted to write this for myself. I support people writing fics specific to themselves, their skin tone, their hair type, their wieght etc, as long as it's labled right. @fandxmslxt69 said i could do it and said if anyone has a problem, come to her <3

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

"And the scars remind us that the past is real" Scars, Papa Roach

Joel hadn’t minded when you said you wanted to take things slow. He didn’t mind one bit. Being a dad of a preteen , albeit an easy one, didn’t leave him with much opportunity to move fast. He was busy. In fact, he hadn’t really intended to date at all, at least until Sarah was in college if that… but you had sparkled your way into his life accidentally, and he was trying his best to balance it all. You were understanding, patient, you didn't get mad if he had to rearrange plans or cancel because something with Sarah or work came up, and he thought things were going well. You were beautiful, fun, and the few times you’d briefly met Sarah, she seemed to like you. That was a necessity. Joel absolutely refuses to date someone that made Sarah unhappy, but Sarah had made a few references to him and dating before he met you anyway, so she seemed okay with it. It wasn’t like he had a relationship with her mom, as much as Joel had tried to foster something… her mom hadn’t been interested.

Tommy was a lifesaver. When he noticed Joel had been struggling, Tommy sat him down and asked to help him. Tommy asked Joel. 

“You deserve a life.” Tommy had insisted.

“Sarah is my life.”

“Joel, you deserve m-”

“Don’t say I deserve more, Tommy. Sarah is enough. I don’t need more.”

Tommy sighed. “I know, brother, but can I at least help you out a bit? Give you a little free time to see that pretty girl of yours?”

Tommy had only met you once, but he liked you too. Joel acquiesced, letting Tommy take care of taking her to soccer practices (but he would NOT miss a game). This did end up being a big help and Joel had more and more time to see you… and when Tommy took Sarah out for a movie or she had plans with friends, he found more and more time alone in the evening with you.

Joel didn’t want to take his hands off your body the first time you and him made out on his couch, but when his hand went to feel up your breasts, you noticeably tensed. Fearing he overstepped, Joel quickly pulled back and apologized. Both of you nervous messes, it took a moment before you and Joel got full sentences out.

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“No no it’s okay!”

“I just thought-”

“And I want too-!”

“No, I didn’t mean for anything tonight-”

“Oh, uh, right-”

“Not that I don’t want to!”

“Me too!”

Eventually, Joel clarified he was just enjoying feeling you, he didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything ‘like that’, and you explained he can touch you like that, you just wanted to wait a little bit… You sat back, nervous, but figured now was as good a time as any. 

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, if we could…” You shuffle on the couch.

Joel looks nervous, but open. He wants to know you, good and bad, and if something was bothering you, he wanted to know. “Of course, I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath. “Do you know what depression is?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I have an aunt with it but we don’t really talk about it much… Sometimes Sarah’s school sends her home with pamphlets… so I know a little, I guess.” That’s not what he was expecting.

“Well… I have it.”

“Oh.” He says again, dumbly. “I'm sorry. Or… am I not supposed to say that?”

You can’t help laughing a little. He was sweet, and he was trying. “It’s okay, Joel, and thank you. Well, about 6 months ago I started therapy and started taking an antidepressant, and things have been a lot better but… I need you to understand, things can get really dark for me sometimes and… it can be a lot for other people to deal with. I promise, it’s nothing dangerous to others!” You quickly add when you see his confused face. “It’s just, sometimes I’m not myself… and, if that’s not something you can handle, I want you to know that’s okay.”

Joel sat there for a moment, looking at you. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what depression was… but in the South, it wasn’t like they talked about that sort of thing much. Still, he liked you… he liked you a lot, actually, and he wanted to be there to support you. He couldn’t just run away from difficult times, not when he had a preteen. It would mean he wasn’t fit to be there for Sarah…

“I wanna be there for you.” Joel assured you, to your growing smile. “I may not know how to, but I wanna try my best.”

You smile more, and scoot up next to him, in turn Joel lays an arm around you. “Thank you, Joel”

Still, you were nervous… because Joel hasn’t seen you without sleeves… nonetheless without clothes. 

*

In the end, it was almost 4 months before you had sex. Physically, you’d taken things slow, but emotionally you hadn’t at all. You were in love, and you’d both told each other as much. Tommy had given Joel shit for committing to a girlfriend without having sex, but Joel had told Tommy he could talk after he got an actual girlfriend, not hookups. Still, Tommy wanted to provide a good opportunity for Joel to fuck you the way Joel would want to. Sappy and romantic. So, when Sarah’s favorite band Halican Drops was coming to Housten, Tommy offered to pay for them to go and for a hotel. 

Joel had tried to protest, saying it was too expensive, saying he wasn’t sure he wanted Sarah that far away, and that he should just come, but Tommy smacked him on the head.

“Dumbass, I’m giving you a night with your girlfriend!”

When Tommy promised not to have a single drop of alcohol, text every hour, not let her stand by any men, call when they leave the venue and get to the hotel ETC, Joel allowed it to happen. Sarah was ECSTATIC, being the first concert she’d ever been to, and although a teeny bopper band wasn’t exactly on Tommy’s dream list, he was excited to be a cool uncle. Also, Joel needed to get laid. He was getting cranky at work.

The night itself was a lot of fun. Joel took you to a nice restaurant, and after you came back to his place and changed into more comfortable clothes, you’d spent the night watching American Idol. Joel was very critical.

As the night progressed, your nerves grew as you knew where the natural progression of the night would take you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to fuck Joel; you really, really wanted to. And you weren’t nervous about him. You knew Joel would stop if you said stop. What you were nervous about was your body. Joel looked good, but he had a bit of a stomach himself so you didn’t think he’d be worried about your shape or small imperfections… Joel was a gentle soul, kind, loving. Yeah, that wasn’t the worry. The worry had been on your skin.

In the middle of winter, you’d managed to not show much skin around him, with jackets and long sleeves and pants… but it was inevitable. Joel had been a wonderful support to you these 4 months, holding your hand, listening to you when you cried. Slowly you opened up to him about the circumstances that meant you needed extra help, and he was everything you could ask for. 

But how would he react to this?

Joel had you laid out on the bed, both of you still dressed and his pajama covered pants grinding into your warm cunt. Joel sure liked to take his time. 

“We don’t gotta do noth’n, you know that right?” Joel muttered into your neck, drunk on you but still being respectful like the gentle man he was.

“I know”

He pulled back. “Then why’dya seem so nervous?”

You look up at him, wide eyed and nervous, but you needed this… you needed to tell him the truth. “Joel…”

He got off you, standing up at the edge of the bed. The massive, rock hard erection in his pants couldn’t have been comfortable, but his willingness to stop anyway meant a lot. It was a low bar but it was there.

“We can stop, I’m sorry-”

You sit up on your elbows. “It’s not you, it’s just um… I should tell you something before we start…”

“Okay.” He was few on words, but he looked receptive.

You weren’t sure how to do this, how to open up that conversation… so you decided just to show him. Lights still on, you begin to take off your shirt.

Joel tried to stop you. “Hey, hey, no, let’s talk.”

You smile at him. “We will, Joel, just… let me show you…” After the shirt was off, you slid off your pants and laid on the bed, spread out and close to naked in a bra and underwear.

“Jesus, darl’n…” Joel mumbled, taking in the sight before him. 

Scars littered your body.

It wasn’t a few, it was a lot, and the coverage was significant. Joel’s eyes roamed your body, cock softening quickly despite your near-nakedness and took in the expanse of the scaring. Your thighs were the most noticeable, pink slaves across your skin from the hips to mid-thigh. His hand reached out instinctively, but pulled back. You noticed.

Your voice was soft, reassuring. You knew he was confused and curious. “You can touch me, it’s okay.”

He does. Joel’s fingers a feather light across your skin, feeling the way the scars dipped and raised depending on severity. There there cuts, but also burn mark; small circles from cigarettes twisting up the patterns more. It was all over, reaching back to the curve of your ass. His eyes followed the trail up and the cuts became less in intensity and number, but never stopping over your hip bone and to your stomach. These were lighter; less that split open the skin but the silver lines were still raised over the belly fat as his fingers touched you. Your bra-line showed more burns, and he stopped short of the cloth. 

You take his hands and guide Joel to reach behind you to unclasp the bra, allowing him to pull it up and reveal your breasts. His eyes water as he sees the scars never stopped, marring your breasts, although not nearly the horrific amount on your thighs.

“I don’t understand…” He mumbles, sadness and distress clear in his eyes. “You did this to yourself?” Joel takes your hand in his, examining the scars making a ring around your wrist. He kissed the inside, eyes threatening to pool over.

You nod. “Yeah…”

His voice cracks. “But… why?”

“Sometimes…” You start, overcome with emotions at the clear pain on his face. He loved you so much, the thought of you in this much pain hurt him as well. “It was all I could do to cope.”

He didn’t seem like he understood, but he wasn’t judging you. He didn’t look at you like a freak like so many others did. He just knew he didn’t want you to feel this way again. 

“I havn’t done it in a while.” You give him a smile. “You make things easier. I mean, I’m still… yeah… but you do make things much better.” He did. Having someone who held you, listened to you, helped pick up the pieces… it wasn’t going to cure you, but it was amazing how much support helped with the addition of meds and therapy. 

Joel relaxed at that, a relieved and gentle smile on his face. “I’m glad, darl’n…” He held you hand to his face, chapped lips nuzzling against your damaged skin. “”M here to take care of you now, okay? I wanna help.”

“You do.” You assure him, pulling his face down to you again and taking his mouth in yours. “You mean so much to me Joel, you make me so happy…” His body covers yours once more, his warm encasing you as he protectively holds you.

“You’re safe with me.” Joel mutters against your mouth, fingers digging into your soft flesh.

You pull him closer to you, grinding yourself up against him, enticing him again. “Still want you tonight, please? I can’t wait any longer.” It’s had been a long 4 months and fuck, fuck you wanted him, badly. 

“Always gonna take care of you, princesa.” Joel grinds his jeans-clothed cock against the soft fabric of your underwear, making you shutter. “Gonna take care of my pretty girl, always.”

And god, did he.

Joel’s mouth was sloppy, wet, hot between your legs. His tongue fucked into your hole, prodding you open and his hips bucking against the bed. Insatiable. Arms locked around your legs, his nose nudged against your clit as it seemed he was trying push himself as strongly against your body as he could, to devour you, to bring you and him the most absolute pleasure he could.

You tug at his hair, soft waves in between your fingers as you draw him closer to you. Warmth pooling in your stomach, you felt that pressure grow with every moan, every vibration, every sluuuuuuuuuurp! of your juices, christ he was incredible. You felt elevated, devoted too and adorned in affection the way you had always wanted to be. He was everything in this moment. Joel’s tongue slid up in a swift swipe, mouth and that pouty lower lip latching onto your clit with his fingers pumped into you.

“JOEL! J-ohhhhhh” Your cry for his name melted into moans as you came on his mouth and fingers, crushing his head between thighs as your legs bent. The power of your orgasm caused you to tense and then melt into the bed. You give a low hum as he kisses your inner thighs. As you come to reality again, you register Joel’s sweet kisses all over your legs. He’s kissing the trail of your scars. Joel kisses over the scars on your right thigh and up the crease at your inner hip.

“What are you doing?” You mutter, never for a moment fully let go of his hair.

“Appreciating every inch of you.”

Joel kissed his way up your torso, over the scars under your tits and over the mounds. Latching onto your nipple, he swirled his tongue around the sensitive skin. You can feel him smile against your skin when your back arches off the bed.

“Fuck, Joel, your fucking mouth…” You whimper, and when his mouth lets go his hands never do. Softly, he touches you in all the scarred, squishy parts of you you were trained for so long to hate. 

He kissed you tenderly, gentle hands a contrast to his hungry mouth. That tongue, that goddamn tongue…

When he slides in, your eyes can’t help but roll back; your chest rises up against his broad expanse. He filled you so perfectly, fucking deep inside you and filling you up. You never felt so full. Your heart, your life, your stretched out cunt… every part of you was full and euphoric.

“My sweet, perfect girl…” Joel grunts as he pumps into you, hand braced against the headboard and towering over you. You gazed up at him, the yellow lighting of the ceiling fan created a halo around him. Joel looked positively angelic. 

Fitting, as he was your angel.

You were aware how he was perceived in his culésac. Joel was highly respected; kind, hard working if a bit disorganized. A good southern man who raised his brother and daughter well, helped the elderly neighbors, bailed his brother out of pinches and would use his truck to help anyone move. Yeah, people liked Joel. But they wouldn’t call him gentle, like how you feel his hands over your stomach. They wouldn’t call him soft like you felt his stomach against yours. They wouldn’t call him angelic, but that was all you could say as you came on his cock.

They certainly would not call him warm, but that was all you felt as you pulled out and sprayed ropes of cum on your stomach. 

You dozed off to sleep as he spread his cum around your scarred skin.

You vaguely register him cleaning you up, tired and content, and wait for him to join you again. His body felt perfect against your, fitting so well against your body like two puzzle pieces so close together. You had mumbled a request to be dressed, just in case Sarah and Tommy came home early, so you were both cuddled up in sweats under a thick blanket.

Everything with Joel felt safe and warm.

"Scars remind us where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going" -David Rossi, Criminal Minds.

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

So, there we are. I'm very frustrated by the new bought of scars that are quite noticable that I have to wait to fade again but I refuse to be ashamed the way I used to. My scars are just scars from my trauma and illness. It's a moral failing of the people who have and continue to harm me, not mine.

Thank you all for reading, this was quite a venerable piece for me but I see a light at te end of the tunnel, and things will be getting better, I know it <3

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @yorksgirl

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fem reader #tlou smut #tlou #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #dads best friend joel #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel #joel miller x reader smut #pale reader #f!reader #smut

[saberlight1]

can’t help fallin’ in love — coriolanus snow

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

warnings: slight tbosas spoilers, mentions of trauma, depression, standard ballad of songbirds and snakes warnings.

authors note: another one!! i am a goddamn writing machine these days lmao. i wanted to write something lovey dovey about my boy, i think i may have gone a lil overboard but this app is seriously lacking coryo fluff fics. i hope you enjoy soft coryo as much as i do! <3

masterlist

Coriolanus sat with an emotionless look on his face as he sat on the rocky train that was taking him to his worst nightmare. He was being shipped off to District 12 for cheating to help you win the games. He didn’t regret that, he never would.

But this was not the ideal outcome he’d imagined.

At least he wouldn’t be completely alone— after all, he was going to your district. He just wished it was under different circumstances.

“You know, I thought I might find you here,” Sejanus’ words caused him to turn around immediately, breaking him from his thoughts. “Sitting all by yourself.” He teased, walking into the train cart Coriolanus was currently in.

“Sejanus, what’re you doing—” He stood up, his eyebrows knitted together in concern and annoyance.

“What do you think?” He cut him off with a scoff. “After what I did in the arena? My father had to buy me the Academy a brand new gym just so I could get my diploma.” He put his bag down. “He begged me to stay, but once I found out where they were sending you, I couldn’t get out fast enough.” He admitted with a sigh, moving to sit down. “Barely made the train ‘cause of this stupid knee, but it’s okay, they gave me some morphling for the pain.”

Coriolanus looked at him with judgment. “You volunteered for this?”

“I figured if I get through basic and then maybe I’d become a medic.” He beamed. “Maybe make a real difference out here… just like you said.” Sejanus’ gaze turned downward. “They never told us what you did,”

“I cheated.” He answered, shamelessly. “To save Y/N from the snakes.” Sejanus’ nodded slowly, understanding where his friend was coming from. After a beat of silence, Coriolanus’ tearful eyes met his. “Do you think they killed her?”

“Why would they risk it?” Sejanus questioned with furrowed brows. “She was a big hit, if there is a games next year, they’re probably gonna invite her to sing at the opening ceremony.” He joked with a smile.

Coriolanus didn’t laugh. “You know, when you came in, I was weighing the merits of suicide.” He half-joked, his smile not meeting his eyes.

“When we’re about to be free?” Sejanus shot back. “When the girl you risked everything for might be waiting for you at the end of this track?” At his words, Coriolanus’ throat ran dry, the tears returning to his eyes. The possibility that you might be waiting not even crossing his mind. Sejanus looked at him with a knowing glint in his eye. “My friend, don’t give them the satisfaction. Your life has just begun. You’re gonna do great— We’re both gonna do great.”

Sejanus’ words still rung in his ears, even if they were spoken all those months ago.

Even now, when you were delicately tucked under his arm, your head buried in his neck as you slept soundly. That conversation seemed to take home in his mind, never leaving.

You were, in-fact, waiting for him, and the moment you saw him you ran into his arms, and he cherished you every day from that moment. The pair of you spent as much time together as you could, and you loved every second of it. As did he.

You were like a star of brightness in his darkness— lighting up places he didn’t even know existed and granting them with your warmth. And now that you weren’t fighting for your life, he got to learn so much about you.

He learned about your quirks, your personality, your smile, all of it. You learned the same about him.

But nights like these where he couldn’t find sleep and was left up alone, the silence and ringing of the bugs outside consumed him, the man getting caught up in the ropes that was his thoughts.

He often didn’t believe he deserved you, that you were too pure for him. You were gifted to him by mistake, but he was too selfish to let you go.

And, God, you never wanted him too.

Coriolanus had a bad habit of not speaking his mind, and bottling his emotions until they bubbled over, everything coming out in one out burst of rage and sadness. You didn’t blame him, you never did. Instead, you picked him up from the floor and held him until he calmed down.

He had never experienced the type of love you gave him, and it scared the shit out of him. He didn’t know how to return it, he wasn’t good with kind of stuff. You taught him things everyday, though.

You snuggled deeper into his neck, his uneven breathing causing you, a light sleeper, to wake up. Or, according to your theories, you were so interlinked with Coryo that you could sense when he was overthinking.

You left a small patch of kisses on his throat, cracking your sleepy eyes open to confirm your suspicions— the boy was staring off into space, not a drop of sleep in his eyes.

“Coryo,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss his jaw softly. He turned at your acts, his eyes meeting yours as his previous frown was replaced with that lovey smile you adored. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head, temporarily pushing you off of him in order for him to turn on his side to properly look at you. Once he got situated, he pulled you back into his chest, a giggle leaving your lips.

Your fingers came up to knead through his messy platinum locks. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “Nothing.. it’s just, sometimes I think you may be too good for me.” He admitted slowly.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Coryo, if anything, you’re too good for me. Remember, honey, I’m ‘District Trash’.” You laughed, repeating the words Lucky Flickermen had said about you before wrapping your arms around his neck and leaving kisses all over his face. “You must be a fool if you can’t see how in love I am with you. You are more than good to me, I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone else.” You promised, continuing to leave kisses on your lover’s smiling face with every word you spoke.

His arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you closer to him. “I love you,” He whispered in your ear, beginning to leave his own kisses on your neck and jaw.

Butterflies creeped up your spine at his confession, a love-sick smile tugging on your lips as you leaned up to really kiss him.

His hands came up to cup your face as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, the kiss only being further fueled with your burning passion for each other. Your hands slipped back into his locks for purchase as the kiss grew more needy. You let out a whimper against his mouth when he began to kiss you harder, angling your body back to deepen it further.

He smirked against your lips at your noises, before pulling back for air. His thumb swiped back and forth across your cheekbone as you both stared at each other, love strong in the both of your eyes.

“I love you, Coryo.” You whispered back, before taking your spot back in his arms. “Get some sleep, my love.” You left another kiss on his throat, the boy hugging you somehow closer, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you,” He softly spoke, leaning up to blow out the candle you had lit earlier.

“Always,”

#coryo snow #coriolanus my bae #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas #coryo x reader #coryolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus fanfiction

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Martha Sleeper (Penthouse, Broken Dreams)— Her eyes are enough! She is one of the most beautiful women in old hollywood and should be more well known

Joan Blondell (Footlight Parade, The Public Enemy)—My Pre-code QUEEEEEN. Joan is a large part of why I love 30s movies. She's got such a flair and presence. She's not known for her voice, but her rendition of Remember My Forgotten Man will grab you by the heart. She played a variety of roles, and held her own with major stars like Bette Davis and Hot Vintage Poll icon James Cagney. She was a hardworker, even as Hollywood stopped giving her prime roles, and continued working in film and television up until her death. She's an absolute firecracker, even in her supporting roles I end up focused on her. Also, I just think it's cute that her name (real!) is Blondell.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Joan Blondell:

A pre-code sweetie. Hot, funny and practical.

Criterion retrospective:

Sharp-tongued, sharp-witted, and beautiful - what more could you ask for from a dame of the gangster film/screwball comedy era? (Also, James Cagney would want you to vote for her!)

with her sunny smile and characters tending to exhibit a blend of happy-go-lucky cheerfulness and scrappy toughness, joan blondell is one of the quintessential stars of the pre-code era. she and fellow fast-talking wisecracker james cagney were close friends, having met when they were in a broadway play together in 1929, and made seven movies together that ran the gamut from gangster pictures to comedies to musicals.

She's absolutely hilarious and I love her

She's the wisecracking blonde who has been around the block and knows the score, but just look at those big blue eyes gazing at Jimmy Cagney as she burns the midnight oil to help him achieve his dreams and picks him up when he gets buffeted by life

Smart, snarky, and so sexy!

My Forgotten Man is one of the most haunting depictions of the consequences of WWI that I’ve ever seen, knocked out of the park by Joan Blondell’s performance. In one song number it traces sending the boys off to war, bringing them back to die in the streets maimed, drunk, and full of PTSD, then leaving them to starve in the Depression, framed by the suffering of the women who loved them. Holy shit? This is a musical number? They fucking produced this barnburner in a mainstream musical?

My Forgotten Man, in two parts:

#joan blondell #martha sleeper #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 4

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.3k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI, no smut but mentions of sex, eating issues, feelings of anxiety, depression, sadness. Relationship issues. Established throuple. Conversations.

It’s possible you’ve had a stroke.

One minute, you’re alone in the hotel room, half asleep on crisp white sheets, and the next, you’re in the apartment, your small bag slung over your shoulder, Simon’s knuckles white around the handles of your suitcase, Johnny standing in front of you with a hand outstretched like you’re a deer he might startle. You must have had a stroke, because how else did that happen so fast? Maybe you’d been knocked unconscious or tripped and hit your head. Or you’re stuck in some sick nightmare that’s pretending to be dream, because-

“Darling?” Johnny pulls your attention easily, hand closing over yours, it’s warmth a safe and comforting thing that you thought you might really never feel again. He looks at you expectantly, and you take in the door frame that you’re standing just on the other side of, your body not quite across the threshold yet.

Were you really doing this? Going back? 

You wanted to leave… didn’t you? 

Did you? Did you truly want to leave? 

Or was it easier to leave, then be left. Was it easier to leave, so you could be found. 

When you look at them, something burns in your chest. They look exhausted, and an entire new layer of guilt lays upon you, knowing that they’ve already been back for hours, but haven’t been able to rest.

Simon says your name, quietly, but his voice carries the warning of a promise he made two hours ago, the assurance that no matter where you went, he’d always bring you back. That he and Johnny would never give up, they’d never let the ugly things that live inside your head win. That he’d remind you, again and again, until you don’t remember anything else. Until you only recognize the truth.

You want to fight them. A part of you, the desperate part, the violent sliver that blackens a piece of your heart, says you will. You want to scream and yell and throw something. Break something, damage something other than yourself. It’s not that easy, you want to tell them, you don’t understand. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest. What if you’re making a mistake? It was always them, and then you… wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? You gulp, and you know it’s audible, because Simon shifts his weight, tensing, like he’s preparing to dart out into the hall after you. Is it real? Could it really be, the three of you… and not them then you? 

Johnny’s thumb rubs a gentle pattern across your knuckles, and it draws you in, your body naturally seeking his, your feet moving on their own until your curling into his chest, face buried in his shirt, fingers clutched in the fabric like it’s your only lifeline. A bag drops, a door clicks shut, a trio of locks slide into place, and then Simon is on you both, heavy arms pressing your bodies together, a mouth mussing along your freshly washed hair.

“Let’s go to bed.” Simon suggests, stroking a pattern up and down your spine. “We can talk more when we’re up, how does that sound?” You murmur non-committal nonsense into Johnny, who turns you in the direction of the bedroom, and you walk one step in front of them until you’re folding onto the mattress, sinking into the too familiar comfort of the big bed. Tomorrow, you promise yourself sleepily, tomorrow you’ll get your head sorted out.

“I’m confused.” Your phone is squeezed between your ear and your shoulder while you probe a mango that looks awfully green, and Johnny sighs on the other end of the line. 

“Dinner. Dinnae tell me you’ve got plans?” 

“What? No… I don’t. Are you… are you inviting me over to like, eat dinner?” A meal? Like actual food? And not just you spread out on the dining table like last weekend? 

“Aye, love.” The mango flexes in your grasp, the soft points of its flesh surrendering under the pressure of your fingertips. 

“Tonight?” There’s a pause, swift silence and the phone goes dead quiet, like the line has been muted. A few seconds pass, and you discard the mango carelessly in frustration before he comes back on. 

“No, tomorrow?” 

“O-okay. Sure. Dinner, tomorrow.” Dinner. You’re going to have dinner with them. You steady your breathing to try to get a grip. It’s not like you haven’t shared meals before. The three of you have eaten takeaway in bed at least twice, and you’ve all eaten out together, or had breakfast in the morning together. 

But this sounded… it felt like something else. 

“Our place, nineteen hundred.” 

“What time is that?” 

“Seven. See you then, yeah?” 

“Um. Yeah.”

Your stomach is thrashing when you stand in front of their door the next day. Your confusion about the invite for dinner has blossomed into a full-fledged panic, and you’re mostly convinced that this is the goodbye dinner, that they’re going to cut you lose now, sever the connection that’s been brewing between the three of you without a second thought. 

These thoughts, this spiral has forced you into a new realization, a terrifying one, a truth that sits uncomfortably in your belly, its reality forcing you to swallow your nerves while your finger hovers over the doorbell. 

You like them. You don’t want them to cut you lose. You want to stay. You want… more. 

 You’ve already told yourself; you won’t beg them. You won’t plead, you won’t try to convince them to keep you. It’s pretty clear they’re happy together, your intermission in their life probably something they’ll wipe their hands of as soon as you’re out the door tonight. 

Still, something in you burns for them. Pulls you towards them, like they’ve got their claws in you and won’t let go. 

You smooth the front of your dress and ring the doorbell. You try not to fidget, try not to touch the black fabric that sits just a little snug, that outlines your body in all the right ways, and your fingers are wrapped around themselves when the door swings open wide to reveal Simon on the other side. He looks you up and down indulgently, and something flares in his eyes, a heat that you can practically feel while his jaw flexes behind the mask. 

“Hi.” You want it to sound confident, comfortable, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper. 

“Darling.”

It’s the heat that wakes you. Your body is pinned between them, the three of you easily falling into the usual sleeping position, you on your side, Simon at your back, Johnny half sprawled, your face on his diaphragm so he can stretch his arm above your head. Usually, he falls asleep scratching his nails into Simon’s scalp, and you fall asleep with your hips pressed back and a flat palm on Johnny’s rib cage.

Today, you’ve woken up exactly the same, except Simon’s cock is flush with the curve of your ass, and you can feel the heavy hardness of it when you shift. A delicious daydream forms in your mind, and you think about reaching behind you to free him from his briefs when Johnny grumbles, his eyes blinking open with a disgruntled mmph. He stuns you, still, with how beautiful he is. How perfect he is, how even when he’s just waking up, he still manages to look like something etched by a god. Your heart swells when you look at him, the overflowing feeling nearly smothering you beneath it's pressure, and you resist the urge to stroke your fingers along his jaw. Love. It's love, it's love, how could it ever have been anything other than love? 

“Good morning.” You whisper, even though you know it’s well into the afternoon. He rolls completely, tucking you into his body closer, and you feel his hand card over Simon’s side.

“How did you sleep?” He croons above your ear, accent still thick with sleep, and you shrug.

“Fine, I guess.” You trying to make the shush motion with a finger against your lips, but Johnny just smiles. A big hand, not Johnny’s, pats your hip.

“Breakfast?” Simon mumbles in your hair and you nod.

“Breakfast sounds good.”

Johnny makes pancakes. You assume it’s because he knows they’re your favorite, and because there are no fresh groceries in the apartment, no eggs or fruit or anything else.

“I could go down to the supermarket, if we want? Grab some-“

“No.” Simon pours a mug of black coffee and points to the counter stool. “Sit.” He’s still in his briefs and nothing else, the cut of his hips on display just above the waistband, and your eyes trace his form briefly. A magnet that's settled behind your heart springs alive, trying to pull you towards him, trying to push you right up against him. The feeling intensifies as you watch him, and your stomach flips. It's love, the thrall, the pull, the power of what you feel. The intoxication of your adoration, the connection you have with him. It threatens to end you, right there on the stool and you cast your eyes down to break the spell. He sets the coffee in front of you and turns to where Johnny stands at the stove, placing a kiss on his shoulder before getting himself his own cup and sitting down next to you, a thigh just barely touching yours. 

“How’re you feeling?” Johnny probes, and you gnaw on your bottom lip and look down into your lap. Get your shit together. Get your head together. 

“I’m okay.” You shrug, and Simon scoffs into his mug. Johnny stands with a hand on his hip across the countertop, looking back and forth between your plate of pancakes and your face expectantly. Just eat. Make him happy. You love pancakes. Discomfort settles your bones. The edge of the fork bites into the skin of your palm. “I am feeling a lot.” You disclose it cautiously, staring down at your plate, watching the syrup ooze around the contents of your breakfast.

“Will you tell us? What it is you’re feeling?” Simon persuades, his hand just hovering in your line of sight. Not touching you, but close enough. In case you need him. You draw a deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can manage before letting it out in a whoosh.

“When you’re gone… and even sometimes when you’re here, it’s too easy to feel like this isn’t real. It feels like... you could never come back, because you don’t have to. It’s not like you need me.”

“What’s making you think that?” you notice the way Johnny’s gripping the countertop, fingers wrapped around the edge like he’s trying to snap the slab free, knuckles white, forearms tense. Tension runs through him from head to toe, and you feel the urge to reach out and comfort him, to mold your body into his, feel him against you. You’re hurting them. You’ve hurt them. Is this really what you wanted? 

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Yer not eating?” You swallow the dry fear in the back of your throat and try to give Johnny a smile. 

“I did.” He raises an eyebrow. “Eat some.” You clarify and shift nervously. “It was good, you did great as usual.” You give him a cheeky smile and he returns it, but it slips from his lips easily, and he returns to folding his hands in his lap. 

It’s something he does when he’s nervous, you’ve noticed. When he’s anticipating something. He’s been jumpy since you got here, and it’s done nothing to alleviate your fears and everything to confirm them. 

They’re giving you the boot. You can already tell. 

You try to keep it together, try to focus on having a good time and enjoying their company, but you can’t stomach the reality of the situation… or your food. It’s a bad habit, something you’ve picked up over the years, the eating thing. It’s not something you’re proud of, of but also something you can’t shake. It plagues you, and you-

“We want to discuss something with you.” Johnny says, and you give them both a polite smile, forcing yourself to not to stand up and bolt in that very second.

It’s going to be fine. It’s just like getting dumped, which you’re fairly good at. You can do this. 

“Okay.”

“We’ve really liked having you around,” Your mind strays, zoning out for a moment while you think about how much you’ll miss them. How it’ll be different, not waking up between them or spending long nights in their apartment with them. How you’ll miss the way Johnny rubs your back, the way Simon soothes you with a simple, gentle touch. How- “and we don’t want you to get the wrong idea about us, we-“ 

“What he means to say is…” Simon interrupts, and then pauses like he needs to collect his thoughts. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, the three of us.” Your heart goes from fast to superspeed, it’s pulse thundering in your ears. You fight to steady yourself, your head, your heart, anything to get control of your own mind and not break down at the table. “And we enjoy it. Enjoy… you.” 

“Not just the sex.” Johnny cuts in, and you nod. 

“We’ve had a lot of fun.” You agree and Simon frowns, something like disappointment, or sadness, casting a shadow across his face before it clears and he’s reaching across the table for your hand. His touch calms you, and when you look up into his eyes, there’s something there that surprises you. Something tender, and soft. Something like adoration. 

“’S not just fun, darling. You’re precious to us.” Your head feels light, and you look at them both with wide eyes. They’re holding hands, and Johnny looks like he’s grasping onto Simon for dear life in this moment. 

“I don’t understand... you two are… in love. I thought, we were just… having sex?” your mouth feels like cotton, and you grope blindly across the table for your wine glass without taking your eyes from them. When you find it, you down the dark red liquid without a second thought, gulping loudly. 

“Aye, but… we want to spend more time with you. If you’d like that.” 

“More time…” 

“Dating.” Johnny smiles at you, his gorgeous, easy way of it settling a wild flare that’s gone off inside your heart. 

“You… want to date… me?” You nearly laugh at the absurdity, but hold it back, not wanting to insult them and the serious expressions they’re wearing. 

“You’ve given us something…” Simon trails off, lost somewhere before he comes back, eyes clear and focused on you. “You’ve given us something we didn’t know we could have. Didn’t think we had a capacity for, and now… we don’t want to be without you. We miss you when you’re not with us.” The room suddenly feels incredibly hot, like someone’s turned the heat on high, and even though you’ve just finished your wine, your mouth is completely dry. 

They want you. They don’t want to get rid of you… they actually want you. Something dark and sharp twists in your mind, something full of doubt and loathing, something that tells you to run away. They won’t want you anymore once they get to know you. Truly get to know you. They won’t keep you. Don’t get confused. 

Johnny politely clears his throat, and then drags his chair until he’s right next to you, soft gaze peering down with wonderment, like you’re some magical… unicorn.

“We wan’ be with you, love. The three of us, together.” 

The blackout curtains make the bedroom effectively dark, the only light a small one, and you bury your face in the pillow when you feel weight shifting, the heap of blankets you buried yourself under being tossed around until you feel the heat of a body next to yours. You reach for it instinctively, the ridges of scar tissue in very specific spots signifying who it is. You feel his lips above your ear, and then he’s pulling you into him, cradling your head with the back of his hand. He pulls the blankets back up overtop the two of you, enclosing you both underneath, shutting out the light. You had managed to slip away from breakfast unscathed, but it didn’t matter. They’d always find you.

“When I first fell in love with Johnny, I pushed him away, I hurt him intentionally in hopes he would grow to hate me.” Simon’s voice is low, nearly a whisper, and you close your eyes and fall into it. “I was… scared. Of him, of what he made me feel. I was afraid that once he knew me, knew who I was, he’d be gone.” He strokes a hand up and down your spine, and your fingers tighten in the blankets that you’re holding. “He made me feel out of control, and I was terrified of being abandoned by him. Every time he went out in the field, I convinced myself he wasn’t coming back. And then when he did, I treated him harshly.” Oh, Si. You bury yourself farther into him, placing a soft kiss where his neck meets his shoulder. Cool air slips in an opening and the mattress dips again, Johnny’s body molding to your back, his embrace pulling the three of you tighter together under the blankets.

“Simon…” you whisper, but he continues on.

“I had treated him poorly because I was enraged by my fear. My fear of losing him, my fear of being alone again, my fear of being abandoned by him.” He pauses, chest expanding with a deep breath. “I can’t tell you I know exactly how you’re feelin’ but I do know what it’s like to be afraid to lose. I know what it’s like to be a captive of your head, your own thoughts.”

“I…”

“Like I said last night, as long as you want us, we’ll never give up on you. We’ll drag you back to us every time. I know, we know, that deep down, you know the truth. You know we love you, darling. And even though you lose yourself sometimes, we will always take care of you. We will always be here for you.”

“You’re never on the outside with us, but I understand how you might feel that way sometimes.” Johnny offers, and you nod silently. “Simon and I spend a lot of time together when we’re away. I know it hasn’t been easy, being the one always left behind.” Tears roll down your face now, and a thumb wipes across your cheekbone. “But we miss you every second, think about you every second. It’s hard because we can’t call, can’t text, but when we’re not with you, we feel like we’re missing a piece of ourselves.”

“And maybe we haven’t done a good enough job, communicating that with you, making you feel safe and secure.” Simon murmurs, and you shake your head.

“No.” you choke. “N-no it’s not your fault. I- I’m supposed to tell you…when I feel bad.” How can you explain? “I don’t know how to explain it, I… just… ran away. Instead of talking to you.”

“You ran away because you thought you were being abandoned.” Simon kisses you gently on the forehead, and Johnny presses his lips to your shoulder. You try to say yes, say no, say you’re sorry, but nothing comes out but a choked sob.

“But… we need to know if you still want this, love. If you do, we’ll list the flat tomorrow and start looking for a new one together.” Johnny’s voice wavers, and you feel his grip tightening. “If you don’t think this… us, is something you want anymore, you have to tell us. You have to decide what you want.”

The room falls silent except for the sound of your lungs heaving, your breaths wet and syrupy from crying, your heart breaking wide open. Do you really want to be without them? Do you really want to be left feeling like you do when they’re gone? You love them, do you actually want to give them up? 

Do you want this?

#ghost x soap x reader #peaches writes #dead disco #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish #simon riley x you #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #ghost x soap #soapghost #soap x you #soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap

[vanillanaps]

Still Get Jealous | Steve Rogers

Request - Hello, I think you are a master writer and I have a drabble of blurb request only if you’re up for it though. Could you write a jealously trope for steve using the song red high heels? :> If it doesn’t inspire anything, that is okay. Thank you!

A/n - I must’ve forgotten how to write drabbles/blurb cause babyyy I got carried again lmaoo. But, unfortunately anon I didn’t find inspiration with the song you requested I still wanted give you jealousy and red high heels, hope it still fulfills you!!

Category - Steve Rogers x Reader, Angst

Warnings - Steve is a jealous asshole with a reckless mouth, reader drinks to ignore the pain

Word Count - 1.3k

♡♡♡♡

It had been approximately two weeks since Steven Grant Rogers left you alone in your apartment after he had broken up with you. In just a little over a month, it would’ve been your year anniversary with Steve. You were both happy and getting ready to take things to the next level, so it was beyond shocking when he sat you down to explain that he ‘just couldn’t do it anymore’ but you were smart enough to spot the bullshit.

Regardless, you cried. You were falling in love, hard and fast just for him to up and leave you out of the blue. But, as the second week of sulking had taken its time slowly ending, something in you snapped. You realized that you shouldn’t be home, crying and depressed about a man who clearly couldn’t give a rats ass about you.

Wiping your tears, you sat up as you searched for your phone in your tangled sheets and blanket. Once you found it, you quickly dialed the number of your favorite girl who could easily take you out of your slump, “Wanda?”

“Hey, Y/n. I’m so glad you called, you haven’t been responding to my text, I was worried.” She had answered the phone with concern in her voice.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just,” You paused, sighing as you threw your covers off of yourself, jumping out of bed, “I’m just sick of crying over Steve you know? I want to go out, I want to have fun, I want to get back to who I was before him—and I wanna do it tonight.”

“Tonight? Y/n, are you sure you’re ready?” Wanda questioned. She was fully supportive of getting you out of the house, but she just wanted you to be sure.

“Yes, tonight. Be ready in an hour.” You told her, hanging up before she could respond, knowing she would try to mother you. Get your real feelings out as to why you were so suddenly ready to go out. But that’s not what you wanted. Even if it was for one night, you just wanted Steve off your mind.

♡♡♡♡

The music blasted loudly in the speakers surrounding the club, the atmosphere through the roof. As you took it all in, you could slowly feel the man slipping from your mind, “Let’s get a drink!” You shouted to Wanda. The two of you held hands as you shuffled to the bar, careful not to lose each other in the club, “Tequila shots please!”

“How many?”

“Just keep them coming!” You shouted to the bartender. He nodded, pouring up the shots and passing them over onto the counter.

“Are you sure, Y/n?!” Wanda asked, picking up her shot as you grabbed yours.

You nodded, “I just need one night not thinking about that—idiot!”

She nodded before holding up her glass to cheer with you, “To forgetting about that idiot!” You both laughed before clicking your glasses and taking the shots.

As promised, the bartender kept the shots coming after each time you both finished one. You felt there was no better way than drowning your sorrows than letting the liquor run through your body, mellowing you out and then letting you forget about the world surrounding you.

But no alcohol in the world could help him forget. Not as he stood in the back corner of the club, watching as you and Wanda take shots back to back. At first, it didn’t bother him. You were out with your friend, having a good time. His ears didn’t turn red from anger until he saw what you were wearing. You had his favorite number on.

A black, skimpy, body con dress that squeezes you in all the right ways, showing off your attributes that he loved. Barely covering your ass so if you were to bend over, the entire club could see all of you. You had your hair in his favorite style and not to mention that red gloss that was painted across those lips that felt like heaven to him. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Steve made his way closer to you, not close enough to be seen but close enough for his eyes to trail those legs that used to be wrapped around him 24/7. Catching those red, sexy, strappy, five inch stilettos that he bought you. The ones he use to fuck you endlessly in. How could he be such a fucking idiot.

“Wanda, I wanna danceeee!” You slurred, all of those shots starting to take control of your mind and body. You felt good, you felt great.

“Come on!” Taking her last shot, she grabbed your hands quickly pulling you to the dance floor.

You weren’t sure when it happened or how it happened, but at one moment, you were dancing with your best friend, having the time of your life. The next, your ass was pushed up against some man’s crotch as you grinded on him. His hands trailing to any part of your body he could reach. You didn’t mind though, you deserved this. You especially didn’t mind when he nuzzled his face into your neck, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder and neck. For the moment, you were enjoying it and then—you weren’t.

“The fucks your problem dude?!” The random man yelled when you were snatched from his hold.

Your body ran cold when you pulled yourself together, just long enough to see who ruined your dance, “Steve?! What are you doing?!” He ignored you as he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the club and to the exit, “Stop it! Let me go!” He didn’t stop until he got you outside of the club, “What’s your issue?!”

“Two weeks huh? That’s all it took for you to be in the club? Dressed like a hooker and dancing like a slut?” Steve shouted. Immediately he regretted it when he saw the look on your face, but there was nothing he could do to take it back now.

You scoffed, shaking your head, “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that Steve? You broke up with ME for no reason! I cried for two weeks straight because of you! But now, since I’m in the club, with a hooker outfit that YOU bought me, by the way, I’m a slut?!”

Steve's blood was running hot and he was running of anger and jealousy, “You’re drunk, Y/n.”

“I’m not drunk!” You shouted, right before stumbling over your feet, “I’m not that drunk! I’m sober enough to realize that I was doing and to tell you to leave me the fuck alone! I’m not going to spend the rest of my life crying over you when you don't want me! And that stunt you just pulled? Let alone calling me a hooker and a slut all in the same breath? I’m glad we broke up!” You felt it, you felt the tears starting to bubble underneath your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall, “Just leave me alone! I just want to be the person I was before you ruined me, you asshole!”

“Y/n, I’m sorry.” He called out as you started to back away from him, “I broke up with you because I was scared! Everything between us was moving fast and—and I didn’t know what to do so I left!”

“I don’t care, Steve! I don’t care! It’s too late!” You shook your head, not wanting to hear any more excuses. Not wanting him to ruin your night anymore than he already had, “Go find someone else to be scared to fall in love with.”

Just then, Wanda came running out of the club, relieved to see you standing there, “Oh my god, I’ve been looking for you! I was worried.” She breathed, but halted in her tracks when she saw Steve a couple feet away, “Steve? What are you doing here?”

“Leaving, he’s leaving.” You responded for him, turning your back to him and facing Wanda, “Let’s go back inside, I need another drink.”

She nodded, wrapping her arm with yours as the two of you headed back inside without so much as a glance back at the man who realized he truly lost everything.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fic #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #captain america x reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic

[unforth]

We are one Iowa caucus into the absolute shitshow that is going to be the US 2024 elections, and I'm already sick of seeing takes downplaying the risk that Trump and his fascist followers represent.

Look. Around 1900, my mother's grandparents immigrated to the Lower East Side of New York City. They brought with them children born in Europe (Poland? Ukraine? which country they were in depends on what year we're talking about) - we're not 100% sure they were THEIR children, even, but there were three, and they were young, and they came. But my great-grandparents had siblings, parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, huge families. And while my understanding is that an attempt was made to convince those folks to move to the US, none of them ultimately opted to.

They all kept in touch as they were able, exchanging letters and pictures, but through World War 1, through the 20s, through the Great Depression, through the worsening situation in Europe in the 1930s, my entire extended family who chose not to immigrate...continued to stay.

I think we all know how this story ends.

I have an entire family photo album of people whose names I will never know, because after every single one of them died in the Holocaust, my great-grandparents and grandparents couldn't bear to even label them. And they were PEOPLE, poor, vibrant, eager to maintain connections with their loved ones abroad. One was a Klezmer musician, and we have photos of him with all the different instruments he played. They're so real on the page, and they all ended in ashes.

And you know how that started? Fascism started with every inch allowed, with every well-intentioned moderate who tried to maintain a middle position even as the whole ground shifted right beneath their feet and even "middle" became extreme, every "no that change isn't coming fast enough, I want instant full improvement NOW" liberal who felt that doing nothing was better than accepting a slower improvement in the (truly awful!) post-World War 1 living situation in Germany.

Most of the members of my extended family also downplayed the risks. They never imagined that the worst could happen to them. They never fathomed how bad things could become.

And now I have their example always before me to know and to scream:

I KNOW HOW BAD THINGS CAN BECOME. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FAMILY THEN.

I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO MY FAMILY NOW.

People look at me like I'm crazy when I say I've got our passports ready (and have had since before the 2020 election).

Look. I don't know what will happen if Trump is elected, but there's a very real possibility he will, and he's been extremely clear about saying what he'll do. He did a lot of the things he said he'd do last time. I expect he'll continue to do the things he says he'll do. And the things he say he'll do will lead to the deaths of more people than we can imagine - in the US, in Palestine, throughout the world.

Don't tell me there's a middle ground here. Don't tell me I'm over-reacting. Don't tell me the worst won't happen. Don't tell me the risk is mild. Don't tell me we're safe.

We. Are. Not. Safe.

The lives of dozens, hundreds, of members of family were lost in the 1940s amid the horrifying statistic "6,000,000 dead Jews."

I will not let my life (as a Jew), my wife's life (as a disabled woman), my son's life (as a biracial boy), my daughter's life (as a biracial trans girl), be part of the statistics that come from our a second Trump presidency.

If you won't vote like YOUR life depends on it, vote like someone ELSE'S life depends on it, because IT DOES.

And if you can't even do that much, at least shut the fuck up and stop spreading your poison around. You're wrong. The danger is real. Downplaying it now won't make your conscience feel any clearer when it actually happens, and comforting everyone else downplaying it will just make you that much more complicit.

#unforth rambles #politics #us politics #genocide #genocide tw #i don't know how to tag this #i wish the album was here instead of at my mom's #i want every one of you who think this doesn't matter #to stare at the smiling faces of my long-dead relatives #and see these people who were shot and stabbed and burned and raped and destroyed #who died in rebellion or despair in hopelessness or desperation #no matter how much or how little they fought #they're all ashes now and nothing will bring them back #i have no family in europe #not a single person survived #i won't let my family be the ones who stay too long because we don't take it seriously #and neither should you

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - epilogue

you know you never stood a chance series

epilogue: maybe light a candle

series masterlist | prev chapter 

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Joel hasn't come home yet. (this takes place about three years after the end of the main story.)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, christmas in the apocalypse, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, mentions of breastfeeding (not as a fetish), found family, poor communication, oral (f receiving), postpartum depression, possibly violating child labor laws by using a baby as a plot device, pls remember I am playing fast and loose with both canon and the timelines lol

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Christmas Eve.

Or, at least, according to the council. You’re not sure if anyone is really sure what the date is anymore.

But for all intents and purposes, maybe it’s Christmas Eve. The holiday is a thin, moth-bitten version of its former self, but you’ve never been the holly-jolly or the religious sort, so Christmas Lite suits you just fine.

Maria had invited you and Lulu to the mess hall for a big meal and activities for the kids. It was less of an invitation than an expectation, but you stayed home anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she wanted you there for the same reason you didn’t want to be there. She’s fucking tough, maybe the strongest person you know, but she has to be feeling Tommy’s absence today, too. It isn’t Aléjandra’s first Christmas, but likely the first one she’ll remember, which is worse.

But it’s more than it just being Lulu’s first Christmas. It’s that Maria had made a point of telling you that Ellie would be there.

You prepare to watch her leave for the night. The light pours in the window when she opens the shed door, and you know she can see your shadow haunting the living room.

You want Ellie to meet her sister. You dream of it nearly every night. But there’s no way in hell you’re doing it without Joel. It’d break his heart. You like to think she knows, at least. Someone (probably Tommy) had to have told her.

So when she climbs the steps instead of walking past, you freeze. Her knuckles rap against the wood, and you close your eyes. You can’t. You need to, but you can’t.

“Maria asked me to remind you that you promised to come by tonight,” she calls through the door.

She knows you can hear her. She knows you choose not to respond (but she doesn’t know you bite your lip so hard to resist that it bleeds).

It would be wrong. But the ache is so strong you’re convinced it must be a physical wound.

She leaves.

“There goes Ellie,” you tell the baby, as you always do. “She’s got places to be, but she loves you very much.” The guilt of keeping them apart makes you nauseous.

Maybe it isn’t true yet, but you think it is. You think, despite everything, despite the anger she harbors for Joel (and a fragment of that for you), that she already loves her sister. Even if she’s only the shadow of a sister spied through dark windows and across the street.

You wonder if she knows her name. Tommy had started the whole “Lulu” thing, and though it had grown on you now, it made you suspect he hadn’t thought to mention she had a real, full name.

Luna Luann. Luna, for Ellie, and Luann for Joel’s favorite tía, the one who smuggled them chewing gum and taught Joel his strong right hook when the other kids were picking on Tommy.

You’d take this secret to the grave, but you hated the name Luann. But when he brought up the suggestion, he had talked about her for nearly twenty minutes, and so you love the woman despite her name, just for the way she brought a little more of Joel out.

You thought they’d be home by Christmas. You’re trying not to worry, but worrying’s one of the things you’re good at. It doesn’t help that you’re still struggling. You’ve been told it’s normal, but these last two weeks with Joel gone have been so hard.

She’s cutting a tooth (her very first), and you can barely catch a break. You sleep when she sleeps, but it’s never enough. A few neighbors have been bringing casseroles still, and it’s the only reason you’ve been eating.

So, you think it’s probably understandable that you crumble after you watch Ellie walk away and Luna starts to cry. The lights are out except for the single candle in the front window. You keep it lit all night in case Joel comes home. A beacon.

If you had a widow’s walk, you’d be haunting it. But you’re not a widow—couldn’t be, you’re not even a wife—and he’ll be fine. He’ll come back.

Joel always comes back.

It might be Christmas Eve, and you’re slumped against the wall of your living room, crying in tandem with your infant. There’s nothing wrong, you checked. It’s so much worse that she’s probably just picking up on your mood.

You orbit around each other that way. She is the sun that you and Joel revolve around, but his absence has sent you both off balance.

The sun might be the more accurate comparison, but you usually like to say Lulu, your Luna, was your moon, and Joel was the sun. He disagrees. He says he’s the rock, and you are her light.

It was profoundly beautiful, but none of the concepts held up to the reality. The truth was that you were a constellation, but without Ellie, you made no recognizable form. Sagitta with one feather, an arrow that can never fly true.

When you settle down to sniffles and the errant tear, Lulu has fallen asleep against your chest. You creep upstairs and lay her in the crib squeezed between the bed and the wall.

The room was plenty large, and part of it had been set up as a nursery. But after she was born, you spent each night on the floor next to the crib.

Joel hadn’t been having that. After the first week, he sat you down and asked if you’d be able to sleep in the bed if she was next to you.

And then he just… built a second, smaller crib. One that fits right up against your side of the mattress. It was low to the ground, so all you had to do was reach down, and you could feel her little chest rise and fall, or scoop her up to nurse her in the middle of the night. She’ll grow out of it fast, but by then, you hope you’ll feel secure enough to move her to the big one just across the room.

You had been embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. After all, mothers had been putting their children to sleep in different rooms for ages. But you weren’t afraid to tell Joel, knew if there was anyone in this town that understood, it’d be him (and Maria).

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keepin’ your baby close,” he said, as gruff and blunt as always.

When Joel comes home, he finds you that way. On your side, arm dangling into the crib with Lulu’s tiny fingers wrapped around your own. He sat down and gently tapped your shoulder, trying not to disturb the baby.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he whispers when you stir. You blink up at him through sore eyes, then smile softly, sending his heart skittering.

“You’re home,” you say, extracting your finger and sitting up to reach for him.

He wraps you in his arms, lets you burrow into the nest of his broad shoulders. “M’sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, chasing the words with a kiss.

“Tommy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Just hit some delays on the way home. Bridge was out. I thought y’all were going to the party?”

You don’t answer right away. You know he’ll feel bad. That he does feel bad, that the guilt eats a little part of him each day. All he wants is his girls all together.

“I was,” you mumble, feeling the tears prick with a vengeance. “But Maria said… Maria said that Ellie would be there.”

Joel’s arms squeeze you a little tighter for a moment. “Y’know I don’t want to get in the way of you talkin’ to her.”

“I know. But after last time… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, anyway.”

“She’ll come around,” Joel says.

It reignites a new round of self-hatred, that he’s sitting here consoling you. After all, she had spoken to you after their fight. Sat down and told you she wasn’t mad at you, that she knew he probably didn’t even tell you.

And he hadn’t told you, hadn’t clued you in, trying in his foolhardy way to spare you the burden of the lie. And you were mad at him for it; you’d had your own spat after.

But you weren’t mad he did it. Not one bit.

He can tell you don’t want to keep talking about it, and that’s fine by him.

“You miss me, baby?” he murmurs, a teasing brush of his lips over your neck.

You roll your eyes. “Oh no, did you have to go two weeks without gettin’ laid?”

He chuckles, dark and raspy, as he reaches to cup your ass and squeeze, smirking when you gasp.

“And you’re tellin’ me those little fingers were enough for your greedy cunt? Like ya ain’t droolin’ for my cock right now?”

You whimper. He’s right. Two weeks is too fucking long for either of you.

He tugs you properly into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, before he just stands up and carries you into the guest room across the hall. It’s not ideal, but if you leave both doors open, you’ll be able to hear Luna if she wakes.

“How’ve you not thrown your back out?” you grumble as he manhandles you.

He tosses you onto the bed, already peeling off his clothes and pointedly ignoring you.

He’s halfway through tugging his jeans down when he stops and looks at you. “What’re you doing? Let me see ya, sweetheart.”

You’ve long gotten over how easy you are for him. You only hadn’t stripped yet because you wanted to work him up. “You can see me just fine. Or do you need your glasses, old man?”

He takes the bait, shaking his head, before looming over you and running his hands down the sides of his old shirt you use for a nightgown. He barely grazes your breasts, just brushing the tips of your hardened nipples and grinning when you whine.

“Up,” he orders, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

You lift enough for him to pull it off and flop back down. It’s your turn to smirk as he watches the way your tits bounce with deep hunger.

And then he fucking rips the along the side of your panties and pulls them off, throwing them to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, you can sew ‘em back.”

“I’ve already sewn that pair twice, Joel. You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“Is that so?” Suddenly his breath is hot against your cunt, and you clench around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he runs one finger along the seam of your cunt. “‘Cause you’re a menace.”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Let me do a survey around town.”

He shuts you up by sliding two fingers right into your cunt, the stretch almost too much. Almost. But you don’t really notice because he buries his face between your lips, and any sassy remark comes out in a desperate cry.

He pulls away and gives you a warning look, head tilted. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, thick fingers clamping down and digging into your cheek. It makes you moan, but it also muffles it, so it works out fine.

“If you want your turn, you gotta be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just have mine and shut you up proper.”

You choke down the moan dredged up by the thought of his cock down your throat and make the saddest pleading eyes you can muster.

He rolls his, shaking his head, before he goes back to your neglected clit.

You’re close, so close when you hear it. You pat Joel’s head, sitting up. “Was that the door?”

The shift is immediate. Three years in town has allowed Joel to relax somewhat, sometimes, but he slips back into it in an instant. He pulls back, brow furrowed, squinting like it’ll help him hear better.

It comes again, louder this time, insistent enough for him to pick up. A firm knocking.

There’s a pause, but Joel’s already on his feet, pulling his clothes back on. He tosses your shirt over as he ducks out of the doorway and you’re slipping it over your head when whoever is outside grows impatient.

Rapid, furious banging rattles the door, and you dart across the hall to shut the bedroom, but it’s too late.

Lulu starts wailing immediately, her little face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and tears pouring out faster than a faucet. You scoop her up and soothe her, cradling her as she finds solace for her hurt feelings and empty stomach.

Joel goes downstairs, partly to shut up the racket but mostly because the sound fills him with dread. When he opens the door, it flings wide, and the tirade begins immediately.

Ellie storms in, already yelling. “—could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? You won’t even let her come out for fuckin’ Christmas because she might see me?”

You’re going down the stairs as soon as you hear her voice, but she stops yelling when she sees you on the landing.

“It’s not his fault,” you say, face hot with frustration and raw hurt. You hate the way your eyes water.

“Like hell, it isn’t. Maria said you were going to come, that one of you might actually have the balls to tell me you had a fuckin’ baby, and—”

“And I decided not to go, Ellie. Joel wasn’t even home. He didn’t know.”

Lulu has started to cry again, distracted from nursing by your ire. You murmur apologies, kissing the little tuft of dark hair on her head, and try to coax her back to your breast.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, and feet planted, ratty sneakers dripping filthy snow across the floor. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the tiny, ruddy creature who finally agreed to return to her meal.

“Hey, Ellie. We had a fuckin’ baby,” Joel says after the silence hangs for a minute too long.

The bark of laughter that bursts out of her looks like it hurts, but she can’t fight it. The tension dissolves into absurdity and then tears.

Ellie sits on the ground instead of the perfectly nice sofa to her left. You come down the stairs and sit beside her.

You look up at Joel, and he nods. You wish he’d come sit, but he’s too afraid to break the peace. “Would you like to hold your sister?” you ask Ellie, keeping your voice low and steady.

“Can I? I mean… what if I break her?”

“She’s pretty tough.” Lulu is done eating, just suckling for comfort, so you pry her off your breast and tug your shirt back up.

Joel takes her without thinking, leaning her against his shoulder to help her work out the air.

Once she gives a satisfactory belch, he thrusts her at Ellie, who’s startled enough to take her without thinking about it.

You all hold very still. Except Lulu, who is blissfully unaware of the strife and coos up at her big sister. She bats a little hand at her face, smacking her nose in an attempt to grab on. Ellie laughs, and her smile, her perfect smile that you haven’t seen in a year, breaks out.

You can’t help it; you start crying. Ellie looks up in alarm, but Joel shakes his head, moving closer to rub your shoulder.

“It’s not you,” he says solemnly, “it’s just hard, after.” He gestures at the baby.

“It is you,” you say, and Joel scrubs a hand over his face with a soft groan. “It’s—I’m sorry, I just—”

Ellie’s looking like she might make a break for it. She tries to hand the baby back to Joel, who refuses.

You get ahold of yourself. “It’s not bad, Ellie. I’ve just been waiting for this since she was born.”

Ellie softens and then scowls. “Then you should have told me. You should have told me you were pregnant in the first place. I said you could talk to me.”

“No, I couldn’t,” and you pause as she shoots a dirty look at Joel. “No, not because of him. Because I would have done the same damn thing, so you may as well hate me too.”

“What?” She seems genuinely shocked, which you don’t have the patience for.

“I would do the same damn thing. If I had been there, there would have been nothin’ in the fuckin’ world keeping me from getting to you, Ellie. Nothing short of death. Not then, not now. I’d do it for her, too.”

The room is stifling, and Joel hasn’t even lit the hearth yet. Your breath comes out in little puffs, and every one of you has wet, devastated eyes. Even Lulu, who looks like she might be the first to break into tears.

Ellie looks down and sighs. “So, Lulu, huh?”

“Actually,” Joel says, and chances a step closer, squatting down. “It’s Luna. Luna Luann. Tommy’s just an idiot.”

Ellie’s a smart kid. You can see the moment it clicks—the way she looks up at Joel with something akin to hope. It fades quickly, but you know he saw it, too. His own staggering heart, heavy with love unspoken, is betrayed in the way he has to fight a smile, choke down the relief. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe next year, you’ll get a tree.

thank you all so, so much.

*title from "Alone This Holiday" by The Used

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #the last of us smut #you know you never stood a chance series

[your-local-grubdog]

Wait actually can we talk about Leaflings real fast. Because. What the actual fuck.

Also sorry if I curse a lot more here than usual but like 90% of my genuine reactions to this topic is "what the FUCK" so uhh get used to it I guess.

Huge thanks to @saihahas for helping me with some image transcripts as well.

Major story spoilers below you have been warned. Ok let's go.

So you're able to just rise from the dead in pikmin 4. No, seriously. You can do that.

At the end of Olimar's side story we get this scene and associated line:

[Image transcript: White text on a black screen that says "But at that very moment, my life support system failed" END TRANSCRIPT]

Like. He died. His life support system failed. He DIED. And moments later, he was revived as a leafling. He died and came back from the dead. Like, what the fuck????

It even fixed up his injuries he got prior to becoming a leafling. Just a full on revival.

Image transcript (one leads into the other naturally)

Collin: By the by, Olimar, is there anything you remember from right before or after you became a leafling? Any additional details?

Olimar: Not particularly. It didn't feel bad or anything like that. In fact, it was quite revitalizing.

Olimar: My chronically stiff shoulders and all the injuries I'd sustained during my explorations healed immediately.

Yonny: Hmm... Perhaps leafification has highly restorative effects...

Yonny: This is definitely something worth looking into, eheheh. END OF TRANSCRIPT.

Now we don't know if everyone who was a leafling had to die before hand, though there is a common thread that they were at least unconscious... And had just escaped deadly situations... I think Olimar found them moments before they died and, not knowing any other way to save them, leafed them as well. Something they bear no ill will towards him for - in fact, they're thankful for him.

Image transcript:

Jin: When I was leafified, I could not stop thinking about the art of Dandori. It was like an endless meditation.

Jin: A leafling appeared in front of me after the ship crashed and I had used up all of my flagging energy.

Jin: My intuition told me they were not a bad person. I also felt as though they were determined to achieve something

Jin: I am afraid I do not recall much of what happened after that, as I lost consciousness. END TRANSCRIPT.

Image transcript:

Corgwin: I was attacked by a creature, and right before I lost consciousness, I saw something overhead. It was a leafling

Corgwin: They had such sad eyes, but there was more going on in there. Their eyes were full of determination.

Corgwin: I have to believe there is a reason why they do what they do. Turning castaways into leaflings, I mean.

Corgwin: Your time is limited, so think it through! END TRANSCRIPT.

Image transcript:

Bernard: You need anything else?

Bernard: Even when Olimar was leafed out, he was still trying to RESCUE folks!

Bernard: And there I was with my head focused on nothing but Dandori stuff. HOO, he's one tough cookie!

Bernard: You need anything else? END TRANSCRIPT.

Ok Bernard's conversation doesn't add to the "he found them in deadly situations" point but it DOES show that all of his "victims" think highly of him for the fact that he had saved them and others. (Also, side note, Olimar had sad eyes... Poor bastard thought he was never going home to his wife and kids, was visibly depressed over this, and STILL was trying to save people. Olimar is like, genuinely such a good fucking person God damn.)

Now being a leafling is undead and comes with its own slew of problems. Namely, the fact Dandori takes over your brain (probably the pikmin survival instinct) and the fact you can no longer leave PNF-404. It's not even an air thing, it's not being on the planet that causes sickness, so not even spacesuits can fix it.

But then you're able to cure yourself of being a leafling. And just. Go back? To your normal life?????? Like nothing ever happened. You died and came back. What the fuck.

And to make that point worse. One of the key ingredients is Glow Sap. Which is produced by the Luminknolls. The only other thing the Luminknolls make is uh. Glow pikmin. Which.

“Although they've been named Glow Pikmin, it's not entirely clear whether or not this species is actually a type of Pikmin. These creatures possess the same fundamental behaviors of Pikmin, like carrying things, propagating, and fighting. They also share special characteristics, such as the leaf atop their head. Yet they do not spawn from an Onion but a Lumiknoll, and they are only active at night or underground. During the day, they revert into seeds and enter a resting state. What's even more surprising is that they exhibit no signs of life. When a Glow Pikmin "dies," if that word can even be used, it does not expire in the typical sense. Instead, it just becomes a form of light-or perhaps a photon-and returns to the Lumiknoll. Putting aside my "scientist" hat for a moment...it seems to me that this creature or entity may not be a living organism at all but some manner of spiritual substance.”

[Image Transcript: a screenshot of the Piklopedia showing the very end of the above quote. END TRANSCRIPT]

And just as some icing on the cake:

[Image transcript: Louie's piklopedia notes on the glow pikmin. All it says is "Doesn't smell alive." END TRANSCRIPT]

Cool they're fucking ghosts. Sorry I can't be convinced otherwise, they're clearly some sort of supernatural entity at MINIMUM. I just think spirit is most likely. They don't have to be the spirits of dead pikmin... Although... You can convert a Glow Pikmin into normal pikmin via a candy pop bud. I've done it before, I have no video of it but you can go and try it yourself if you'd like. And if they are spirits of pikmin then that means that we can also bring pikmin back from the dead. What the FUCK.

Anyways. I got side tracked sorry. My point was the Luminkolls make two things: Glow Sap and Glow Pikmin, which have similar names and similar appearances and. Are we using ghost juice to cure leaflings???? Which is used to reverse all negatives of being leafed. Which can be used to bring the dead back to life.

I don't know how to end this. I really really don't know how to end this. I just need someone else to scream about this with because it's so. It's so fucking WEIRD like what the hell. It's not enough that they may be humans, noooo, there's also undead creatures (excluding the mushroom guys those freaks have an explanation at the very least). This game is weird as hell but tbh I love it.

#pikmin #pikmin 4 #borb screams

[matty-bear]

♫ Drummer! Chris ♫ Head-canons

pairing: dummer! chris sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: sfw, fluff, slight cursing

summary: what it’s like to date chris when he’s a drummer! 

notes: i have to include my bf nick in this but I’m not sure if I wanna put him as the photographer or give him a spot in the band… let me know what y’all think! :D

dialogue color guide! 

pink: you, orange: chris, purple: nick, blue: matt

WC: 990 (went a little overboard with this one…)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♪ let’s be so for real. chris is so loud when he plays the drums. he gives no shits about them getting noise complaints and when they actually do get them, he just shrugs it off and says that he’s doing the neighbors a favor by ‘blessing their ears.’

♪ when you two got together and you discovered this hobby of his, he became so much quieter. nick and matt were so offended when he brought you to his room to show you a song he learned and they barely heard a SOUND from downstairs. 

“Oh so the second y/n comes over, you decide to be as quiet as possible but when either of us tell you to shut the fuck up and calm it down, you get louder?” 

“I don’t want my girl’s ears to bleed.” 

♪ he knows how obnoxiously loud the drums can be and he enjoys pissing his brothers off when he plays but when you tell ask him to lower his volume, he does so IMMEDIATELY and gives you a kiss as an apology 

“babe, i’m sorry but do you mind being a little quieter?”

“my bad, ma. i’ll be quieter for you.”

♪ when he needs to practice really late at night, he chills with you in bed and waits for you to go to sleep before he sneaks off to use his electric drum set with his headphones which is way more quieter to make sure you get your beauty rest 

♪ this kid has no idea how strong he is and tends to go a little overboard when he drums. when he was learning a really different song that consisted of a lot of fast beats, he might have accidentally stabbed his stick through his drumhead.

“hey ma?…”

“what’s wrong, love?”

“i fucked up another drumhead…”

“let’s go get you another one, come on.” 

♪ he expresses his emotions to the absolute fullest when he plays. when he’s pissed, he goes HAM on the drums and ends up breaking his sticks or a cymbal. if he’s upset, he plays a super depressing song. if he’s in a good mood, he’s playing upbeat songs with the biggest smile on his face. this comes in handy when you or his brothers are confused on how he’s doing emotionally. (he can hide his emotions really well) 

“Is that fucking slipknot?”

“i believe so.”

“I think he’s pissed. he often plays slipknot when hes angry or if someone pisses him off.”

*loud thud*

“Fuck!” 

“alright he broke something, i’m going in before he breaks more stuff.” 

♪ definitely persuades you to sit in his lap when he plays sometimes. he always plays a calm beat when you’re on his lap so he doesn’t cause too much harm to your eardrums. 

♪ when you ask him if he can teach you a song or two, he’s like a kid on christmas day. he’s ESTATIC! he pulls you onto his lap and holds his hands over yours when you grab the sticks. as he guides you through simple beats, he rests his head on your shoulder and switches his focus from watching you play to your focused expression. (you sticking your tongue out a slightly in focus is absolutely adorable to him) 

bonus! when you mange to get a good handful of beats down, he challenges you to put them together without stopping. he didn’t tell you however that he was gonna distract you by kissing all over your neck in hopes of getting you to drop the sticks. when you give up and finally drop the drumsticks, he turns you around to grab your face and showers you in light butterfly kisses. 

♪ after a while of dating and watching him play, you begin to take notice of the muscles building up on his arms. he already had a pretty decent sleeper build (which you sometimes freaked out over) but the second you saw his muscles flex when he was picking up his bass drum to replace it with a new one, it was OVER for you. 

♪ your his biggest fan when he posts covers on his social media. the second you get a notification that he posted, you rush over to his account and flood his comments with praise about how good he did. 

♪ when he’s not playing on his drums, he almost always has his sticks on him. you often find him drumming the walls or counter around the house. (nick and matt find it really annoying) 

bonus! when you’re laying together in bed, he’s twirling a stick in one hand and landing swift pokes on your body with the other to watch you jump and squirm away. (he finds it absolutely hilarious and adorable) everytime time he does it, he acts completely obvious when you tell him to knock it off. 

“ack-! chris! quit it!”

“what’d i do?”

♪ similar to matt, he enjoys asking you for kisses to keep him ‘motivated.’

“ma, can I get a kiss please? it’ll help me play better.”

“one more?”

“you said that the last five times i’ve kissed you.”

“okay but i’m being for real this time. just one more!”

♪ despite chris' protests, you buy some of his drum gear like sticks, drumheads, etc. he knows how expensive drum sets are so the second he sees you skimming over them, he grabs the device you're using and closes the tab. 

bonus! when chris’ birthday came around, you double checked with matt and nick about a certain drum set that he’s been talking about non stop. he wasn’t able to buy it since it’s pricey but you didn’t hesitate to buy it for him for the special occasion. it was really difficult to keep the secret from him but the day you surprised him was worth it. (no connected dialogue for this bonus but there will be a blurb for it coming soon!)  

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt x reader #nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo fanfic #nick x reader #Drummer! Chris #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff

[railingsofsorrow]

support system

summary: in which reader goes through a depressive episode but she doesn't need to suffer alone, or. . . in which I got inspired by that hotch and emily's scene.

pairing: platonic!aaron hotchner x gn!reader; platonic!bau x gn!reader

w.c: 2.1K

warnings/content: tw!depression; descriptions of feeling numb, insomnia, poor eating habits, feeling as if you're suffocating and confusion; basically a depressive episode; minor character death (mentioned).

a/n ²: this is based on my own experience, not everyone feels the same way. if this is triggering for you (read the warnings, please) then don't read it.

navi

masterpost

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Is everything okay?”

You released the grip you had on the file when the voice of your boss brought you back to Earth.

Your head was on haywire. The case wasn't much help, it didn't end well, not like you wanted, at least. Each one of you endured it in a different way but you could see through Emily's eyebrow twitch as she dozed off, in JJ's far away gaze as she stared out the window and in Derek's strained smile as Spencer checkmated him on chess for the tenth time. This job took a tool on all of you but the choice was always clear — you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

And your head played tricks on you in spite of the death you saw every day. You called it grey days; the ones where, as soon as you opened your eyes to start the day, you'd drift to the void of nothingness. The colours were faint, if there were any at all. They just didn't matter to you as you walked by your apartment and everything was tidy up. While your brain mocked you for the numbness as you ate and the cracks caused by dryness in your lips. Nothing out of order, except for the mess inside your head. As long as it stayed there, it was fine.

But apparently, that's not what happened. You've been reading the same paragraph for the thirteenth time and you had misspelled the same word multiple times. You couldn't concentrate on paperwork and that's when you wished to finish things like Spencer did. He did everything perfectly and fast, always the first to be done even after proofreading it. Fucking IQ of 187.

In resume, you were not fine. The case was just an added bonus. And you were too stubborn to admit it to anybody, most definitely not your boss.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, turning the page after blinking to escape the blurriness of your sleepless nights. “Just finishing up some reports.”

He took his seat by your side, two cups being placed in the table in front of you.

“Why don't you finish up tomorrow?” He offers, leaning back as he relaxed his shoulders. He seemed to be winding off for today, his paperwork forgotten at his side. Those were probably finished already, and more awaited him at his office back at Quantico. Hotch worked too much. You wondered if he ever went crazy for a break — you knew he needed it. “Get some rest. Take a nap before we land? There's still some time.”

Your lips curled up in a smile. The first real one of your day. You found yourself unable to react when people explicitly showed they cared about you. What were you supposed to say? What were you supposed to do?

But it made you secretly warm inside. They care. I'm not alone.

Everyone knew you liked to sleep on the jet. As soon as you walked in and took your seat by the window, you were gone done for the day. Derek often made fun of you but you were used to it.

Today, you went straight to the casefiles. Burying yourself in work in order to ignore the intrusive thoughts running through your mind. That's the best outcome you could gather.

Except it wasn't.

“I can't,” you said, writing down the date on a new file. “Too much to do.”

Hotch stayed silent and you took that as the conversation being over. When you were concluding another set of paperwork, he softly nudged one of the cups into your hands. You blinked up in surprise and that must've been the distraction he needed to pull the files out of your hands and push the mug into them.

A look was all it took for you to accept it and sip into the beverage. Tea. It calms you down. Garcia always makes sure to sneak in a packet into your go-bag, knowing you crave those most of the time — and on days like these — the jet had the tea option too, despite the coffee addicts sitting around.

“I want you to make a deal with me.”

You peered at Hotch through your eyelashes, slightly alarmed. “That's concerning.”

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. It was weird seeing his strict mask crumble down into a relaxed demeanor without that crease in-between his eyebrows plus the familiar daily harsh glare.

For some, the image of Hotch chuckling was barbaric. You'd definitely never believe it if you hadn't seen it yourself. The same was for any of your friends. It was absurd, but it happened.

“What would this deal be, sir?”

“Take a break,” his gaze lowered to the fawn casefile quickly and then to you, the strict fire in his eyes coming back slightly. Except that that one wasn't from Hotchner, BAU's unit chief, but from Aaron, your friend that enjoyed going on marathons when he had a — rare — day off, the one who actually laughed at jokes involving sports. “You are tired. You deserve it.”

You don't.

There are more victims out there, ones you haven't even heard of yet and you're whining about not having enough sleep or not being able to breath right because your chest is tight.

You don't deserve rest. You don't deserve the life you have. You don't—

“I'm almost finished.”

“The deal is: you're gonna go weeks, months even, feeling fine,” he leaned back, watching you focus back on the paperwork. He was able to see the bags under your eyes and that grey haze. Anyone could. No amount of make-up could hide the pain in your eyes. “Then, you're gonna have a bad day.” Your hand froze as you were about to turn a page. He carried on. “And that's understandable. Just let me know when you do and if you'd like to talk about it. Can you do that?”

You wanted to say you were fine and move on, just pretend you weren't dying inside, begging to get some time away from you own thoughts. But a part of you desired to be taken care of, to be heard, even if what you said didn't make any sense. You wished to just be heard.

So, for the first time in a long time, you admitted it out loud — to your boss, of all people. Well, he offered first so that was on him. Through the way he looked at you, a spark of understanding, you wondered if he knew what was going on deep down. Or if he find it too familiar to just let it go.

“I'm having a bad day,” you squeezed the pen on your hand until your knuckles turned white. Diverting your attention to the window, you focused on the clouds as you spoke up. “It's one of many but sometimes I—I can't help it.”

You felt your neck heating up, the shame arriving too soon after you confessed your feelings. It was so hard to talk about them, to be vulnerable with someone else.

Maybe they'll find me stupid. Not maybe, they'll certainly find me stupid and a burden and finally realize that I shouldn't be there.

“We can't control them all the time, can we?”

Your graze drifted back to Hotch, his stance hadn't changed as if he had been expecting your words. He carried on upon seeing the frown of confusion in your face.

“Our thoughts,” Aaron clarified. “We can't control them. Not all the time.”

You nodded quietly in response, munching on your lower lip.

“But we don't need to be alone with them,” he watched as you kept on fidgeting with your hands, picking at your nails. “You know what I do when I have a bad day?” Casting him a curious look, he offered you a sad smile. That reserved expression he had whenever he would mention Hailey in a conversation. “I visit Hailey's grave. I talk to her about everything. Not that I just remember her on bad moments, she's with me every day. But on those times... I need her. And that's what I do.”

“Do you feel better?” You ask, something in your chest crawling up until your eyelids.

Hotch reaches for your arm, squeezing in reassurance. “I do. But it's a lot better when I talk to someone that's here.”

That's when the dam broke. You didn't sob, no. It was more of a silent cry that had been waiting a long time to be released. When you finally know you can be open with someone and they won't judge you for it? It's relieving. You had been waiting on that feeling for such a long time.

“I'm sorry,” you sniffled, pulling your head away from his shoulder. “That wasn't supposed to happen, I'm not like this.”

“You don't have to apologize.” He said gently, offering you his handkerchief. You begrudgingly accepted, it was better than to have snot running out of you nose. You could wash it and give it back later. “It's alright.”

“A hard week, actually,” you shook your head, frowning at your hands. “I was doing everything on automatic, I felt so... numb. And now I just want to cry it all out. As if everything that I've been bottling up—”

“... it's coming back.” You nod as he completed your line of thought. “That happens when you don't get any rest.” He gave you a pointed look and you had the decency of smiling sheepishly. “Do you think you could try and do that tonight? Forget the paperwork. Go home, take care of yourself, get some sleep. I know it's a stretch to say you could have a few days off—”

You gasped, “please don't.” Hotch chuckled softly, and you flushed red at the desperation displayed in your tone. It's not that you were married to work, but disrupting your whole routine like this could make you feel even worse. You had to start by baby steps, like properly eating and sleeping, otherwise you'd feel more guilty for staying off work and the amount of late stuff you'd have to get back to...

“Let's say that if you need to take some time off...” Hotch said. “You can do that. You are allowed.”

“Thank you, Hotch.”

“No need to thank me.” He gave you a soft smile. Soon, both of you got back to your own little worlds. And you took your rightful spot by the window, cheek resting against the small pillow you carry on the jet. You followed the movement of the clouds as the plane whisked by them, your eyelids started getting heavy and that's when you knew that the tea was doing its effect in your system.

You were too wiped out to feel a warm soft blanket wrap around your body, but your fists subconsciously closed around it tightly.

“Are they okay?” Spencer asked softly, careful to not wake you up from your slumber. But you seemed to be in a deep sleep, so much so that you barely moved when he tucked his blanket around your shoulders. He had seen you crying a few minutes ago as you and Hotch shared a quiet conversation. He didn't want to intrude, but his concern was all over the place.

Hotch hummed, the corner of his lips quirking up slightly as Spencer made sure to move the casefiles to the coffee table instead of your lap, leaving you free of any burdens that could wake you up.

“They'll be fine.” He ensured Spencer, whose concerned eyes studied you for a moment before he nodded and sat down on his own seat.

You had a good support team right behind you if needed. You weren't alone, you'd be alright.

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a/n: I really wished someone said that to me. that's pretty much things I want to hear in days like that. if you feel this way, feel free to dm me anytime. if you don't want to talk, I love you either way <3

#criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #reader insert #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Joan Blondell (Footlight Parade, The Public Enemy)—My Pre-code QUEEEEEN. Joan is a large part of why I love 30s movies. She's got such a flair and presence. She's not known for her voice, but her rendition of Remember My Forgotten Man will grab you by the heart. She played a variety of roles, and held her own with major stars like Bette Davis and Hot Vintage Poll icon James Cagney. She was a hardworker, even as Hollywood stopped giving her prime roles, and continued working in film and television up until her death. She's an absolute firecracker, even in her supporting roles I end up focused on her. Also, I just think it's cute that her name (real!) is Blondell.

Hu Die (Sing-Song Girl Red Peony, The Burning of the Red Lotus Temple)—i haven't seen any of her movies but apparently she was China's first "movie queen" in 1933? she was also in the the first Chinese sound movie!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Joan Blondell:

A pre-code sweetie. Hot, funny and practical.

Criterion retrospective:

Sharp-tongued, sharp-witted, and beautiful - what more could you ask for from a dame of the gangster film/screwball comedy era? (Also, James Cagney would want you to vote for her!)

with her sunny smile and characters tending to exhibit a blend of happy-go-lucky cheerfulness and scrappy toughness, joan blondell is one of the quintessential stars of the pre-code era. she and fellow fast-talking wisecracker james cagney were close friends, having met when they were in a broadway play together in 1929, and made seven movies together that ran the gamut from gangster pictures to comedies to musicals.

She's absolutely hilarious and I love her

She's the wisecracking blonde who has been around the block and knows the score, but just look at those big blue eyes gazing at Jimmy Cagney as she burns the midnight oil to help him achieve his dreams and picks him up when he gets buffeted by life

Smart, snarky, and so sexy!

My Forgotten Man is one of the most haunting depictions of the consequences of WWI that I’ve ever seen, knocked out of the park by Joan Blondell’s performance. In one song number it traces sending the boys off to war, bringing them back to die in the streets maimed, drunk, and full of PTSD, then leaving them to starve in the Depression, framed by the suffering of the women who loved them. Holy shit? This is a musical number? They fucking produced this barnburner in a mainstream musical?

My Forgotten Man, in two parts:

Hu Die:

#hu die #joan blondell #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2 #Youtube

[bysaber]

Meeting a pretty stranger ft. Kakashi Hatake

Day 06 of 31 Days of Ficmas!

summary — you’re feeling down after all your christmas plans got canceled when a dog wearing elf clothes jumps on you.

word count — 1.1k

content — fluff, reader is a bit depressed, mentions of alcohol, fastburn i guess, modern au (kakashi still wears a mask)

notes — pretty happy with this one even though i almost didn’t finish it on time (so it’s not revised sorry)

THE FIRST time you and Kakashi Hatake crossed paths was rather an unusual experience.

You walked home wearing a disappointed expression, your hopes of having a nice Christmas had disappeared after all your plans got canceled; all of your friends were going out of town with their partners and families, and your short-term relationship had ended a few weeks prior.

Living far from home, you couldn’t celebrate it with your family either – you simply didn’t have enough money to afford that kind of trip.

So what awaited you was a lonely Christmas, with a liquor bottle and maybe a few treats, if you felt sympathetic enough about your own situation. You had 14 days left to plan for your “big night”, after all.

You stood in front of a liquor store, wondering if you should step in or not. Maybe I should start warming up, you thought, forget a little about my increasing melancholy.

“Pakkun, wait!”

A shout brought you back to the real world, but not fast enough to avoid the– what was that?– that jumped on you. You yelped, surprised, as you processed the small dog in green elf clothes that clawed at your sweater.

When you finally understood it was just a small dog, you chuckled and held him to keep him secure and away from your sweater, “Hi, doggy! Why so angry?”

In a heartbeat, a white-haired man with a mask covering his face was by your side, breathing heavily, “Gosh… I’m so sorry! Did he hurt you?”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh. He looked so desperate, “No, don’t worry. Did he outsmart you or something?”, you asked as you handed him his dog back.

The man grabbed the elf-dog and glared at him as if he was about to scold him for several minutes, but then his attention was back on you, “Yeah, something like that. I bought this cute little costume for him but he is an ungrateful dog…”

The dog growled and you threw your head back, laughing out loud, “I don’t think he wants to be an elf. What’s his name?”

“It’s Pakkun.”

“Well, Pakkun, you should know you look adorable,” you said, petting his head. Pakkun seemed to soften and you smiled, all the while the man watched the interaction. “I should get going now, but it was nice meeting you two.”

“You too,” the masked man said and, as you walked away, you could hear him whispering to the dog, “To her you listen, huh?”

You realized you ended up not buying any liquor and, fuck, you should’ve asked for his name as well.

THE SECOND time you encountered him was something else.

10 days left for Christmas and your sadness kept building up.

Grocery shopping and having to go through all those Christmas decorations, meals, and even gifts was a different kind of torture for you.

You gloomily roamed around the islands, picking only the essentials for your house and to keep yourself alive when you spotted that white hair you couldn’t quite forget.

“It’s Pakkun’s owner!”, you greeted, a bit of light taking over that sorrow inside you.

He turned to face you, confused at first, but his eyes lightened when recognition hit them, “It’s Pakkun’s victim!”

You both laughed like old friends. He seemed like a really good person, even with that mask covering half of his face, maybe it was the fact that he dressed his dog as an elf or his soothing voice or the way he closed his eyes when he laughed.

You couldn’t tell, but you liked his company already.

“What is your name?”, he asked you the question that was burning in your tongue. You told him and he repeated it as if testing how it sounded in his voice.

“What’s yours?”

“It’s Kakashi. Kakashi Hatake,” he smiled again, his eyes closing and you felt like you could melt right there and then.

“Kakashi… such a beautiful name,” you complimented and, if he wasn’t wearing that mask, you would see him blushing.

You both got lost for a moment, in your own thoughts and in each other, until he called your name again and you hummed, “I gotta get going… feed my dogs,” he explained.

“Oh, sure. See you around, Kakashi,” you say, stepping away so he could pass.

But you still stood in that place for a while, watching as he walked away.

Catching him when he looked back.

THE THIRD time Kakashi met you was intentional.

You stepped out of the liquor store, a pout on your lips and a bag with two bottles in your hand when you saw the man standing outside the door, apparently waiting for something.

“Kakashi?”

He looked at you, his eyes closing in that way that told you he was smiling, “Oh, hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

You tried to hide the alcohol you just bought; you had 4 days left until Christmas and still hadn’t pushed away all the melancholy you felt towards the date, but you didn’t want him to think you were some sort of an alcoholic or something like that.

“I was waiting for you, actually,” he said mindlessly. Noticing your confused expression, he added, “This is the place we first met, around this hour. I was trying my luck, since we didn’t exchange numbers.”

You could feel your cheeks warming up, your heart tightening in such a good way, and felt like a fool for wanting to drink your sadness away.

“I know we didn’t talk much, but… I’d like to know you better. Can I walk you home?”

THE FOURTH time you saw Kakashi was on Christmas Eve.

You didn’t expect it.

You had such a good time when he offered to walk you home; he ended up on your couch, talking with you for hours about everything you could think about. You hadn’t laughed so hard in years, but eventually, he had to leave.

So you didn’t expect it when, on Christmas Eve, you open your door to see Kakashi with Pakkun and two big bags of food, with a close-eyed smile.

“Kakashi!”

“I hope you don’t mind, but that day you said you would spend Christmas alone and, well… it was my case as well,” he chuckles. “So I thought it would be nice if we spent it together.”

Pakkun barked as if to prove his owner’s point.

You felt your eyes stinging, tears forming, and immediately let them in, “Please, come in.”

Never, in a hundred years, would you imagine this turn of events.

“Are you okay?”, Kakashi asked when he noticed your red eyes, approaching you carefully after putting the food bags on the table.

“I’m…” you looked at him, at Pakkun, at the food. You looked at the alcohol you were about to open, also on the table. Your lips tremble, but you smile, “I’m happy.”

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