james-bucky-barnackle

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How it feels to read a really good fic and find the author has dozens more like it 

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love my pumpkin

scary my pumpkin

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citationless behavior

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Some tributes and their tokens

rest in peace kids of the quarter quell you would have loved summer camp :(

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I am on tumblr and I'm alive

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"Now, Louella, what will the Newcomers do if they kill off all the Careers? What will happen to you kids then?" "As is on cue, the snake hisses in a woman's jewel-studded face and Lou Lou growls, "You'll murder us. You'll murder us." So I'm never recovering from what happened to Louella and Lou Lou. How about you?

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the difference between Haymitch and Katniss's narration is so funny. Haymitch would give us everyone's social security number if he knew them, while Katniss wouldn't even tell us her mom's name.

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Hey 💌 I’m Saja — a mother trying to hold onto hope through days that feel impossibly heavy.

I know you probably see a lot online, but if you could take just a moment… I’d be so grateful.

💫 A reblog of my pinned post could help our story reach someone who cares.

🌿 And if you’re in a place to give, even a small donation could bring comfort to my daughter and help us feel safe again.

@sajagz, thank you for listening.

Even gentle support creates strength.

From one heart to another — thank you 🤍

!!!!

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🙋 did someone say Nancy Drew? 👀 #mememonday

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Hello,

I hope you’re all doing well. 🌿

I need your help to share my family's story and raise awareness about our struggle. Every voice counts, and your support means the world. 🙏

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or, if you're able, consider donating just $5—it could be life-changing for those facing unimaginable hardship.

Your kindness and solidarity make a real difference. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🤍✨

@derawi1994

!!!!

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Switching between these every day

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Misery

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader Summary: You’re forced to star opposite Drew in Maroon 5's Misery—a music video filled with guns, fistfights, and unbearable sexual tension. You can’t stand him, and he thinks you’re an ass. But between takes, bruised egos, and unexpected confessions, maybe you weren’t so different after all.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Well, technically, he wasn’t supposed to be here.

Sebastian Stan had been cast in Maroon 5’s latest music video, Misery, opposite you—your friend, your occasional wingman, and the only person who could get away with roasting you publicly. But last-minute "scheduling conflicts" had pulled him from the project, and now you were stuck with Drew.

Drew, who once stepped on your gown at an awards show, ripping the delicate lace along the hem, and had the audacity to keep walking without an apology. Drew, who laughed about it later with his castmate, flipping each other off like a pair of overgrown teenagers. Drew, who, despite his reckless immaturity, had a ridiculous jawline, unfairly good hair, and a knack for playing arrogant pricks both on and off camera.

The silver lining? This wasn’t a romantic video—it was a full-fledged action sequence, with you and Drew playing rival agents fighting over a briefcase. You were getting paid to beat the shit out of him, and you were going to enjoy it.

The set was a grungy downtown alley, lined with neon lights and flickering street signs. The director, a wiry man with too much energy and a headset perpetually glued to his ears, clapped his hands together as the crew set up.

“Alright, people! High tension, high stakes. We want passion, violence—this is a love story told through combat!” He turned to you and Drew. “You two? You hate each other, but you want to rip each other’s clothes off just as badly. The fight is the foreplay.”

You deadpanned. “Can’t wait.”

Drew just smirked, shifting his stance. “Likewise.”

You rolled your eyes and took your mark. You were both dressed in black. A lacy black top covered your torso, matched with black denim jeans with atrocious rips. Drew wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath, covered in his own fake blood.

The first take was a chase sequence. As the first verse played in the background, you darted through the alley, the briefcase clutched in one hand, boots skidding on wet pavement. Drew was hot on your heels, his breathing sharp behind you. Then—

Bang!—a fake gunshot rang out, and you ducked just in time, using a parked motorcycle as cover. Drew rounded the corner, sleek in his tactical gear, eyes locked on you. He looked way too smug.

“You run slow for a top agent,” he taunted, lowering his fake gun.

You huffed, chest rising and falling. “And you shoot like a drunk toddler.”

His smirk widened. “That supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“No, just your ego.”

“Alright, cut!” the director shouted. “Good tension! But we need more—make it look like you want to kill each other and kiss each other at the same time.”

You exhaled sharply. Of course.

The next take was a brutal hand-to-hand combat scene. You slammed Drew against a chain-link fence, forearm against his throat. His fingers gripped your wrist, yanking you closer until your faces were inches apart. *Why won't you answer me, the silence is slowly killing me* blares through the speakers.

“Getting a little close there,” he murmured, voice low.

“You’re the one who pulled me in.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see if you smelled as expensive as you look.”

You didn’t hesitate—you kneed him in the stomach.

He doubled over, wheezing. “Jesus Christ.”

The director cheered. “YES! That’s exactly what we need! Keep the tension—love it!”

Drew shot you a look, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something almost nervous.

Later, between takes, you caught Drew staring at you from the makeup chair.

“What?” you asked, popping a piece of gum into your mouth.

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I thought you were an asshole.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You always looked at me like you wanted to throw me off a building. I figured you just hated me.”

You chewed slowly, watching him. “I do hate you.”

He grinned. “Yeah? Then why were you so into that fight scene?”

You leaned forward, your smirk mirroring his. “Because I was getting paid to hit you.”

His laugh was unexpected—low and genuine. “Fair enough.” Drew had heard earlier from one of the PA's why you hated him so much. The mystery seems to have unveiled itself, it almost feels like you were method acting.

Between takes, you found yourself cooling off by the craft services table when Drew sat beside you, stretching his arm with a wince. “You fight dirty,” he muttered.

You smirked. “You act like you weren’t enjoying it.”

“I might be a little masochistic,” he admitted. Then, after a beat, “I heard you wanted Sebastian for this.”

Your hand paused mid-reach for a water bottle. You glanced at him. “I did want Sebastian for this.”

Drew let out a breathy chuckle. “Brutal.”

“It’s not you—” you hesitated. “I mean, it was you, but not in the way you think. You’ve never exactly given me a reason to like you.”

He scoffed. “I didn’t know stepping on your dress made me public enemy number one.”

Your jaw tightened, who told him? “It wasn’t just that. It was how you handled it. You didn’t even apologize.”

He blinked, brows pulling together. “Shit. I… didn’t even realize.”

You shrugged, breaking eye contact. “Doesn’t matter now.”

But something about the way he looked at you made it seem like it did.

The last shot of the video had you straddling him on the pavement, both of you battered and bruised, guns discarded. The briefcase sat between you, untouched.

The director’s voice cut through the air. “Remember, you don’t know if you want to end this or continue it. Maybe this fight never ends.”

*Girl you really got me bad, you really got me bad*

Drew’s hand tightened around your wrist. Your breathing was heavy, your body pressed against his.

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

You stared at him, the heat between you suffocating.

And then, in the final second before cut—you smirked.

Because maybe the fight wasn’t over just yet.

When the final cut was called, you rolled off Drew with a sigh, lying flat on your back on the pavement. He stayed beside you, exhaling heavily.

“Damn,” he muttered. “That was intense.”

You turned your head to face him. “Tell me about it.”

A silence stretched between you before he finally spoke. “For what it’s worth, I really didn’t mean to step on your dress.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sincerity.

“And,” he continued, turning his head to meet your gaze, “I wasn’t trying to be a dick when I didn’t apologize. I just… I get weird at events. Nervous. I act like an idiot because I don’t know how else to handle it.”

You studied him. The confident, cocky persona was still there, but underneath it? Something else. Something… real.

“Guess I was wrong about you,” you admitted quietly.

Drew smirked, though it was softer this time. “Guess we were both wrong.”

A beat of silence. Then, casually, he said, “You know… we don’t have to keep hating each other.”

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

“I’m saying,” he drawled, sitting up, “maybe we try something different.”

“Like what?”

He grinned, the kind that should’ve been infuriating but wasn’t. “Like dinner. Maybe a drink.”

You pretended to consider it. “You asking me out, Drew?”

He shrugged. “I’m saying we call it a rematch. No fists this time.”

A slow smirk spread across your lips. “I’ll think about it.”

And, judging by the way his grin widened, he knew exactly what that meant.

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Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

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God Bless Haim

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EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU HAIM 🙂‍↔️

had to go chew some dry wall after this omfg