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ilguna · 5 months

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Piano Sessions: "White Leather" by Wolf Alice + Finnick Odair x reader, their relationship had just started when Quarter Quell happened and both sent to arena, when the rebels pull victors out she gets left behind but her tracker was taken out and the gamemakers can't find her in arena. so everyone assumes she's dead but she escapes. while she's on the run she thinks about the life she wants with Finnick (maybe she sees the propo he does and he says something about her death). as "star squad" makes their way through the capitol they are reunited.

☼ white leather (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, reader has an injury.

wc; 5.7k

prompt; Piano Sessions: songfic, white leather by wolf alice. not noticable.

The seasons are changing, the warmth is fleeting, and the loneliness is burrowing in your heart. While you were being roasted alive a few weeks ago due to the unrelenting heat, mother nature has since decided to be kind rather than cruel. With summer ending, it allows her to relax, iron fist loosening.

It’s perfect timing, too.

If you had to endure it for any longer, you think you would’ve stopped traveling, ultimately setting you back. It was different when you were in the arena, because you weren’t actively moving for the entire day, just in increments. Out here you have no choice, especially if you want to make it back.

The Capitol can’t be that much further. After walking in the trees of Panem for hours at a time for weeks, it has got to be around here somewhere. You know for certain that you’re heading in the right direction because you stumbled into District Nine by accident.

You didn’t even realize you had, even though you crossed through a fence to get inside. In your defense, there’s a lot of sectioned off areas inside of the wilderness, with no apparent reason why. What should’ve given you a clue was the burnt wheat field, stretching as far as your eyes could see.

In the distance, you could make out buildings, something that also wasn’t too unusual, considering that when the districts were formed after the Dark Days, a lot of structures were abandoned. You’ve been hopping between them, actually. It’s dangerous, they’re falling apart, and there’s critters absolutely everywhere, but you don’t have much of an option.

You’ve tried sleeping under the stars, it’s not at all comfortable. You get increasingly paranoid as the hours drag on, afraid of the wild animals coming across you. You’d be able to defend yourself, with the knife that you have from the Quarter Quell arena. In the case of a pack, you’d be screwed.

They’d tear you apart, and then you’d have to add on their damage to injuries you already have. The last thing you need right now is another infected wound. The one on your forearm is bad enough. It’s your own fault, you dug out the tracker prematurely, assuming that you’d be rescued out of the arena, because that was the plan.

When Katniss short circuited the dome using the lightning, she unintentionally messed up the plan, putting the rebels on a time crunch. They were able to get her, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena, you believe. Which left you, Johanna and Peeta behind. And Enobaria, but she doesn’t really count.

You ran across your allies, tried to tell them that if they didn’t want to fall into Capitol hands, then they had to escape that minute. Johanna, who usually trusts your judgement, was resistant to the idea of escaping the dome. She didn’t like the idea of having to survive outside of it, not knowing where to go. She wanted to play it safe, and if that meant enduring whatever the Capitol had in store, then that’s what had to be done.

You would’ve argued with her, possibly even convinced her, if the hovercraft hadn’t appeared above the three of you. They knew exactly where they were because of the trackers they still had. With you being set on not being captured, you ran, leaving them behind, while you got out of the dome.

They should’ve caught you. It was an open field for at least a mile, they easily could’ve seen you, shot you and scooped you up. You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life. Johanna and Peeta must’ve put up a fight, if it took them that long to grab them out.

You didn’t hear news for a long time, not until that farmer caught up with you in that wheat field. She was out of breath, face a bright red from running for so long, sweat running down from her temples. You paused, watching in slight amusement as she tried to catch her breath, clearly wanting a conversation.

“You… what are you… doing out here?” She gasped, a hand on her chest. “If the Peacekeepers catch you…”

At the mention of Peacekeepers, you were no longer smiling. “Where am I?”

Her face twisted. “Well, District Nine, of course.”

The burnt field clicked then, and you turned to look at it with new eyes. It also explained why the fence you climbed over was harder than the last few. Which then got your mind working, wondering if you’d been in District Nine the week before, because it was heavily barbed.

“My name is (Y/n).” You said, head shaking. “I don’t live here, I’m a victor from District Four.”

She squinted at you, unbelieving. She eyed your body, the clothes you were wearing, which is nothing but an undershirt, a pair of shorts and water boots. Not the typical clothing for a farmer out in the fields, you guessed. You came to the right conclusion, because her mouth opened.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” She told you. “How did you get out of the arena?”

“It fell apart. I simply climbed out.”

She made a noise, as if the answer was too easy. “Where are you heading? District Four?”

“No, the Capitol. How far away am I?”

“Close, but you’re going in the wrong direction. You need to get to District Two, they cracked the Nut.” She pointed over your shoulder. “If you get to the rebel base, they’ll help you there.”

You nodded slowly. “They still have Peacekeepers here?”

“We’re too close, that’s why they haven’t retreated. They’ve up and abandoned the further districts. They wiped out District Twelve completely.”

You tilted your head. “Everyone’s dead?”

“They bombed it, seen it in the propos with Katniss Everdeen. Some of her people made it out, they’re in District Thirteen now. Not much left of ‘em.”

“Right.” You murmured. “Thank you for the help.”

“Wait, don’t you want me to look at that for you?” She motioned to where you’d cut out the tracker. “It looks nasty.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Well, good luck.” She said, “You better hurry and get out of here.”

“I will.”

She nodded, watching as you turned away, heading for District Two. From what you’ve gathered, you’re confident enough to say that the Quarter Quell arena was placed in the space between Districts Eight, Nine and Two. When you picture the map of Panem in your mind, it’s the area that makes the most sense.

A part of you wishes that you’d taken up her offer on cleaning out the cut. You have some herbal knowledge, which is what’s keeping it from killing you, but that has nothing on real medicine. This could’ve been healed days ago, and it likely wouldn’t have left a scar.

There’s also so many questions that come to mind since talking to her. Parts of the conversation that didn’t make sense to you. The biggest one being her telling you that you should be dead. Why? At the very least, the Capitol should know that you made it out alive. Especially if they did a sweep of the arena and didn’t come out with your body.

Unless they figured that you escaped and you’ve died out here somewhere, starving and alone. Which is the dumbest conclusion that they could possibly come to. With your track history, the bare minimum that you’ve lived off of your entire life, including your Games, they should know you’re a parasite that you can’t get rid of so easily.

If there’s one good thing that’s come out of fighting in the Hunger Games, it’s that you know how to survive. It would’ve been harder to do if you were rusty, but your time in the arena was a refresher, setting you up to live out here, which is not nearly as difficult. You don’t actively have other tributes hunting you down every waking second.

If the Capitol really thinks that you’ve died, they have a surprise coming.

Your feet stutter a step when you realize what that means. It’s not just the Capitol, District Nine believes it too. There’s a good chance that they’re advertising it to the rest of the districts, then. You wouldn’t put it past them, they rub factors in your faces all the time, like District Thirteen. They led you to think that it’d been destroyed decades ago, when in reality, they came to an agreement that allowed Thirteen to slip out without the others noticing.

Oh, you hope that Finnick isn’t believing the same thing that girl did. You really hope that he wouldn’t take their word for it. But why wouldn’t he? District Thirteen didn’t have enough resources to rescue you all, and the Capitol was right there. Who’s to say that you didn’t die before they could get you out? Or that they didn’t kill you in captivity? Or that they’re secretly hiding you.

They could say anything they wanted about you, and he’d have no choice but to believe it because there’s no evidence proving otherwise.

You’ve been thinking about Finnick a lot lately out here while you walk, mostly your future. It was discussed briefly before the Quarter Quell, because the two of you had come to the agreement of volunteering for the Games. The conversation didn’t get very far after you started talking about the hypothetical rebellion if the arena did work out.

If you had it your way, you think you would’ve talked to him about what he wants to do after the rebellion, because you have so many ideas. Primarily, you’ll be able to travel, you won’t be held down by District Four. You and Finnick could spend months bouncing between districts, and come back home when you get tired of it.

For the first time in your lives, you’ll have freedom. You’ll be able to do anything you want with little to no limit. There will be no more Hunger Games, no more months of preparation with teenagers that have no choice. There won’t be any interruptions, something that held the two of you back for so long.

And you’re not talking about the Games being a burden, you mean the relationship you’ve been denying. You and Finnick have had unavoidable chemistry for years, but between district life and the Capitol, there was no room to explore until recently. And even that seems to have been a mistake, something that should’ve waited.

Except, neither of you could suppress the urges any longer. You were already sharing longing looks and gentle touches, there was no point in withholding the pleasures when you were already dipping into it. That’s why you made it official in April, four months after the announcement, three months before the reaping.

There had been countless nights where you stayed up, dreaming of the day where you’d be able to be yourselves. Where the stars would align perfectly to allow you to become more than just friends. When it finally happened, you almost didn’t believe the words coming out of Finnick’s mouth.

It’s been difficult to take it slow with him, because you feel like you’ve been dating him this entire time, under the table. You might not have been physical with him, but the emotional aspect was there. In your mind, he was already yours. And he admitted to you that he felt the same, that you belonged to him years ago.

You remember shivering when he told you that, because you had a feeling that it was true. These were words that you thought you’d have to wait to hear come out of his mouth. He was eager to tell you these truths, like a weight being lifted off of his chest. Like he’d been planning the exact moment they’d slip out of his lips in a whisper.

When this is over—when the rebellion is done—you want Finnick to yourself. It’s what you deserve at the very least, after all that you’ve been through. If it’s up to you, you’d want him to propose once Panem has begun to relax. You don’t want the teasing, or more years of build up. You just want to make him officially yours, forever.

Whatever comes after doesn’t matter. As long as you can say that he’s your husband, and you’ve agreed to love each other eternally. You’ll take what’s thrown your way with grace. You won’t ask for anything ever again. You’ll be especially good, if you could get what you wanted for once.

You step through the treeline into a meadow, letting you get a clear view of what’s ahead. You take a few steps before you come to a stop, staring at the colorful buildings in the distance. While you had tried your best to stay on track for District Two, you eventually came to the conclusion that you’d rather go to the Capitol, like you’d originally planned.

It’s not that far now. If you keep going, you think you’ll make it there sometime tomorrow.

—

Four hours. That’s all the time it took for you to realize that the situation has majorly changed here. The further you travel into the Capitol, the more it grows increasingly obvious. Especially if they’ve turned to violence to keep people out.

It’s a ghost town, which is not what you expected. The streets are usually crowded, with no space on the pastel sidewalk, crawling with people dressed in bright color. You were sure that you’d get spotted in the first minute of stepping foot into the city. It turns out that you had nothing to worry about.

Well, that’s not necessarily true. While you were temporarily relieved to find out that the outer half of the Capitol had been evacuated, you were put back on alert when you figured out why. There are traps placed on almost every street, with exponential damage to the buildings around.

You’ve yet to figure out if it’s the Capitol trying to defend themselves, or the rebels ensuring that if citizens return, they’ll be met with resistance. If you had to guess, you’re leaning more toward the Capitol. The way the traps are placed are methodological—it’s a pattern you’ve seen before. It reminds you a lot of the Gamemakers.

The traps are nearly perfectly hidden, the triggers in plain sight. You fell victim to the first few, but once you started to really notice where they were and what they’d contain, it was so much easier to avoid them. Once in a while, you’ll find yourself trapped, where you have no choice but to set them off. In those cases, you duck and cover, hoping for the best.

With the sun setting, you think it’s about time you call it a night. The last thing you’d want is to miss a sign and get yourself seriously injured. Everything is easier in the daylight. Besides, you covered a lot of ground today, more than you thought you would.

You stop in front of a lime green apartment building with front doors that are made out of frosted glass. You grab the handle, pulling it open to slip inside. The lobby is cool, reflecting the temperature on the outside. It’s very carefully decorated here, with tall green plants in white pots and a small loveseat with a side table. On top of it is a magazine, with Katniss and Peeta on the front cover.

You wander forward, looking at the directory to find a paper taped to the front of it, the words successfully evacuated printed across the middle in bold writing. You lift it up to see beneath it, curious to how many floors there are. There’s five of them, you’ll probably stay on the third floor to keep from going too high.

As you start up the steps, you keep a sharp ear and eye out for noises or cameras that might capture your appearance. Just because this part of the Capitol has been evacuated, doesn’t mean that they’ve surrendered control entirely. For all you know, there’s Peacekeeper bases around here, ready for the signal to round a rebel up.

When you reach the third floor, you choose the unit that’s located next to the fire escape that you step out of. The door is locked, of course. You hold out your knife, staring down at it. It’s dulled considerably because you’ve been using it for everything while you’ve been traveling. This will be its last job.

You stuff the blade into the keyhole, wiggling it from side to side. For a second, nothing happens, and then there’s a click. You twist the knob, pushing in, opening the door to reveal the expensive living room. You pull the knife out but leave the door open as you inspect the apartment from top to bottom. When you’re convinced there’s no one, you pick up a dining room chair, going back to the front door. You shut it, lock it as best as you can, and then shove the chair as stiffly as you can beneath the knob.

The first thing you do is raid the bedroom, tearing it apart for clothes that you’ll be able to wear without looking ridiculous. Once you have an outfit that makes sense, you shower, watching as all the built-up dirt and dried blood mixes in the water, creating a grainy substance at the bottom of the white shower.

You feel so much better when you step out, drying yourself off. You change, letting the bathroom air out while you go through every cabinet you can, searching for the medical supplies. They’re hidden when you do find them, but they’re top-grade, the type of medicine that you’d send to tributes in the arena to get them healed within days.

You read over the ointment’s directions, and then you slather it over the open wound in your arm. Your teeth are grit hard enough that you think you’ll break them, toes curling at the pain it’s causing. It burns as it works its magic, you toss the tube on the counter, leaving to go back to the living room.

The sun has fully set now, there’s barely any light coming through the windows. Still, you shut the curtains, blocking out the rest of it. You head to the kitchen next, digging through the pantry to find countless cans and boxed goods. You pull out a few familiar soups because you’re starving. After you’ve finally located a spoon, you go to sit on the living room floor in the dark to eat.

You could heat it up, you’re sure that it’d be better that way, but you don’t want to risk more than you have to. You open the can, dipping your spoon inside, and raising the creamy substance to your lips. As expected, it’s not very good when it’s cold. Yet, it could be worse.

You manage to get down half the can before an alarm cuts through the stillness, making you jump in surprise. Your hand wraps around the knife before the television set lights up on its own, and you’re immediately greeted with the face of Beetee Latier.

“This is a repeated broadcast from District Thirteen, a reminder of the faces we’ve lost to get here.” He says. “We Remember, do you?”

It cuts to Haymitch Abernathy, sitting in a dark room, wearing a grey jumpsuit. The background is an empty area. To an extent, he looks better than the last time you saw him.

A feminine voice speaks from off-camera. “What do you remember about Cashmere and Gloss Ritchson, the brother and sister duo from District One?”

“They were a bright pair of mentors, even when they were teenagers.” Haymitch says, staring at the camera. “There was nothing the two of them couldn’t do, and it showed time and time again when they performed miracles outside of the arena. Cashmere had an undeniable dedication that was admired by everyone, and Gloss was very hardworking to ensure his tributes got the best possible. It’s a great loss we’ve suffered losing them to the Quarter Quell.”

You squint, eyebrows twitching. Is this a memorial piece? If so, it’s a little funny for someone like Haymitch to speak about Cashmere and Gloss, considering that they were never invited into the alliance. Or thought about twice, beyond the idea of them possibly killing Katniss or Peeta.

The screen fades to black slowly, before Haymitch comes up again. “Brutus, he won a couple years after I did. He was friendly to me after my Games, and had briefly tried to help me after the tragic loss of my family.” He pauses to sigh. “Even though we could never see eye to eye, that did not keep him from drinking with me on occasion.”

Beetee shows up in the next clip, in the same spot that Haymitch was on a stool, only he’s in a wheelchair. Something must’ve happened between the arena and now. You wonder if it has anything to do with the lightning tree.

“Wiress was very intuitive, incredibly intelligent.” He adjusts his glasses, shaking his head. “It may appear that we have lost no one at all, but with her absence, Panem will not function the same. She worked alongside me to create some of the more important Capitol devices, a factor they neglected to think about. We will miss her dearly.”

You finish the can of soup, and you’re pulling on the tab to open the next when his face shows up on screen. Finnick sits on the stool, eyes puffy and a little bloodshot, bags underneath from the lack of sleep. There’s a slouch in his posture, a small length of rope in his fingers that he fiddles with.

“Tell us about (Y/n) (L/n).” The female voice says.

Finnick swallows, voice quiet. “What isn’t there to say?” He asks, looking into the camera. “She was my best friend, and more than that, my girlfriend. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known, always so considerate and patient with everyone around her. How President Snow can take such a gentle life and then brag about it is a mystery.”

Your blood runs cold, suspicions confirmed. So, they have been broadcasting you as dead. They saw an opportunity and took it, wanting to make themselves look more ruthless. When in reality, they haven’t so much as touched you since you escaped.

“I love her and I miss her.” He says, tired eyes filling with tears. An overwhelming urge to reach through the screen to hold him seizes you. “If I had known my time with her would be cut short, I would’ve done everything to protect her.” He breathes shakily. “This is why we must stop the Hunger Games. For loved ones like (Y/n).”

Finnick is gone, once again replaced by Haymitch, who begins to speak about Mags, your mentor. For the first few seconds you stare at the screen, face slowly twisting before it hits you.

Mags is dead.

“What?” You murmur, sitting up.

“Mags was the first mentor to approach me after I won my Games.” Haymitch says. “She was a sweet woman that could see the pain and understood what I was going through. I was the first victor of District Twelve, she was the first face of the Hunger Games. And for as long as I let her, she helped me mentor.”

Of course she did. That’s who Mags is—was. If she saw someone that needed help, she was there. She even approached Johanna after her Games to give her some tips because Johanna was slowly sinking.

“Mags did not deserve to die the way she did.” Haymitch says.

It moves on to the next victor, the woman from Five who was killed in the arena. You try to listen, but it’s difficult. You can feel yourself slowly getting sucked out of your body and into the open air. You’re here, but are you really?

The entirety of Panem thinks you’re dead, and as serious as the situation is—it’s a little funny. If this is the rerun, that means that they’ve been Finnick speak on your death dozens of times. There is not one person left in this country that believes otherwise.

But you’re not dead. You’re here, in one of the many luxurious Capitol apartments, eating someone else’s vegetable soup that they’ve saved. If you had gone to District Two like the girl from Nine told you to, this wouldn’t be the rumor.

For the remaining eight districts, the statements are brought from the victors that now reside in District Thirteen or some faces of previous Capitol citizens. Which you can tell by the way their skin is tinted or the tattoos that line their bodies. There’s even a part where a former Avox sits on the stool, signing while his brother translates.

It wraps up with Finnick talking about Rue and the future that was stolen from her. She was just an innocent child, and the Capitol thought it was right to force her to fight for her life with other older kids, who were much bigger and more skilled. When she should’ve been at home, with her family.

Beetee shows up at the end, hands in his lap. “We Remember.”

The screen dies, but not completely. It glows faintly, illuminating the small area that you’re sitting in. You need to get out of here—out of the Capitol, at least. You should be with Finnick. He needs to know that you’re alive, because the idea of you being dead is killing him. After the two of you fought to be together, you’ve been ripped from his fingertips.

You don’t sleep tonight.

You want to, with the couch being the comfiest thing you’ve laid down on in months. You know that the apartment is secured, you triple-checked everything. No one is coming to get you. This isn’t what keeps you up.

So, you relax in front of the television in the living room, eyelids feeling heavy the moment your head touches the pillow. When they shut, that’s when the problem rises. You’re not tired anymore, even after counting sheep for what feels like hours, your mind is still running.

By the time the sun is peeking through the curtains, you’re ready to leave the apartment with a packed bag. It has the essentials inside like food and water, and the ointment you’ll be using to heal your arm. You’ve grown too attached to the knife you had in the arena, so you find a way to sharpen it, giving you a reason to keep it.

The streets look the same way as they did yesterday, nothing has magically shifted. You head for the train tracks that’ll bring you to a tunnel that runs to District Two. It’s what the girl in Nine called the Nut. It serves several purposes, including training the new Peacekeepers underground, but it’s also the easiest path to get in and out of the Capitol.

While you should’ve gone to District Two straight away, you’re glad you didn’t. If you had, you wouldn’t have known the whole story. You can’t imagine how overwhelming it could’ve been if you came across the rebels and they bombarded you about how you’re alive.

You travel blindly through the streets, dodging and setting off traps, watching the chaos that follows. A few of them are made up of weapons that shoot out once triggered. You manage to react quickly most of the time, but you still come out with a few nicks from blades that are impossibly sharp.

Other traps are made up of insects that are abnormally colored and move in ways that they shouldn’t be capable of. When you see this, you decide that you’re right to say that they’re designed by the Capitol’s Gamemakers, because it makes no logical sense the other way around.

When it appears to be around lunch, you stop to eat in a shop with broken windows, stomach growling. There’s a nice aqua blue couch a few feet away from the door, void of the glass shards that litter the tile floor. You open a can of soup, and dig out a small pack of crackers to have with it.

It’s still disgustingly cold, and yet it could be worse. After what you ate in the woods these last few weeks, anything is a good meal compared to that. Even the crackers seem like a treat.

You set the empty can on the floor when you finish, sitting back against the cushions, staring through the open window. A pair of black birds circle over a nearby alley for a minute. They’re the first sign of life that you’ve seen in this city since you got here, besides the mutts that come out of the traps.

They settle on the roof of a building, side by side, much like the birds at home when they land on power lines. You’re about to look away, when you watch as they both simultaneously tilt their heads, attention set on whatever is in the alley. Your face twists, confused.

As soon as they open their beaks, beginning to screech, you realize that they’re not birds, either. They look to be like jabberjays—a Capitol weapon. You get to your feet, swinging the bag strap over your shoulder. You don’t know how they can see you, because they are definitely not facing your direction. You shouldn’t be in their view.

You take a single step, before you freeze where you are, watching as a group of people dart out from the alleyway. They’re dressed in black, wearing combat gear and carrying weapons. You’re terrified, wondering how the Peacekeepers have found you, until you realize that they are not Peacekeepers. Peacekeepers wear white.

There’s almost a dozen of them, and their leader is pointing his finger down the street to your right, an area you haven’t explored yet. He barks out an order, one of the girls in the middle turns with a gun, shooting at the jabberjay. They flap their wings, rising from where they’re perched, flying around.

Rebels.

Your lips part, wanting to speak, but the words die in your throat. You’re not dressed like they are, you look like you belong in the Capitol because of the clothes you’re wearing. You’re even sitting in an abandoned boutique as if you’re not completely surrounded by danger.

It doesn’t matter, they’re gone before you can work up the courage to speak. You watch as one of the boys toward the end grabs another boy with blonde hair, pulling him along. Neither of them stick out in your mind, and then the first boy turns, looking over his shoulder, right at you.

It’s Finnick. It’s Finnick, and he’s pulling along Peeta.

You move now, trying to follow him. You’re sure he’s seen you, but as you step out of the shop and in front of it, looking at where you’d been standing, you see that it’s too dark to make out much of anything. The awning above the street blocks any sunlight that might be able to get inside.

“Hey,” You call, walking after them. They’re moving too fast, trying to escape the birds, running around the corner. You begin to jog, not wanting to lose them in the maze of Capitol streets.

Even as a team, they move remarkably fast. You’re barely catching Finnick’s bronze hair in glimpses each time they take a turn. They’re losing the birds, though. And even worse, you.

“Hey!” You shout, sprinting down the street. “Wait!”

It grows more narrow, crowded with decorations that citizens couldn’t pull inside before leaving. There’s many places to hide, too many buildings to duck into. You can’t see Finnick anymore, much less hear the stomping of their boots against the asphalt.

When you’re breathing so hard that you’re sure you’re going to throw up your lunch, you slow down, coming to a stop in the middle of the walkway. Your face contorts, hands on your hand.

“Fuck.” You breathe, walking at a slow pace. “Finnick!”

You peer into the local stores, checking behind every bush. You know that eight people would never be able to hide around this area without splitting up. They could’ve gone anywhere.

“Finnick, please!” You stop in the middle of a crossroads, taking your time to look down what each road offers. “It’s me, it’s (Y/n)! I’m alive!” You struggle to breathe normally, whispering, “Please, I’m alive.”

When there’s no appearance, you sigh. The one chance you had, and now he’s gone.

“(Y/n)?” A faraway voice asks.

You turn instantly to face the person, finding Finnick standing at the end of a walkway. He’s not alone. In fact, he’s with the leader of the group, who’s clutching a large gun in his hands, wary. This doesn’t bother you.

“Finnick.” You say, starting toward him. “Oh my god.”

There’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, watching you come closer. “You’re—how are you here?”

You walk straight into his arms, letting him crush you against his body. You grip on tightly to his shoulder, face pressed into the space above the vest. He presses a kiss into your hair once, then twice, and again and again. When he’s had enough, he pulls away, grabbing your face to kiss your lips.

It’s gentle, loving, but quickly turns greedy as he refuses to let you go. And when he does, it’s not because he needs to breathe, it’s because his shoulders are shaking. His face is wet, eyes filled with tears. You bring his forehead to yours, thumbs wiping away the tears.

“It’s okay, Finnick.” You murmur.

“The Capitol said you were dead. They showed your body. How are you—?”

“I escaped out of the arena.” You tell him, stroking his hair. “I’ve been in the trees between the districts the whole time. I got here yesterday.”

He backs away, lips pressed together, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “Of course you did.

You pout, shaking your head. “I cut the tracker out.” You show him your arm, which is looking better this afternoon, but still far from healed. “I’m not sure who’s body you saw, but it wasn’t mine.” You reach for his hands. “I am so, so sorry.”

He pulls you back into his body, hugging you. “You’re alive, (Y/n). That’s all that matters to me.” He frowns. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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thejoyofseax · 10 months

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Why We Can't Have Medieval Food

I noted in a previous post that I'd "expand on my thinking on efforts to reproduce period food and how we’re just never going to know if we have it right or not." Well, now I have 2am sleep?-never-heard-of-it insomnia, so let's go.

At the fundamental level, this is the idea that you can't step in the same river twice. You can put your foot down at the same point in space, and it'll go into water, but that's different water, and the bed of the river has inevitably changed, even a little, from the last time you did so.

Our ingredients have changed. This is not just because we can't get the fat from fat-tailed sheep in Ireland, or silphium at all anywhere, although both of those are true. But the aubergine you buy today is markedly different to the aubergine that was available even 40 years ago. You no longer need to salt aubergine slices and draw out the bitter fluids, which was necessary for pretty much all of the thing's existence before (except in those cultures that liked the bitter taste). The bitterness has been bred out of them. And the old bitter aubergine is gone. Possibly there are a few plants of it preserved in some archive garden, or a seed bank, or something, but I can't get to those.

We don't really have a good idea of the plant called worts in medieval English recipes. I mean, we know (or we're fairly sure) it was brassica oleracea. But that one species has cultivars as distinct as cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, kale, Brussels sprouts, collard greens, Savoy cabbage, kohlrabi, and gai lan (list swiped from Wikipedia). And even within "cabbage" or "kale", you have literally dozens of varieties. If you plant the seeds from a brassica, unless you've been moderately careful with pollination, you won't get the same plant as the seeds are from. You can crossbreed brassicas just by planting them near each other and letting them flower. And of course there is no way to determine what varietal any medieval village had, a very high likelihood that it was different to the village next door, and an exceedingly high chance that that varietal no longer exists. Further, it only ever existed for a few tens of years - before it went on cross-breeding into something different. So our access to medieval worts (or indeed, cabbage, kale, etc) is just non-existant.

Some other species within the brassica genus are as varied. Brassica rapa includes oilseed rape, field mustard, turnip, Chinese cabbage, and pak choi.

We have an off-chance, as it happens, of getting almost the same kind of apple as some medieval varieties, because apples can only be reproduced for orchard use by grafting, which is essentially cloning. Identification through paintings, DNA analysis, and archaeobotany sometimes let us pin down exactly which apple was there. But the conditions under which we grow those apples are probably not the same as the medieval orchard. Were they thinned? When were they harvested? How were they stored? And apples are pretty much the best case.

Medieval wheat was practically a different plant. It was far pickier about where it would grow, and frequently produced 2-4 grains per stalk. A really good year had 6-8. In modern conditions, any wheat variety with less than 30 grains per stalk would be considered a flop.

Meats are worse. Selective breeding in the last century has absolutely and completely changed every single species of livestock, and if you follow that back another five centuries, some of them would be almost unrecognisable. Even our heritage breeds are mostly only about 200 years old.

Cheese, well. Cheese is dependent on very specific bacteria, and there are plenty of conditions where the resulting cheese is different depending on whether it was stored at the back or front of the cave. Yogurts, quarks, skyrs, etc, are also live cultures, and almost certainly vary massively. (I have a theory about British cheese here, too, which I'll expand on in a future post)

So, even before you go near the different cooking conditions (wood, burnables like camel and cow dung, smoke, the material and condition of cooking pots), we just can't say with any reliability that the food we're making now is anything like medieval people produced from the same recipe. We can't even say that with much reliability over a century.

Under very controlled conditions, you could make an argument for very specific dishes. If you track down a wild mountain sheep in Afghanistan, and use water from a local spring, and salt from some local salt mine, then you can make a case that you can produce something fairly close to the original ma wa milh, the water-and-salt stew that forms the most basic dish in Arabic cookery. But once you start introducing domestic livestock, vegetables, or even water from newer wells, you're now adrift.

It is possible that some dishes taste exactly the same, by coincidence. But we can't determine that. We can't compare the taste of a dish from five years ago, let alone five hundred, because we're only just getting to a state where we can "record" a taste accurately. Otherwise it's memory and chance.

We've got to be at peace with this. We can put in the best efforts we can, and produce things that are, in spirit, like the medieval dishes we're reading about. But that's as good as it gets.

#medieval cookery #medieval cooking #food history #historical cookery #historical cuisine #medieval arabic cookery #horticulture #genetics

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rukia-writes · 11 months

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Hi! I’m the same anon that asked for Apollo and here’s my request!

We know that many Goddesses are thirsty for Apollo, except for one Goddess (the reader) who draws his interest. For some reason, it excites him that she isn’t like the others and he tries to catch the reader's attention himself, but the reader gets extremely shy and sometimes runs away whenever he does, but they end up together? The idea sounded better in my head, but you can spice it up however you like. Of course, take your time when you can write this! No rush! 🫶

I see what you’re saying anon 🎀 and I hope I see the vision.

The grain princess and the god of sunlight.

An unlikely attraction between two divine beings.

The sun was rising in Valhalla, which meant it was time for the grain princess and her mother to start working. The two had their own restaurant in Valhalla, a famous and well known restaurant, and in the early morning the two loaded up the grain in their own grain field onto a very wide and long cart pulled by horses.

Today, was a bit different.

Today (Name) had to pick and load up the grain by herself while her mother was already at the restaurant making food, seeing as how the weekends were busier than normal. Besides, one day (Name) would be queen of the grain and this was the first step.

However, (Name) noticed there was a little spot where the grain wasn’t doing so well. (Name) was able to come to the conclusion that the wheat needed more sunlight.

“I’ll have to tell mother about this.”

“Perhaps, it would be better to tell me. Princess.”

Hearing the familiar voice made (Name)‘s heart beat fast, her face hot and her mind spinning. Turning around she indeed saw the handsome and beautiful god Apollo with a smile on his face.

She’s not like everyone else.

The two had a interesting history together.

Apollo, the beautiful and talented god of the sunlight had affection towards someone other than himself, the grain princess herself, (Name). Yet, while the feeling was mutual (Name) couldn’t bring herself to look at him from being flustered much less talk to the god much. However, Apollo was the opposite in every way as he loved to look at her and he loved to talk to her.

“Morning, Apollo. What brings you here?!”

“Why, the little plants cried out to me and told me that they needed sunlight. So, I decided to show up.”

Beaming brightly, Apollo confidently spoke to the goddess as she bashfully looked away trying to calm her wildly beating heart and walking away. Apollo, was used to this behavior it was something he liked about her.

“The plants do need sunlight.”

“Oh, (Name). Look, the grain is doing better. See?”

Yes.

Apollo, didn’t mind gently grabbing her hand and pulling her back to show her the grain that was already starting to grow. Looking at the grain (Name) felt a small smile tug at her lips, while Apollo smiled at her still holding her hand.

“Mother will be pleased, thank you Apollo.”

“Come now, I wouldn’t ignore your beautiful grain’s cry for help. You have such a beautiful field, you know?”

One for admiring beauty, Apollo complimented the wheat field (Name) worked hard in. Even though the moment was a tender one (Name) couldn’t help but get flustered as she thanked Apollo while walking away. Of course, the grain princess told Apollo she would tell her mother about what happened while shyly walking away but that wouldn’t stop Apollo as he quickly caught up with her only making her head spin and her face feel hotter as Apollo smiled while saying, “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you from back there. Now, what were you saying.”

This was the standard interaction that had been going on for years, a thousand years to be precise.

Over the years, the Greek pantheon knew of Apollo’s little infatuation with the grain princess. Those that were aware usually liked to keep their distance and tried not over step their boundaries. While, (Name) had her problem of Apollo’s jealous lovers.

While other goddess did their best to show Apollo their love the handsome god only seemed to have a special interest in her and even though he never outright dismissed his suitors it was obvious who had his interest. Whispers of, “What’s wrong with her?” “What does Apollo see in her?” “She must be black mailing him or something.”

Regardless, of the jealous whispers Apollo always seemed to have a special interest for her as he would show up once a week at the restaurant and order a variety of dishes. Of course, (Name)’s mother always made her daughter take Apollo’s order as she was aware of Apollo’s affection for her daughter.

If only (Name) wasn’t so shy.

Months passed, (Name) found herself at Apollo’s palace grounds. While (Name) had a wheat field, Apollo had a magnificent garden with flowers alike. The naked statues of himself was certainly an Apollo touch (Name) thought herself as she carried a small small box in her hands, definitely would have covered her eyes from Apollo’s statue.

“Why, is that the sweet (Name)?!”

Looking behind her (Name) saw the handsome god with a smile on his face with his hands behind his back, bashfully (Name) announced why she was here. Handing over the small box the shy goddess told Apollo it was for helping with the harvest, Apollo did in fact help a bit with the wheat field and as a way of saying “Thank you.” She wanted give Apollo a gift.

“A gift for me?! Aw, thank you. What is it?”

“You should open it.”

For the first time, Apollo heard a hint of teasing in (Name)’s voice and when he looked at her he saw him give her a sweet smile. Of course, Apollo returned the smile back as he thought to himself that her smile was the real gift. Speaking of which, Apollo opened the small box and inside was a small cake decorated with sunflowers and the words “Thank you.” Inscribed upon the delicious dessert.

It was a simple gift and yet Apollo was touched.

Apollo knew (Name) was a magnificent baker and couldn’t wait to eat his gift.

“How sweet of you, princess. Come, we’ll have a slice.”

“Oh, I can’t. I have to-“

“Nonsense, we’ll have tea and talk. I have much to tell you.”

Apollo wouldn’t let his princess get away from him this time as he gently and quickly wrapped his arm around (Name)’s shoulders while holding the cake with his other hand. As the two talked on their way to Apollo’s palace (Name) was certain Apollo loved the cake, rather the symbolism with the sunflowers.

The two talked until the sunset, having tea and cake and afterwards the two took a walk in Apollo’s garden at night. Both simply enjoying each other’s company, it was a start of many years of Apollo trying to get the goddess of his love and now he had finally caught his princess.

“My love, what happened to you?”

Apollo was currently taking a bath as his beloved (Name) arrived covered in flour from head to toe, in monotone voice (Name) responded that one of Apollo’s scorned lovers had pulled a prank and ended up covered in flour.

“A prank? Hmm..well! You better take a bath too!”

“Apollo, take this serious-“

Apollo didn’t take many things serious, as he quickly carried his princess in his arms while naked and a pleasant smile on his face.

“Come on, take a bath with me. I’ll even get that flour off you.”

While carrying (Name) to the bath Apollo kissed her forehead and told her she still looked beautiful. Apollo was many things and being charming was one of them. Keeping to his word Apollo washed all the flour off his princess, of course he expected (Name) to wash him as well. When she did Apollo made a passing comment that even though (Name) was covered in flour she was still much prettier than this ugly hater and that this hater wasn’t worthy of tying his shoelaces or hers for that matter and by the end of their bath time the two were not only clean but much more relaxed than before.

Apollo made sure of it as he showered (Name) with kisses.

🎀Rukia-Writes🎀

#record of ragnarok x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #ror x reader #apollo x reader

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asterias-record-shop · 11 months

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I’m so glad you liked the soulmate idea! maybe prompt 16? maybe she gets injured and has to tear off some of her outfit when she gets a little self conscious cause of the cameras and realizing the man everyone wants is now publicly her soulmate? could you imagine that for yourself omfg </3 read that prompt and saw his smirk vividly in my head and I couldn’t get it out lol :) katniss would be slapping him every two seconds and trying to keep him on track lollllll :D

—𓆩[be jealous]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Soulmate! Finnick Odair x Soulmate! Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - smut, fluff, maybe slight angst?

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 2.8K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - If there was one thing that the Capitol wasn’t, it was kind. So when they input the law where soulmates cannot be put into the same game, you and Finnick have to come clean about your relationship in the Quarter Quell - even if it’s too late.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - sorry anon, I had to change it up just a bit! || age difference (3 years) || soulmate AU with the same mark || reader is more naive & weak (physically) || Finnick was your mentor || you don’t think you deserve Finnick for a while, he fixes that || insecure reader || virgin reader || you wanted to keep your soulmate-ship a secret (fails miserably) || oral || 69 || slight penetration || cum eating || fingering || hickeys || creampies || cumslut & pussy drunk terms used

When you were chosen for the games, you thought your fate was sealed. You were going to be brutally murdered, and you would never see the light of day ever again until Finnick became your mentor.

“Look…” he said, inhaling as you both stood in front of the tube that would take you up to the arena. “I know, I know you’re not that strong,” he whispers, thumb slowly stroking your cheek. “But you fucking run, okay? You run, you hide, you just… you need to come out of there alive, okay?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I can, Fin, I just-”

“Y/N,” he says firmly, holding your shoulders. “Please. Please come out. For me.”

You inhale deeply as the Peacekeeper yells out ‘five more minutes’, Finnick leaning down to press a kiss to your head. “Promise me you’ll try.”

Finnick was one of the most perfect people you could’ve ever asked for, so as soon as you saw that mark on his lower abdomen right on his hip bone that matched yours, you promised yourself you’d never let him see it. Not when you were going to die in the arena and he would lose his soulmate, someone he didn’t deserve.

Finnick deserved the world, and in your mind, that wasn’t you.

He was always telling you about people who had pretended to be his soulmate, getting tattoos of his mark just to try and get with him, though they always missed the small dot on the lower left side, the same one you had. He then always added that he never wanted to meet his soulmate, saying things like he didn’t want to burden them with what he’s been through or he didn’t think it’d work out.

You knew he would never burden his soulmate, especially you, but you didn’t want to start anything when you would most likely die.

He always said how he had this connection to you that he couldn’t explain, his eyes always filled with so much love it made you want to cry. It would’ve been a horrible decision to tell him really, but everything he did made you want to say it.

“One minute!”

“Finnick, I just-”

“I'm going to watch every second, darling,” he whispered, inhaling deeply. “And I’m going to be with you every moment.”

You nodded, hands shakily squeezing his wrists that cupped your face before starting to step back. You go around him to step onto the platform, slowly stepping inside as Finnick quickly runs onto the platform, pressing his hand to the glass. He inhaled, nodding. “Y-Y/N, I love-”

With that, almost like it was a farewell, your capsule shot up. You emerged in a large field, wheat around you with the center being the classic cornucopia. The numbers started blaring, signaling the beginning of your inevitable demise.

Even then though, you promised Finnick you would try, so you had to. You would run and hide and swim and do everything you could to survive like you promised him, even though you didn’t expect it to gain your victory.

After winning, you couldn’t have taken more showers. Though not physically covered in blood, you felt disgusting, as though all of those deaths were on your hands. You finally stopped when you felt your nails burning, skin almost raw from how much you rubbed it in an attempt to get off the invisible blood, quickly turning around to turn off the water and step out.

You pat your skin down, too scared to irritate it more before putting on some tiny shorts. You really needed to feel the cold instead of warmth like you did all throughout the games and a thin camisole that didn’t hide your soulmate mark. You looked at it in the mirror, the reddish-brown hue making you hum - it was nice to just look at it for a minute instead of hiding it.

It doesn’t take you long to step out, stretching before you notice Finnick sitting on your bed looking starstrucked. “Finnick!”

“Y/N, what the hell is that?”

At first you didn’t know what he was talking about, looking down at the wide gash you had on your forearm. “Oh, the District 1 Career was trying to get a hit in before-”

He stood up abruptly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his chest, his hand quickly finding its place at your hip. “Is that real?”

You look down, quickly covering the mark. “Y-You… you weren’t supposed to see that.”

You sounded stupid, head hazy as he pressed his finger firmly against it and rubs, gasping when it doesn’t fade or get irritated at his touch. “Did you- why would you keep this from me?”

“Because I thought I was going to die, Finnick,” you inhaled deeply. “I never thought I would see you again. I didn’t want to give you hope-”

“So instead you chose to lie to me and keep the fact that you’re my soulmate and that we could’ve been building a life together? A soulmate bond? How long have you known?” He whispered, leaning down as you looked away.

“Since we started training together.”

He inhaled sharply, letting out a soft whimper as he looked away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought I was going to die,” you explained, holding back tears. “I thought I was going to die and that you were going to be left with hope and I just-” a strangled sob left your mouth as he pulled you into a hug, his lips pressing to your forehead.

“You don’t worry about anything, darling. I promise, I swear,” he pulled away to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I will never let anything happen to you ever again.”

It had been quiet until you both were pulled into the Third Quarter Quell. You volunteered for Mags much to Finnick’s dismay, especially when you both had gotten to the parade.

“It’s too on show, Finnick,” you whisper, trying to lift up your skirt before he swats at your hand. “Finnick!”

“Who cares anymore, darling?” He whispers, pulling you closer. “Why should we hide it, hm? Let everyone know that they should be jealous. I have the most beautiful woman in the world by my side.”

You blushed madly as he smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “If they find out, they won’t pull me from the games because they renounced the law,” you whisper, inhaling shakily. “We’re going to get out of there, right? Together?”

He nodded, pushing back your hair. “I swear to you, Y/N, I promise.” He inhaled deeply as the fanfare started, leaning down to press a kiss to your head. “I’ll be right by your side, my love.”

You looked up, nodding as he pushed back your hair, a loud noise making you both look to the side. There Katniss stood, awkward and stick-like as you try to pull away from Finnick on instinct but he just held you tighter. He pulled you away, quickly helping you into the carriage before getting on himself.

“They’re going to have a field day with this,” you say, pulling your skirt a bit lower to expose the mark on your hip. “Might as well give them a show, right?”

He smiled, pulling down his waistband to show off the same mark. “Might as well, darling.”

The news came out sooner than you expected, Finnick pulling you closer to his chest as you sat on his cock. It was peaceful, watching the news a few hours before being dragged into the games. The public was raving about the fact you both were soulmates, and Finnick’s cock that was balls deep inside of you still spurting cum into you as he slowly rolled his hips.

“Want to go again,” he mumbled, his words not a question but a statement. You giggled as he stared at you, eyes hazy and drunk on your cunt. “Please? Can we go again?”

You giggle, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “You just want to fuck because we’re not going to be able to in the games, don’t you?”

He hummed. “Who says we can’t fuck in the games?”

You paused, letting out a soft hum as you started to roll your hips into his. “You’ll just fuck me anywhere, won’t you? Too fucking pussy drunk to think about anything else?”

It was a dangerous game, playing with a more dominant Finnick like this, especially because you were definitely the more submissive person in this relationship. Finnick always felt so fucking good when you acted like this, a sub trying to get more dominant on their dom and tease him, especially when you were on top.

He was going to feed your mind just a bit before he fucked you so hard you wouldn’t remember your name.

After processing your words, he nods as he kisses against your shoulder down to the swell of your tits, kissing and licking at your nipple. “Yes, yes darling. I want to fuck you so bad, please, please. I need to feel that pussy clench around me, need to feel your cunt milk my cock baby.”

He watched your eyes roll back, a smirk finding its way to his lips as he teased your nipple with his teeth. He sucks, groaning as you tug on his hair, pulling him closer as his hands hold your waist, forcing you to roll your hips into his and taking pleasure in the whines falling from your lips. “F-Fin, need you to fuck me.”

He pulled away, staring at your hard nipples and swollen areola. He laughs, looking up at you between your tits, eyes glossed over with lust as he pressed his lips to the center of your chest and sucked against your skin. You whined loudly as he leaves bright hickeys ranging from bright pink to dark purple all along your skin; anywhere from your collarbone to your chest to your sides, lifting you off of him to watch your face scrunch in discomfort when his length is pulled out of you.

“No, Finnick, don’t do that!”

It made him laugh; as pussy drunk as he was, you were cock obsessed more than you’d ever admit.

“What? Why not? I need to make room for more of the cum that I’m going to fill you up with.”

He laid you on your bed, pushing his head between your thighs to kiss against your stretched cunt, already pushing his tongue into your pussy to taste the mixed cum flooding into his mouth. He groaned loudly, his hips bucking into the mattress that did little to nothing to relieve him of the need to be inside of you.

He pulled away, face covered in sheen from your lewd juices, the whine that left your lips making him laugh just a bit. He laid back on the bed, humming. “Come here, darling. Want your pussy on my face.”

You nodded, knowing better than to argue with him when he got like this, quickly moving to hover over his mouth. “F-Fin, are you sure, I don’t know if I can-”

“Darling, if you don’t shut up and sit on my face, I won’t fuck you again tonight.” His hand slapping against your ass proved his point even more, a yelp leaving your mouth as you let your body relax and his mouth suck on your leaking cunt. Your eyes rolled back as he groaned, one hand holding the hip with your soulmate mark, his hand tight as the other pushed up your back while pushing you down. The new angle makes you whine loudly, gasping as his cock slaps against your cheek, his leaking tip smearing cum against your skin.

His cock was so pretty in front of you, thick and long, his tip flushed a bright red as cum leaking out, harder than you had ever seen as his hands squeeze at the plushness of your ass. His moans against your cunt made you whine, pulling his cock into your mouth just like he wanted you to.

Your eyes rolled back as he groaned loudly, fingers slipping into your pussy to scrape his cum from your walls, pulling out everything he could to swallow into his mouth. You whine loudly when his fingers get a little rough, pain blooming making his fingers pull away and a quick apology comes from his mouth. He smiled as he softly rubbed against that one area, kissing softly making you whine as you bobbed your head on his cock.

“Better?”

You nodded around his length, jaw slack as you bobbed your head over his cock, groaning as you pulled away. His cock bounced, mixed saliva and cum dripping down his shaft as you whined loudly. “Y-Yes, Fin, just like that!”

He smirks, pushing a finger back into you as he continues to rub that one spot you loved, curling and thrusting his finger inside of you as you pull his cock back into your mouth. You groaned loudly around his length, bobbing your head as fast as you could before pushing your head down and pulling his entire length down your throat.

Your eyes watered as you gagged, rolling back into your head as his hips thrust up into you, one of his hands forcing your head to stay low. You could only groan around his length as he used your mouth like a cock sleeve, thrusting harder and harder into you as his fingers of his other hand curled inside of you, thumb rubbing against your clit.

You pulled your hair out of your face, holding his thighs for some sort of grounding agent as he rammed his cock into your throat, your nose settled against his balls. He was groaning into your cunt, his tongue flicking and pushing into you as wet squelching fills the room, your throat relaxing as he does one last throat to cum down your throat.

He groaned loudly into your cunt, pushing his fingers into you just to hit that one spot that made you come undone around his digits. You gasped as you pulled away, letting out soft coughs as you swallowed, licking around his length before he pulled you off his face.

It makes you yelp as he quickly laid on your body, giggling as you hugged him tightly and pressed kisses to his hair. He mumbled out a soft ‘I love you’ as he pulled away, quickly gaining the same response from you before cleaning you up and pulling you into his chest. “I’m going to get you out of there alive, Y/N.”

You inhale deeply, pressing your face into his neck. “I know you will, Fin.”

It wasn’t until later in the games, where you stood by the tree did you actually doubt his words. A District 10 tribute had come way too close to you, slashing your side with her blade making you strip off half of your suit that Finnick couldn’t keep his eyes off of.

“What? Don’t stop on my account, I’m enjoying the show.” He was definitely enjoying the show, your soulmate mark on display and half of your skin that was covered in hickeys being shown off as well.

You rolled your eyes playfully, Katniss shoving him every few minutes to get him to focus on what they were doing as you attempted to find something to cover yourself. “Y/N, darling, what are you doing?”

“Trying to find something to cover myself up,” you explain quickly, sighing. “I just… feel exposed.”

He comes over, wrapping his arms around you to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m right here, darling. Always. You don’t have to feel exposed, ever.”

You smiled, pulling him in for another kiss. “I know, Fin. Thank you.”

He would stick by your side until Katniss blows out the top of the arena, cradling you under his body and whispering soft reassurances when you’re both lifted up into District 13s aircraft, and mending your side with the medical supplies.

“I promised I would get you out,” he whispers, smiling. “And I promise I’ll keep you safe, forever.”

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tortoiseshellcatfan · 5 months

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Warrior Cats Country AU

Warrior cats but they live in the country.

Windclan=Fieldclan (I don't need to explain this one)

Riverclan=Brookclan (or Creekclan)

Shadowclan=Barnclan (they live in a abandoned barn)

Thunderclan=Wheatclan (They live in a fucking wheat field)

Kittypets=Fondles

Loners=Barn cats

Rogues=Scoundrels

Bloodclan=Rascalclan

Skyclan: Acreclan

And everybody in a clan has a accent, something like a Western one. Fondles, barn cats, and scoundrels don't have this accent. Rascalclan wouldn't have this accent either because Rascalclan is made up of kittypets. Since Acreclan was a clan, their cats would have the accent, but it would be little less noticeable.

Some of the cats would change their name to fit in the country theme. Two examples are:

Tallstar->Cowstar

Leopardstar->Beestar

I wish to add more depth onto this, but I'm stupid, so please reblog or comment your ideas!

#warrior cats #warrior cats au #country #country theme #cats

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starry-stormy-knight · 5 months

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this piece caused me so much hell and pain lmaoo but this idea was the namesake of this blog so i persevered 💪😔

anyway the Battle of Narak inspired by van Gogh's style!

i don't remember how and when this idea popped up in my brain, but i guess i made some connection between the highstorm and Starry Night and i wanted to do my own take

i swear i did a thumbnail sketch to figure out what in the world i was going to do but apparently didn't do a value sketch, or not in a concrete way because i had so many lighting problems lmaoo like this whole affair would have been so much easier if i did the bright highstorm on the left with narak for contrast, rather than the dark on dark sigh. this isn't even going into the horrible time i had trying to do the everstorm because i wanted it to contrast in style as opposing forces

actually the thing that unlocked something in my brain was to go light to shadow (the opposite of my typical process) and i suppose it can tie into the dark otherness of voidlight perhaps?? anyway i just embraced the chaos, with the help of volcano eruptions with storms for references lol

i did have the shattered plains more brown, but i did the distant background to reflect van Gogh's Wheat Field vibes and it was so weird to look at, but when i made them more cool toned it kinda brought everything together?? i hope??

anyway hope you guys like this hahah <3 bon appetit or whatever

The Starry Night (1889) and Wheat Field with Cypresses (1889) by Vincent van Gogh

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inoreuct · 7 months

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Headcanons for Zoro and Sanji as Hades and Persephone? 👀

HERE WE GOOOOO. buckle up. this is LONG.

sanji’s persephone. the breathtakingly beautiful god of spring, kind and charming with wit sharper than a grain scythe and a marvellous capacity for divine rage. he’s a whiz in the kitchen (it’s sanji. duh.) and has a green thumb to boot; up on the surface he has a garden that’s his pride and joy, where he grows his own fruits and herbs and vegetables and rare blooms, occupying a plot of land together with the cottage that he and zeff (more on him later) stay at whenever they can.

zoro’s hades. intimidating as all hell (heh), has a MAJOR resting bitch face, and a three-headed dog with the heads named wado, kitetsu and enma. he’s a good man, just VERY emotionally constipated and he’s never had to woo anyone before; it should be illegal for someone that powerful to be so awkward but he IS.

he goes up to the surface one day to take care of underworld business, something about dead souls escaping— and he sees sanji in his garden, on his knees in the dirt, gathering herbs with his hair a mess, golden as the sun and all over his face and when he flips it aside to talk to zeff his smile is even brighter. zoro feels his heart lurch so hard he wonders if he’d gotten cardiac arrest.

and as previously mentioned, zoro has NO IDEA how to talk to this beautiful— god? nymph? human?? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t care. he wants to get to know his mystery guy but he doesn’t want to freak him out, so he just thinks FUCK IT I’LL BRING HIM TO MY HOME AND FIGURE IT OUT FROM THERE. totally not a bad idea.

zeff’s demeter. protective, sometimes TOO protective, the god of agriculture practically raised sanji himself; barely anyone even knows that he HAS a son. he has fields upon fields of grain; rice, oats, wheat, whatever sanji requires to cook and bake to his heart’s content. the entire valley where their cottage resides is known to be zeff’s territory, and he doesn’t hesitate to rain holy vengeance down on whoever trespasses.

which is why zeff is so mad when zoro pops out of the literal dirt and whisks sanji away. it’s not fun for any of the human farmers on earth that day.

when zoro brings him to the underworld, sanji’s pissed as fuck; kicks and yells the whole way down, then knees him in the balls and nearly rips out one of his earrings before strutting off like he already owns the place. what about his garden? zeff? all the humans he has a soft spot for?? who the fuck does this king of the underworld think he is, plucking sanji out of his life like this?

meanwhile, zoro lies there curled up on the ground as wado licks at his face, and for the first time in his life he wonders if making a plan would have been a better idea. he asks his shades to gather information and learns that sanji’s the god of spring, zeff’s son in all the ways that matter; but even if he hadn’t been a god, zoro would have easily made him immortal if he’d wished. the thought is wild and so out of character for him that he sits there for even longer until the shades tell him that sanji’s demanding to talk to him.

sanji finds the throne room but on the way he’d already passed multiple chambers filled with gold, crystals, extremely rare night-blooming plants— he walked by a cave with its walls encrusted with rubies as big as his head. but he misses the sun. he misses his flowers and his herbs and fuck, he had a bundle of rosemary drying in the kitchen. he really hopes he’ll get to see it again.

the shades are all polite, if a little wary, but they seem to relax more when he smiles at them. the throne room is massive, a cavern with stalactites dripping from the ceiling and ending in wicked points, and the throne itself is a twisted amalgamation of iron and volcanic glass, gold and bleached bone and pure, sparkling diamond.

he doesn’t even flinch when zoro enters with his sweeping black cloak and his liquid, inky shadows, just pulls his lip up in a sneer; he doesn’t give a shit who this big shot is. doesn’t care for the crown of ivory and obsidian set atop his brow. he knows where he is, knows exactly who he’s dealing with, and he stomps right up to zoro, shoves a finger in his chest and says, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing.”

the shades obviously didn’t see the whole getting-kneed-in-the-family-jewels spectacle, because there is a collective audible gasp. the court goes deadly quiet. zoro feels his shadows subconsciously swirl around him, building the silhouette behind his back into something out of a nightmare, but he makes an effort to disperse them as soon as sanji looks.

“i want. to court you,” he ekes out, eyes big and mouth pinched, and sanji suddenly realises that this man is just very, very awkward and obviously has not interacted with many living people for a very long time.

and no matter about anything else, zoro looks earnest. he takes a deep breath and his shoulders shift beneath his cloak, lifting his chin— but his expression screams pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes and sanji… doesn’t have the heart to say no. what will a few days hurt, right?

so they come to an agreement. sanji will spend a month in the underworld and allow zoro to court him, and if by the end of that time he doesn’t want to stay, zoro would personally see to it that he got home safe. he isn’t a prisoner, either; he is free to wander in the upper world for half the day. twelve hours of sunshine, and twelve hours in zoro’s domain.

if sanji’s honest with himself, the underworld honestly isn’t bad; zoro spares no expense to ensure he's comfortable even though he doesn't come see sanji himself very often in the beginning.

(sanji doesn't know it yet, but it’s because zoro's deathly terrified of sanji genuinely hating/fearing him or the underworld, or not being happy. he'd brought sanji down because he'd fallen hard and fast in love but if sanji ever truly did want to leave, it wouldn’t be a question. zoro would send him back up with his weight in jewels and gold as recompense.)

it's a little lonely, but not horrible; sanji befriends the shades and talks to the passing spirits, and word spreads that the king's crush (oh, zoro would have a conniption if he heard) is to be treated with the utmost respect, not just because of the order zoro proclaimed but because he deserves it. sanji is kind and understanding and snarky and fun to be around, but he also gives solid advice and he's a good bit more emotionally aware than zoro. the shades haven’t gossiped this much in years and honestly zoro’s concerned about their work ethic, but he walks past a tea-spilling session one day and hears sanji giggle and all thoughts of stopping it fly right out of his brain.

zoro snoops around secretly and finds out that sanji’s birthday is within the month. the last day of their stipulated month, in fact. so he calls in a favour from luffy (apollo!! the sun god!! his best friend!!). he spends two weeks, almost three in a cave he’d picked out, carefully pulling gemstones and groundwater to the surface, getting his shades to bring down soil and seeds and consulting with dead farmers about how the hell he’s supposed to pull off what he wants to pull off, because he HAS to pull it off.

all the while, he’s still courting sanji; having tea with the god of spring, trying not to embarrass himself and mainly just trying to win sanji over. he gets so enthralled by sanji recounting a story once that he drops an entire crystal teapot, heart hammering as one of his shades phase through the ground and catches it before it can shatter. sanji looks a little perplexed about how it suddenly disappeared, but zoro urges him to go on and he lets it go.

(zoro had never been that panicked in his entire immortal life.)

i can’t believe it WE NEED A PART 2 I’M OUT OF CHARACTERS

(part 2 here)

#zosan #op zosan #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #black leg sanji #one piece #zosan au #ask box #ino’s ask box

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doobea · 9 months

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Hi! Hello! Hope you're having a great day. I recently started following your acc and ur works are great. I'm not sure if reqs r open but I'll try to ask. Any bllk character in a scenario where their partner randomly said 'please don't leave me' at midnight or smth. I'm craving for some rlly good fluff rn. Thank u smm!

omg yes i am taking requests haha and you're actually the first one! it flatters me that you like my stuff because its been such a long time since I've written anything fandom related! I'll try my best with this scenario and hopefully you'll end up liking it too! :)

contents: gn!reader, established relationship, fluff, hurt and comfort (slightly), sfw characters mentioned: rin, oliver a/n: omg i hope this didn't take too long, I tried incorporating two different scenarios where the statement could be applied :) and decided to pick rin and oliver for this bc they were the first ppl to pop in my mind

"N-No, get away from me!"

The man runs away from the clouded figure in the shadows and into the thick open wheat field. He's frantically looking around, body and vision slowly getting disoriented as panic washes over any logic that was left. His beaded eyes dart towards the distance where a shed stands proud and breaks for it. Sounds of his heart thundered against his chest and he's trying so hard to ignore the fatigue in his legs.

Soon, he thinks, soon this will be all over. Soon everything will be back to normal and --

He trips over a stray log and watches over his shoulder as the shadow enigma creeps closer and closer until the screen fades to black.

Rin scowls as he watches the credits roll, seemingly unimpressed by the whole film, and is quick to find the remote to turn the TV off. "It's not the director's best work and the ending is completely different from the book." He complains, failing to realize that you've practically buried yourself underneath a mountain of pillows and plushies since the start of the movie. "I've heard the sequel is better, do you mind if we watch that tomorrow?"

You had no idea why you even agreed to join him on his sudden horror movie marathon. The whole genre made you queasy and leaves you feeling paranoid, wondering if the monsters on screen could come and haunt you next.

"Maybe we can watch Ponyo instead?" You suggest, voice muffled behind the stuffed animals.

"Ponyo?" Rin's teal eyes advert from the screen and now sees your shaken appearance and his gaze softens. "Was the movie that scary?" He says in a whisper.

Your head pokes out, teary-eyed and cheeks flushed. "Yeah."

His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his warm and calming embrace, as his slender fingers rake through your hair. You have no idea how he manages to stay composed after every horror movie and wonders if he could hear your own hammering heartbeat. "Please don't leave me in the dark."

A longing kiss is pressed against your forehead followed by a quiet string of apologies. "We can stay up however long you want tonight."

"And do we get to watch Ponyo tomorrow?"

You feel him smiling against your skin. "We can watch Ponyo."

⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

Rough noises of tossing and turning are heard from the opposite side of the bed as Oliver slowly awakens from his deep slumber. He groggily calls out your name before taking in the time that flashed across his phone.

"Baby, is everything alright?" He sits up and leans against the headboard, arm reaching out to wiggle your sleepy figure.

A low groan escapes your lips and he soon recognizes that you're experiencing a nightmare. Oliver doesn't hesitate to pinch your cheeks and start tickling your sides, it was his favorite way of waking you up and is definitely a lot more effective compared to shaking.

Your moans soon turn into full-on laughing fits as his hands made their way up and down your waist and dance across your stomach. Your eyes shot open and you see your boyfriend's proud expression beaming in the moonlight.

You rolled your eyes before smacking his hungry fingers away, pulling the blankets closer to your violated body. "What was that for?"

"For the record, you woke me up first."

"I hardly believe that."

Oliver sighs and pinches your cheeks again. "No seriously, were you having a nightmare or something?" He watches your mouth contort into a deep frown and felt a tense shift in the air.

After a long pause, you smile sadly. "You left me for someone else."

Oliver mimics your expression and presses his entire body weight on top of you, earning a loud 'oof' from your lips. "It's just a crappy dream, don't think too much about it."

He feels your arms wrap around his neck, shaky breath against his skin. "Mhm, sorry I guess sometimes it's hard to not think about your past sometimes."

"Definitely not gonna leave you, if that's what you're thinking." He starts peppering your shoulders and collarbones with his stubby kisses. "You're mine no matter what, okay?"

You roll your eyes and gently punch his back, feeling slightly better now that he can't see your reddened face. "Whatever, I think you owe me a date night tomorrow."

He pulls away and fakes a pout. "All because you dreamt of me cheating on you?"

You tug on the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him in for a brief peck on the lips. "Especially because of that."

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #doobea writing #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku #doobea requests #blue lock fluff

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Text

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [2.9k] prompt: "Eddie fixing your car." I don't know what happened but this ran away with it's own idea. It was supposed to be a baby blurb, Eddie said no. Car problems, the pretty metalhead you have a crush on, borrowed sweaters and the promise of hot chocolate.

PART TWO - CHOCOLATE

It was almost comical, how quickly Eddie had arrived in comparison to how long it had taken you to call him.

The only upside to your car breaking down on you was that it had done so by a phone booth. It was a long time coming, you knew that. The old thing had been protesting for a while, the engine groaning every time you turned the key over and something underneath was clanking considerably loud.

The car had finally coughed one last plume of smoke and gas into the air before it died, rolling to a slow stop on a road just outside of Hawkins. You groaned, already too tired from a long day helping your aunt a few towns over, your legs aching from walking her farmland with her.

Your parents weren’t home, the only town's garage was closed on Sundays and you had no money on you for a cab. You squinted out of your window, unsure if one of the few buses even came this route. It was late afternoon and dull, and you just wanted to go home.

But a hissing sound was coming from the hood and you squeaked, eyes wide, because if movies had taught you anything, it was that boys don’t stand outside your window with boom boxes and that sound meant a car is going to explode.

You braved yourself against the chill, summer leaving town along with blue skies and warmer days, fall leaking through its gaps with colder winds and fallen leaves. The road was scattered with leftover puddles, wheat fields on your left, a scattering of sleepy looking cows on your right.

You kicked a stone and swore at your bad luck.

Of the few people you knew with cars, you were sure all of them were busy. Steve worked on Sundays, at least until eight o’clock and it was only just turning five now. Besides, you were almost positive he had a date afterwards.

That would’ve left Nancy but she’d flown to California the week before, jumping at the chance to spend a few weeks with Jonathan, the boy promising to show her the coast, the ocean, the beaches.

You could’ve asked Hopper, but you didn’t have his home phone number memorised and there was something about calling 911 for such a scenario that seemed entirely too dramatic.

It took you another half an hour to finally pluck up the courage to call Eddie. You wasted time sitting on the sidewalk, pulling at the hood of the car as it argued noisily with you, before you gave up and fed some grass to the cows instead.

Then the rain came, slow, fat drops that made you gasp with each hit, lazy in the way they fell from the now navy sky. They soaked through your shirt and flattened your hair, stray strands sticking to your forehead no matter how many times you swiped them away.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to call Eddie. Truthfully, he was the first person you’d thought of. You just weren’t sure how to handle yourself alone with him. He wasn’t the scary, dark character that everyone had thought he was going to be - no, he was quite the opposite.

Warm, soft - a little dramatic, sure - but ever so gentle in the way he spoke to you. Light touches and friendly smiles that turned to achingly familiar hugs and wide grins that lit up the dreariest of days.

Nevertheless, the boy made you nervous.

Big, brown eyes that you were so sure could see straight into your soul, picking out your darkest secrets and everything you hoped he wouldn’t find out. Like, how you had an agonising crush on him. You felt like a clumsy, too shy teenager around him, not a twenty something adult. Your point was proven when you called and answered, voice rough on the other end and you were mortified to realise you’d woken him up.

Despite this, Eddie arrived in mere minutes and you had never been so happy to see a dodgy looking van come careening towards you on a long, empty road.

“Hey trouble,” the boy greeted, grinning wide and looking sleep soft, hair mussed from his nap and a giant sweater swapping his frame.

He looked like a teddy bear.

“You got here far too fast,” you chided, but you accepted the hand he offered, letting him pull you up from where you sat on the curb. “But thank you.”

Eddie didn’t respond to your scolding, his expression crestfallen as he took in your soaked shirt and damp hair. There was a leftover raindrop clinging to a bottom lash and you held your breath when he moved closer, a gentle fingertip brushing it away.

“You’re soaked,” he noted and you wrinkled your nose, embarrassment taking over because you knew what he was going to ask you next. “Sweetheart, how long have you been sitting out here?”

“Not that long!” You tried to convince him but he was frowning at you, lips almost pouting and if you weren’t so cold, you would’ve laughed.

“It stopped raining twenty minutes ago,” Eddie pointed out, brows raised as he called you out on your lie. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“I-”

“Christ, why didn’t you at least wait in the car?” The boy interrupted, not rudely, just suddenly confused at why you’d chosen to sit in the horrible weather, wet and miserable in the clothes that were now sticking to you.

“It was hissing at me,” you grimaced, sending the old car a withering stare.

“The car?” Eddie asked and if you’d looked at him, you would’ve seen the way he pressed his lips together to hide his laughter, you would’ve caught the fond way he was watching you.

“Mhmm,” you replied, kicking petulantly at one of the back wheels. “Surely that’s a sign of impending doom, right?”

“You spend too much time around Dustin,” Eddie murmured, a smile in his voice despite the way his words sounded like an insult. “It’s just the radiator, sweetheart, you must have a leak.”

Eddie walked to the front of the vehicle and you tried not to stare when he pushed the sleeves of his dark sweater up his forearms, exposing strong muscles and the bracelets he wore. You watched the way he popped the hood, letting out a low whistle at the smoke and steam that billowed out from underneath it.

“Is it dead?” You asked mournfully. You hated the thing but you really didn’t have the extra cash lying around for a replacement.

Eddie gave you a smile that twisted your tummy, all soft and a little dopey.

“She’s definitely not in her prime, that’s for sure,” he winced when he patted the engine and something squeaked in response. “But I can see if my uncle can tow her, have a little look for you?”

You perked up at the idea, hoping that Eddie’s uncle would take some compensation in the way of a nice bottle of whiskey and some home baking. The mechanic on main didn’t strike you as the fudge brownie type of guy.

“Really? That wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Eddie let the hood drop back down with a thunk, wiping some of the grease onto his black jeans. He shook his head at you, still smiling, full of so much affection for you that even you were beginning to see it.

“For you? No trouble at all,” Eddie murmured, and if you’d looked carefully enough, you would’ve seen the way he flushed, cheeks adorably pink. “It wouldn’t be until tomorrow though, that alright? She’ll have to stay here overnight.”

You both looked around the deserted road and a cow snuffled at you both, vying for more of the longer grass you’d been feeding it.

“I don’t think I’m in any danger of carjackers in Hawkins,” you squinted at Eddie, lips pulled up into another shy smile as you shoved your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. You felt a little giddy, like this was somehow flirting, like this was the start of something else.

“Yeah, I think you’re safe,” the boy agreed, shoulder nudging yours. “I mean, I have it on good authority that there’s cat eating lizard creatures around here… personally, I’ve yet to meet them,” Eddie looked at you and winked, “but I don’t think they know how to drive.”

You snorted, a sound that had your eyes wide with embarrassment but Eddie thought it was fucking adorable and he grinned.

“Stranger things have happened,” you mused, looking up at the boy and he let out a breath, making a noise of agreement.

Maybe it was summer creeping back in for a second, maybe it was stress or maybe it was the way you were both looking at each other but god, you were warm.

“You must be freezing,” Eddie suddenly said, that pretty frown back on his face and before you had a chance to protest, he was grabbing his sweater, hands pulling it off of his frame from the scruff of the neck, leaving him in a t-shirt with an unfamiliar band logo on the front.

It was soft and warm when he pushed it into your hands and you stared at it, eyes wide.

“Oh, Eddie, it’s fine, I’m-”

“Behave yourself,” he tutted, but that fond sound was still there, the one that was keeping you warm inside. “Why don’t you jump in the back for a minute, get yourself dry and I can take you home?”

You stared.

Eddie panicked.

“Shit, I mean, if you want? You don’t have to-”

But you were already smiling, bringing the sweater closer to your chest and you walked towards the van, head tilted in a silent ask.

“Right, yeah, lemme just…” Eddie pulled at the handle, sliding open the side door with a heave, tongue pressed to the top of his lip in concentration and he held out a hand so you could hop in. “I’ll uh, I’ll wait up front.”

And then the door clicked back into place, shutting softly behind him. The little light that made it into the back was soft and warm, the floor covered with an old shag rug that had definitely seen better days but between the old bean bags and cushions, it didn’t smell like the hotbox on wheels you thought it would’ve.

Sure, it was a little smoky, a herbal hint to the air but you could smell that pine air freshener that hung from the front mirror, Eddie’s cologne and some coffee that was still sitting in a takeaway cup by the dash.

You waited until the driver's door opened and Eddie slid in, throat clearing awkwardly as he kept his gaze very much ahead. Your eyes met fleetingly in the rear view mirror, cheeks a matching pink before he coughed, looking back to the steering wheel and murmuring a soft apology.

Despite your embarrassment - you’d gotten to the point of realising it was your new permanent state around Eddie - you slipped off your soaked t-shirt, letting it fall to the van floor with a wet smack. Your bra wasn’t really faring much better but kept it on, shrugging Eddie’s sweater over your head with a pleased sigh.

It was kinda fleecy on the inside, warm and soft, the sleeves too long and there was a little hole on the cuff. It smelled like Eddie, a familiar mix that you’d come to learn was smoke, weed and his cologne, woody and a little spicy.

“You’re not getting this back,” you declared bravely, a rather self satisfied smile pulling at your lips as you hid your hands inside the sleeves, tugging it over your fingers to trap in as much heat as possible.

Eddie sounded awestruck when he answered, grinning at his lap, unsure if he was allowed to look up. “I’m not?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p and sounding far too pleased with yourself. “These jeans are sticking to me, god.”

Eddie looked up when he heard you shuffle closer, brushing against him as you decided to clamber over the seat and into the front of the van. You were right, he noticed, unable to help himself stare at the way the denim was tight against your legs, your curves.

On a normal day, Eddie would’ve been bold enough to make a comment about it, something flirty and a little dirty, a low whisper about how he could help you out of them. But this wasn’t a normal day and you weren’t a normal girl. Not to Eddie.

So he wrinkled his nose instead at your discomfort, a soft hum of sympathy coming from the back of his throat as you got yourself settled beside him. The front bench of the van was long enough to fit three people - four if two of them were small like Max and El - but the boy was delighted when you decided to stay close to him, shoulders brushing, his sweater draped around your knees.

You were right again, he was happy to see, he definitely wasn’t getting that back.

“Okay trouble, where to?” Eddie looked at you patiently, waiting for further instructions as he turned the key in the ignition, making sure the heaters were on max and the vents were all pointed to you. “Home?”

He started driving back into town as he waited for your answer, eyes flicking between you and the road. He watched you chew at your bottom lip, hands twisting the cuffs of his sweater and he knew you well enough by now to know you wanted to ask something, that you were just too shy.

Eddie thought it was horribly endearing, hating the way he loved it, how it made his chest ache from the softness of it all. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie had already decided that he’d give you anything you’d ask for.

“Or, you know,” he hedged, voice overly casual. He snuck another glance at you, smiled when you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, waiting. “You could come to mine?”

You paused, waiting, feeling like the boy had more to say but you felt your breath hitch, heard it too and god, you wondered if that meant Eddie had as well. You watched him grin, a slow wide smile that showed the dimples you liked so much, and yes, you thought, fuck, he’d heard.

“Wayne’s out,” he continued, “somethin’ ‘bout a car auction or whatever but… Steve got me the last copy of Day of the Dead.”

It was an invitation, one that made your heart jump and your insides fizz. There it was again, that school girl crush feeling, wholly innocent in the way it made you nervous, entirely sinful in the way you wondered if Eddie would kiss you, press you into the cushions on his couch.

You scrunched your nose instead, a smile and a wrinkle at the mention of the movie everyone had been waiting to be released. “A horror? That’s the one with the zombies, right?”

Eddie laughed, not unkindly, not at you and he nodded. “That’s the one, yeah. It’s a George A. Romero film.” He looked at you, all warm honey and fond eyes. “Not a fan, sweetheart?”

You didn’t say no, because you wanted to spend time with the boy. But you didn’t say yes either, the lie refusing to slip from your lips and you shrugged instead, shy smile pulling at you as Eddie chuckled again.

“Y’know, I heard hot chocolate helps,” his voice was all faux conspiracy, a husky whisper as he took the chance to lean into you a little more, both hands still on the wheel but his hair brushing against your temple.

You flushed. “Helps what?”

“Pretty girls who’ve been stuck out in the rain and are scared of zombies.”

You felt positively scorching. The smile couldn’t be helped, that agonising pull that showed off your embarrassment just as much as how pleased you were, eyes rolling so you didn’t have to look at the boy but you knew he was grinning, you could feel it.

“Oh yeah?” You managed, sliding another look at Eddie, all soft longing and what if?

“Oh yeah,” he grinned and you huffed out a laugh when he took the turn away from your street, confidently heading to the trailer park instead. You didn’t tell him no. “I make a fucking fantastic hot chocolate.”

“You got marshmallows?” You were beaming now, eyes shining, wrapped up in the attention he was giving you.

“Do I have marshma- sweetheart, behave yourself, do I look like a man who’s got marshmallows in his cupboards?”

You laughed, a bright burst that made Eddie’s chest swell, like sunshine on the first day of fall and he cackled when you nodded.

“Yeah actually, you do.”

“You’re right,” Eddie huffed out between throaty chuckles, “I do, I have marshmallows.” Another laugh, from both of you. “I have like five kinds.”

Eddie had pulled the van into park by the time you’d both stopped laughing, cheeks sore from smiling, tears brimming at your lash line at the ridiculousness of it all, ‘cause your stupid car was abandonded on the side of the road and Eddie Munson was promising you marshmallows in your hot chocolate.

It felt almost redundant when he turned to you, suddenly looking as shy as you felt, hand on the door and his head inclined to the warm looking trailer, soft light coming from the windows.

“You wanna come in?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #strangers things #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff

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