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fermentedfanfics · 1 year

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the cottage on the hill.

hey cuties here’s another au fic, i feel like aus are the only things i write these days?? i just have a lot of ideas i want to insert loki into lmfao. ummmm i simply did no research on this genre whatsoever so i’m really sorry if it kind of sucks or is a little all over the place?? let me know what y’all think! <3 also, there’s going to be instances of mentioning of reader’s father’s initials on items, it will be done so as (F.I) thank you cuuuttiiiieeessss. this fic series is explicit and for 18+ audiences, minors dni.

summary: reader lives in the hills outside her local village, close to the fae border. after a fateful encounter with a black cat, she accidentally invites the fae king into her home. warnings: (for future chapters) fem!reader, smut, fear kink, praise kink, piv sex, unprotected sex, different time era, kinda obsessed loki? not kinda, he is obsessed, i’ll add more as the series progresses. word count: 4.1k tag list: @colorsunimaginable @huntress-artemiss (please reply below if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic series!) part two (will link once posted.)

“You should move into the village.”

You’ve heard the sentence plenty of times, over and over again– and at this point it’s a nuisance. But the old woman in front of you, her serious tone, you know you cannot laugh and wave her off. Not Meredith. Your fingers dig into the handle of your woven basket, placing four nice, round apples (the last of her order) into her hands– she sharply thrusts the six copper and one silver coins it cost her into your hands. “The hills are not safe.” Meredith grumbles, her one eye that hasn’t gone blind is shooting beady daggers into your soul.

You thickly gulp and shakily nod your head, tucking the coins into the small pack sewn to the hip of your dress. “Yes, Meredith. I’m making arrangements.” You lie, and she knows you’re lying to drop the topic. But before she can barrage you again with eerie warnings of your home, your heels have turned and you’re on your way. You thank her profusely of her patronage, but you must be on your way. Household chores and the lot.

You’ve actually not much to do today, but you desperately do not wish to sit and listen to Meredith and her outlandish stories of the fae. You were smarter than she thought, you knew to stay home and never wander. Ever since the passing of your father, the village has grown more concerned about you living in the hills all by yourself.

With nothing much else going on in their lives, it’s expectant for them to bud their noses into other’s lives and gossip– you didn’t think this much though.

“Y/N!” Gareth, a tall townsman that you’ve found yourself day-dreaming about on multiple occasions, catches your attention just as you are to leave the village. His frame towers you, and his dirty blond hair is messy from work, sticking to his forehead in the sweltering heat of the day. “Heading home already?” He muses.

You smile, nodding slightly. “Only a few deliveries today.” Gareth looks you over, your basket almost empty, odd for someone about to head home. “May I walk you?” He offers, but before you can even think you’re declining his offer and absconding.

You aren’t sure what possesses you to isolate yourself from the town, but ever since your father’s passing you’ve found yourself uncomfortable with any sort of bonding the people of the village offer you. Even from someone you fancy.

It’s an hour's time from your home to the village, you hope to be home before the sun sets. While you aren’t afraid of walking home in the dark, your trusty dagger tucked to your hip and out of sight, you also didn’t want to deal with the troubles night brought. The warm, summer wind kissed your cheeks and cooled the sweat forming on your forehead, thankful you weren’t nearly as heated as you could be.

Following the brown beated trail from your house to the village, you kept notes of your surroundings. The birds that flew ahead, the rabbits that hopped around you– if you had your traps you’d make the effort to catch some for dinner. You thought of tempting one with kindness and taking your blade to it, but you didn’t want to waste daylight.

The forests around you whispered ancient tongues directed towards everything but you about you, just as they were taught to. Where you were, who you spoke with, what you were doing– they knew far too well who would be asking these questions. But they didn’t have to, he was already there– watching.

You listened to the crunching of the leaves and sticks below your feet, enjoying the day's walk. If you were in your right mind, you would have taken Gareth up on his offer to walk you home, but there was something different. Something wrong. You could feel it in your gut, and your father always told you to never ignore a gut feeling.

Picking up your pace, the strange feeling relaxed a bit as you could see the faded, moss-overgrown roof of your home. You could practically feel the comfort of your rocking chair once the stone fencing of your house came into view, shoulders slumping.

Digging into your basket, you pulled an apple from it. Turning it to the side, you eyed the small, brown, bruise that made the woman that you tried to sell it turn it away. You felt lucky the apples trees lining the forest near your home had decided to bear fruit this soon, but a bit bitter at the expectations from the villagers. The trees were there when you were born, they weren’t going to be perfect every year.

Pulling your dagger from it’s sheath, you carefully cut the bruise from it and began to cut the apple in half, then into quarters and so on. You were left with dingy, but still edible apple slices, popping them into your mouth as you completed your trip. The sweet juice was satisfying.

Without warning, a sudden loud chatter pulled you from your thoughts. Your dagger slipped from your hands from the startle, looking down to see a beautiful, sleek black cat staring at you. He seemingly came from no where, or at least snuck up on you while you hadn’t noticed. “Oh!”

He was possibly the most beautiful cat you’ve ever seen in your life, your heart instantly swelling. Black cats were a parah amongst the villagers, harbringers of bad luck, death, and everything terrible. It wasn’t uncommon to see the instant death of black cats– it was one of the reasons you didn’t want to move to the village.

Squatting to your knees, you held your hand out to the cat, beckoning it. “Hello pretty kitty..” A smile curled to your lips as he dipped his head into your palm, purring. Oh, what a way to end the day. However, just as quickly as he turned sweet, he instantly turned sour.

The cat snapped at your hand, nipping your palm with his sharp teeth. You shouted, wincing in pain as you fell back onto your backside. “Fuck!” You cursed, looking down at the small bite mark in your hand, light dribbles of blood pooling from the wound. Well, suppose there was a reason people were wary of black cats.

Before you could react, he swiftly picked your dagger into his mouth, blade hanging out. In an instant, he was a black blur in the wind. “No! No, no, no– please!” Your voice immediately cracked, standing to your feet in an instant to chase. But it was no use, the minute the cat ducked behind the apple trees and into the forest your run came to a stuttering halt. Your chest rose, a burning sensation flaming across your skin and tears pricking your eyes.

Your father’s dagger, his prized dagger– the one he made himself and gifted you just days before his untimely death, it was gone. Just like that. Falling onto your bottom once more, you heaved at the sky. “Fuck!!” You shouted.

What would a cat want with a dagger anyway?

It was dark by the time you picked yourself help and dragged yourself into your home, tears streaking your cheeks. You cried hard and long in front of those trees, your grief gripping you by the throat with a strong vice. You’d thought you were okay. Yes, you were broken by your father’s death, alone with no one to protect or love you– but you’d stopped the crying weeks ago!

You were frustrated at how easily your sobs came back due to something so simple. Sniffling, you closed and locked your wooden door before heading to the kitchen. You needed to eat. A solemn expression settled on your face, and the ache that grew in your chest hummed painfully.

A soup would do good tonight, something comforting to pull you from this rut. Grabbing two large, chunky potatoes from the sack in the corner of your kitchen you placed them on the counter, ready to cut. Instinctively, you reached for your dagger to use and gasped when you felt it’s emptiness.

Shit.

Tears welled again, and your crumpled to the floor like a wet rag. Nothing had ever hurt so much.

Your little home filled with the sounds of your moaning sobs, weak sniffles and frustrated screams. You felt like a child having a tantrum, and all you wanted was your father. But even he couldn’t come to help.

You cried yourself to a short slumber.

Thump. Thump. Thump!

You jolted. Eyes bleary from the tears, you confusedly blinked them. Was that the door? Pushing yourself up off the floor, you wiped your wet face with the sleeve of your dress. Seems you didn’t sleep that long, it was still dark outside– just how late into the night was it?

Thump. Thump. Thump!

“Gods! Who…who would be here..?” You whispered to yourself, picking yourself up off the floor as you tried to make yourself look presentable and not like you hadn’t just crumpled into a mess of a woman. Wiping your hair from your face, you quickly rounded the corner of your kitchen to your front door.

The strange feeling that fluttered your stomach on your walk home returned, making you hesitate in opening the door. Unsure of the feeling, you took a step back from the door, staring at it warily. Perhaps you had heard wrong?

Thump. Thump. Thump!

Christ your candles were still lit, they knew you were home. You didn’t wish to deal with an intruder or burgler, let alone someone coming in to do you harm. You didn’t have your dagger, but you surely had your kitchen knives.

Running back to the kitchen, you quickly grabbed one and slid back to the door. Hiding it behind the door, you finally slid the wood slab that kept it locked away and creeked it open, peaking your head out. “..Yes?” Your voice wavered slightly.

You were surprised at the stature of the stranger in front of you, noting how you actively had to look up. He wore a hooded cape that hid most of his upper torso, the hood settled atop his head and slightly covering his face. It was dingy and slightly torn, little holes littering hte hems indicating how long he’d been using it for. His boots were covered in mud, as if he traveled far. You squinted your eyes at him.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“My lady,” He grinned, cunning and wicked. Your stomach twisted.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you so late into the night, but, I was passing– and noticed the initials etched into your home.” Despite his attire, he was eloquently spoken. You gripped your knife tighter, trying to keep a calm face.

“Are you perhaps, F.I?”

“I am. What is it to you?” You were stern, this caused him to chuckle. It was deep, almost mesmerizing.

“Then, I believe this belongs to you.”

The stranger then reached his hand out, and you tensed. You were expecting something terrible; a curse, a dagger ready to rob, anything bad that would befall you and make you meet your end tonight. You were correct, in a sense, but the dagger in his hand made you gasp.

You didn’t even think when you dropped the knife, the clatter not reaching your ears as you opened your door wider and grabbing it from his much larger hands. “My dagger!” You heaved, the smile of relief that washed over your features make him smile wider.

The handle was carved beautifully out of wood, wrapped in a thin leather for grip. But in the blade, an engraving stood out. F.I. Your father’s dagger was back in your hands. “Gods! I never thought I’d see this again. Sir, thank you! Where did you ever find it?” Your wide eyes looked back up at him.

“Well, I found it quite odd to see a cat carrying such a thing. It dropped it when I scared it, so I kept it– just in case. And on my travels to the next village over,” He motioned towards the one you had just came back from. “I saw your home, and your initials.”

Your heart raced with excitement and joy, pure, unbridled joy. The sadness you had felt had washed away, and was replaced with a happy melancholy. Your father was still gone, but it was like he’d returned home.

Your fingers grazed the blade, looking it over. It was undamaged, surprisingly. “How could I ever thank you?” You whispered, your mistake.

The stranger held back his wide smile, sharp teeth gritting with delight. He knew not to get too excited, not too giddy. Good things come to those who are patient afterall.

Dipping his head slightly, he cleared his throat. “If it’s no trouble to you, madam, would you be so kind as to offer this traveller a meal? To ready him for his continued travels?” He innocently asked.

Looking up at him, you thickly swallowed. A stranger, in your home. Your mind, body, and soul were on different paths. Your gut said no, turn him away and call it a night. But, your heart, oh your weakness. He had kindly given you back your beloved dagger, even though he could have kept it for himself because of how well it was made. A meal was nothing to you, nothing.

Biting your lip, you peaked at the knife on the ground. Norns. “Yes!” You almost shouted, clearing your throat. “One moment.”

When you shut the door of your house, you looked down at the dagger for a moment before tucking it into it’s sheath on your hip. You picked up the knife that had made it’s way to the floor and tried your quickest to put it back into the kitchen. You hadn’t even started dinner, but the soup you were to make would do just fine.

Back to the door, you opened it and this time fully opened it, allowing the stranger access to your home. “Please, come in.” You offered with a wry smile.

The stranger graciously accepted your offer, stepping into your small, cozy little home. Your scent engulfed him, and he had to turn away from you for a moment. You’d already turned your back to him, heading back to the kitchen. “There’s not many places to sit, other than the table and my chair. Feel free to get comfortable if you wish, I’ll be making dinner then.” You wave your hand at him.

He takes your advice and melts into your chair, almost radiating in the fact that it was yours. He was delighted, gleeful in fact. You’d been much dumber than he expected, but it was with charm. Your back turned to him, he greedily took in your backside and bottom as you began to chop away at vegetables; potatoes, carrots, peppers– anything to add to the soup. It wasn’t going to be much.

“So, my lady. What does F.I stand for?” He mused.

You bit your lip, rolling your shoulders slightly. “I’ll admit that I lied to you. They are my father’s initials, not mine.” You admitted, dumping the potatoes into a pot of water you had prepped before you fell asleep. You’d have to go out and get some chicken feet to add flavor so you weren’t just feeding him vegetables and water.

“Ahhh, a little liar on my hands?”

“Well, I didn’t know who you were!” You defended yourself.

“And your name?”

“What about it?”

He grinned, so you were a tad bit informed. “May I have it?” His question was so simple, and very innocent. He was good at making your skin crawl, your forehead sweat, and your abdomen warm. Strange, indeed. You remembered what Meredith told you. Never give your name to a stranger, they’ll take it for good. “No..” You sighed.

You jumped when he burst into laughter, haughty and loud. You’d almost nicked yourself with the knife when he did, looking over your shoulder with confusion. “You are very smart, madam! Suppose I should stop testing you.” Testing for what? You wondered.

“What is your name, my lady?” He finally asked, like a normal person. You were beginning to believe he wasn’t a normal person, and the thought alone made you shudder. “What is yours?” You asked instead.

“Loki.”

“Loki?” You reiterated, it was a foreign name certainly. One you’ve never heard.

He liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, and the fact that you simply didn’t realize who he was by name only elated him. Were humans forgetting? Becoming more stupid? Loki revelled in the thought of what the future would bring.

“Yes, Loki. Now I’ve told you mine, you must tell me yours!”

You chewed on your bottom lip. “Y/N.” You huffed curtly.

Loki already knew your name, the trees whispered your secrets to him. It’s why he knew everything about you, why he loved you.

“I must step out to my coop for an ingredient, try not to mess with anything.” You simply stated as you walked across from your kitchen to the back door by the chair he had so comfortably plopped himself in. You wiped your hands onto your apron before opening the door and stepping out. You just needed some chicken feet.

When you returned, you instantly noticed Loki was no longer in the seat he was in. Before you could panic, you finally noticed him leaning over the pot of water and vegetables.

“I told you not to mess with anything.” You almost scolded him, a hint of faux-ire in your voice. You tossed the chicken feet you’d acquired into the water, looking up at him. He seemed dissatisfied with what you were making, and it made you upset. Sure he returned your dagger, but he was a guest and you were genuinely going out of your way to feed him.

No traveller would be this picky.

“I was wondering if you’d planned on feeding me just water and vegetables.” He taunted.

“And I was just thinking no traveller would be this picky.”

His silence chilled you to your core as you picked up the pot, huffing at it’s weight. You struggled to bring it over to the fire hole in the center of your home. With effort, you were able to plop the pot right over the fire– it would be a bit before it was done. This left you with some time with Loki, and your skin itched at the idea.

You melted at the dining table your father had also made, a soft sigh escaping your lips. Loki joined you, sitting across. His hood was still on, despite his comfort in your chair he had not made any advances to relax.

“Where do you hail from, Loki?” You finally asked him a question, one you should have asked long ago. The strange feeling in your gut did not leave whatsoever, in fact it only worsened. The hairs on the back of your neck stood when he was near, and his voice sent chilly vibrations throughout your body. You weren’t quite sure if you were afraid, or attracted to him.

“Asgard, and I assume you hail here?”

You couldn’t tell if Loki was lying or not. With everything he said, you just weren’t sure what to take at face value. It was what bothered you the most about him, he was a wall you seemingly couldn’t knock down. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

“Yes. My whole life.” You admitted.

“And where is your father?” The question stung, and Loki knew it did.

You’d remembered and grieved your father’s death far too many times today, your face said it all. Nose slightly scrunched, brows furrowed in such a miserable sense– it almost made Loki want to jump from where he was and hold you.

With watery eyes, you coughed slightly to cover it. You looked away, over to the pot checking it hadn’t boiled over. “He’s dead.” You quaked. This night wasn’t how you planned and you wanted it to end instantly.

But looking over his figure, his large hands with long, delicate fingers– he’d overpower you easily should the night go awry. You admit you were scared of Loki, deeply afraid. His mere presence evoked a trigger in your flight or fight responses, and you wanted to fly.

“That is a shame truly, to leave a lovely daughter all alone. With no one.”

His words were a stab to the heart, breaking you down. You abruptly stood from your seat, clearing your throat. “The..soup.” You motioned over to it, your excuse for leaving. Hastily making your way over, you grabbed a large wooden spoon from the kitchen and began to stir. It finished much faster than you anticipated, but you were glad it was. The sooner he ate, the sooner he left– right?

Loki watched you carefully as you walked from the kitchen to the pot again like a ghost, two bowls in hand. You first filled his, the broth a nice brown-ish colour from the cooked chicken– and when you handed it to him you held up your hand for one moment.

You returned from the kitchen with a loaf of bread, breaking a piece for him. He gratefully took it. You then made your own bowl and joined him once again at the table, exhausted. Loki ripped a piece off the bread you’d given him, dipping it into the hot liquid before taking a bite. A hum escaped his chest, as if he were a starved man eating for the first time in weeks.

Starved but picky? His strange aura eluded you. “Much better than I expected, this will get me through the night, madam.” He grinned, almost as if he wanted to taunt you to anger– to do something not in your right mind.

What was the point in sharing names if he was just going to call you madam and lady? You weren’t even a lady, the state of your home made that clear. Tearing off a piece of bread, you silently dipped it into your soup and took a bite. Much to your surprise, he was right.

The soup was delightfully flavourful, instantly warming your core. Your mouth watered as you swallowed the broth soaked bread, picking up one of the smaller wooden spoons you’d grabbed for the two of you to eat with. You scooped up a chunk of potato, slurping it down with a bite of bread and as you chewed you began to realize there was something off about the soup.

You wanted to panic, to stop eating, but you didn’t. You kept eating it, because it was delicious. It was the most delicious soup you’d ever made, and you were a pretty good cook. Your mind ran wild with how something so simply put together tasted so good that you didn’t notice Loki had finished, and was watching you devour the soup and bread like you were the one starved.

When you finished the soup, you couldn’t stop the sigh of content that released from your chest. You felt warm, fuzzy, and sleepy. A tired you’d never felt before. You chalked it up to eating such a hot dinner on such an emotional night, but you knew you were going to sleep heavily afterwards. You looked forward to it.

Loki standing up pulled you from your daze, your tired eyes looking up at him. “Thank you for the meal, my lady. But I must take to the night.” He told you holding out his hand. Without much thought, you slipped your hand into his. Loki brought your knuckles to his lips, placing a chaste kiss upon them. Your brows flew up in surprise at the sentiment, the skin where he’d kissed feeling hot as well as your cheeks and ears. This was unexpected.

“Oh, it’s alright– please.” You awkwardly pulled your hand from his, stepping aside to lead him to the door. A part of you was jumping with glee that he was leaving so soon.

“If it’s no mind to you, when I am finish with my duties in the village, may this traveller come back for another meal tomorrow night?”

His question did not have time to linger before you agreed without thinking, wishing you’d bit your tongue. With a grin, Loki let himself out and was gone into the night. You closed the door, sliding the lock into place.

You stared at the door for a moment, then wavered to the bedroom in the back– it was your father’s bedroom now turned yours. You plopped into the bed, softly grunting as your body collided with the fluffy blanket. Your body was burning, and your head was elsewhere. That soup did a number on you, and as you thought back to seeing Loki leaning over the pot, you drifted into a deep slumber for the rest of the night.

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ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds · 9 months

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You're Craving a Release

“There’s a good boy,” you praised, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. The whimper he let out skittered along your nerves. “Just relax. Breathe and relax. I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Malignant 2021 Pairing: Gabriel May x GN!Reader Word count: 1.5K Content warnings: sub!Gabriel, Dom!reader, bondage, shibari, praise kink, making out, kissing, body worship, masturbation, sort of?? masturbation by way of crotch rope, light teasing, light denial, begging, mentions of medical abuse, dealing with trauma through the power of KINK and HORNY, Gabriel’s inexperienced and horny AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: Well well well, a fic from me? In the year of our Lord 2023? Wild. Who’d have thought. I’ve been meaning to write for Gabriel May from Malignant for a while now. And technically I have, but nothing I feel is post-onto-Tumblr material. But I thought Blood Fest 2023 would be the perfect opportunity to write something that is! I’m super happy with how this turned out. This week’s keywords were “malignant” and “acrid”, and the prompt I used was “bondage”. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

He wasn’t used to this kind of treatment.

He’d told you more than enough details about what it was like back at the Simion Research Hospital. Any time he misbehaved, anytime he got too cranky or aggressive or disobedient, he was punished. Strapped to a chair or bed and injected with relaxants. Or, if things got really bad, plugged into a machine and electrocuted. All while the medical staff told him he was a monster, a tumor, a cancer. Something to be fixed and discarded. As if he wasn’t a person at all.

It made your stomach fold in on itself. It made your hands curl into fists till your nails bit into your palms. It made you want to track down those fucking doctors and every person who’d let this happen.

But you couldn’t. Not least of all because Gabriel had already done it himself.

So you settled for this instead. Helping out in the here and the now.

In…. slightly less than conventional ways.

“Just breathe.” You brushed your fingers against his shoulders. Gabriel twitched, and the muscles of his face tightened as if in a frown. But he kept his eyes closed. Like you’d asked him to. You’d said that he could open them anytime if he got too nervous – it wasn’t necessary, just an “if you can”.

But he’d kept them closed. Even as the muscles of his back – his front, you supposed, from his point of view – rose and fell just a little too quickly, a little too unevenly. Even as his body was pulled taut with nervousness. He kept his eyes closed. And waited.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” you said, keeping your voice soft. Making him feel as at ease as possible. He somehow managed to both shrink into himself and sit a little bit straighter at the praise. Praise and affection, you’d realized some time ago, were the ultimate aphrodisiac for him.

So you slid your fingers around one of the loops of red rope and tugged him closer to you. You brushed the long tangle of black hair out of his face and pressed your lips to his teeth. Slipped your tongue into his mouth as he melted against you, turning the kiss messy and open-mouthed. The taste of blood was sharp, but it didn’t bother you. Not with the way his breath stuttered, how his body jerked and a deliciously broken little sound skittered out of the nearby speaker.

You gave him a sweet smile as you pulled away. He leaned forward as if to follow you, before tensing again and shuddering with a gasp. Satisfaction settled in your gut.

“How do you feel?” You brushed his hair out of his face again. His eyes were screwed shut, breath even more uneven now.

“Un…. usual,” he grit out. His voice was laced with static as it emanated from the speaker.

You glanced up and down his form, examining the ropes woven around his body. The front of his body was turned away so you could see his face, and his arms were tied at the front so they’d be behind him. It had been a bit of a challenge figuring out how to do this, how to adjust the ties for his backwards body. But you’d done it. And now he was sitting in front of you, legs curled under his body, adorned with red ropes and knots – including a rope that passed between his legs and sat snugly against the black fabric of his underwear.

“Good unusual or bad unusual?” you asked. You didn’t want it to be the bad kind of unusual. But considering how little experience he had with this sort of thing, it was possible.

“I don’t…. I don’t know.”

You paused. “Do you want to stop, or–”

“No.” The word came out harsh. Harsher than he must’ve meant it, because Gabriel seemed to flinch at the sound. “No,” he repeated, softer. “I…. I don’t want to stop.” He shifted, and his breath caught on something halfway between a gasp and a word. “I don’t…. dislike it.”

Satisfaction curled deeper. And a hot little spark flared deep inside you, too.

Evidently, the crotch rope was doing what it was supposed to. And that knowledge, the knowledge that he was getting off on it? That he was so unused to this that just a length of rope and some sweet words had him slowly turning to putty in your hands? Now that was something you could get off to.

But you’d deal with that later. Right now, your focus was on him.

You were going to show him that being restrained didn’t necessarily have to mean punishment, or pain, or anger. Being restrained could be nice, too. It could be calming. Pleasurable.

So you took your time, brushing your fingers along his neck, his shoulders, his arms, along his spine and down his hips, sometimes gently scraping your nails against his skin. And sometimes leaving saccharine kisses in their wake. Some just a brush of your lips, others open-mouthed so you could taste the slight saltiness of sweat-sheened skin. His warmth leaked into you. His arousal and the little gasps and moans that bled from the speaker urged you on, even as you took your sweet, sweet time in exploring him.

You’d expected him to talk more – to play it off, to act like he wasn’t as obviously affected as he was. But he didn’t. His breath came in short, shallow puffs. The only sounds from the radio were small, half-suppressed moans and the occasional whispered fuck.

And it wasn’t just from what you were doing.

You hadn’t failed to notice Gabriel’s squirming and twitching. The movement of his arms behind him, jerking in an unsteady rhythm. Pulling and moving the rope between his legs, moving the small knot pressed against the fabric of his underwear where his clit was.

Desperately chasing that unusual, unfamiliar feeling.

All because of some praise and kisses.

“You’re being such a good boy for me, Gabe,” you murmured, curling your fingers around the ties at his hips and tugging, shifting that crotch rope and its knot. A startled groan came from the speaker, barely audible through the crackle of static. You smiled to yourself. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“Like–” His breathe hitched as his body jerked again, “–L-like what.”

You leaned in close, nuzzling the crook of his neck. Strands of hair tickled your face. He smelled of metal and something acrid, and something else fainter underneath – something soft and floral like fancy bodysoap. “Oh, you know. Tied up. Blushing. Needy.”

The flush that had spread across his neck and shoulders turned deeper. “I’m not… fucking needy,” he bit out.

“Oh? So you don’t want me to touch you?” You tugged at his hip ties again. He writhed, then sharply stopped as you slid your fingers around him and teased the front edge of his underwear. And the rope that passed there. “You don’t want me here?”

“No,” came the strained reply.

“No? Aw, that’s too bad.” You pulled your hand away, knowing full well that’s not what he meant and masking it with a pleasant smile. “You just look so pretty when you’re desperate like this. But if you don’t want me to–”

“Noplease!” Gabriel blurted. His eyes snapped open and he lurched forward against his restrains, and God he really did have the most gorgeous turquoise eyes you’d ever seen.

“Don’t! I – f-fuck.” He squirmed, writhed as if trying to escape his restrains, jostling the crotch rope and its knot even more, and there was no stopping the garbled flurry of gasps, moans, and curses that spilled out of the speaker. “Fucking C-C-Christ, please, don’t stop, I–” He bit off another moan. You’d by lying if you said this didn’t have you squirming a bit too, the heat in your gut flaring as Gabriel struggled against himself. “Please. I. I do want you. Fuck, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I want to – I want you to–”

“You want me to what?” Almost there, he was almost there. “Use your words.”

He whined, low and soft, the noise coming from his own throat rather than the speaker. Fuck, he really was desperate. Your skin burned.

“I want to… I want to c–” He struggled to get the word out, flush so intense he was practically radiating heat. But another shift, another movement of the crotch rope had him crumbling before your eyes. “Fuck, I want to c-cum. I want you to make me cum. I feel like I’m in hell. And I want it to stop but I want it to keep going. Please. I want to cum.” He stared at you, open mouthed, eyes wide and pleading, breath sawing in and out of his body.

You pressed a kiss to his teeth and slid your hand back around him. You gently pressed a finger against the crotch of his underwear – and the thoroughly damp fabric there.

“Of course you can cum. All you had to do was say please.”

“Please.” His voice came out a whisper.

You pressed a kiss to his neck. “Good boy.”

#ace writes #sfbf23 #gabriel may #gabriel may x reader #malignant #malignant 2021 #notsft #been a bit since i've written anything so i hope this is okay <3

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aheathen-conceivably · 6 months

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What led you to taking the family from New Orleans to New Mexico?

Thanks for the question, my dear! It honestly hurt my heart to do so, since my own love and attachment to New Orleans is woven so strongly through the 1920s. But I knew from the get-go we’d be leaving the city for a couple reasons….

One, I simply can’t stay in the same sims world for too long. I’m like this in gameplay, but I learned in the 1900s-1910s that that instinct is even stronger in storytelling. Being able to find new angles, builds, lots, lighting, etc. is part of the fun and really makes me look forward to moving the story forward. Likewise, I really like the clear visual distinction of a new world every decade or so (because it won’t always be exactly every ten years), as it creates visual chapters and keeps things feeling fresh for me and I hope, y’all too!

But more specifically, I always knew that many of the end goals of the 1920s would require leaving New Orleans. One was Antoine’s toxic attachment to his past, and his need to let go of that in order to move forward. The other one, and arguably the biggest, was to end the decade with Antoine proposing to Zelda. As I discussed in detail here, this was not possible in New Orleans. Likewise, I did not want Violette’s formative years to be marked by legally mandated segregation (especially in school), so that she could have more freedom in her story and identity.

Now if you look at the map in the post linked above, you’ll see that the choices of where to move them is not exactly plentiful. The easiest choice would have been the Northeast, but I knew pretty early on that I wanted to have a desert backdrop for the 1930s. Thematically, I think it harkens to the images that we associate with this decade and also the concept of the American West, which by the 1930s is beginning to be exposed as a myth (this is a theme I find fascinating and y’all will see as the years go by). Its also meant to provide a heavy contrast to the warm, tropical air of New Orleans, and how that climate kind of intersects with the idea of decadence in the 1920s.

As far as sim-specifics, I try and look at all the worlds and see what can realistically be used for what decade and geographic location. From the get-go I was intrigued by Strangerville, since it’s a world I never really play in and the military base has some good story potential (oh? Is that a spoiler you say? 👀). I also don’t see it used that often, and I especially think the downtown is so cinematic. This really fell in line with the ideas I already had about leaving New Orleans and the themes of the West, so I referenced the map in the linked post, and ultimately decided on New Mexico. Then with subsequent research and studying Strangerville’s landscape (namely the rocks and the road and how I could incorporate that into the story), I finally placed the town in the Northwestern corner of the state, with easy road access both North and West for wherever the next decade takes us 😉

#ask #answered

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multiplicity-positivity · 4 months

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We're a mixed origin/endogenic system of 4, and we're struggling to let the others (the non-hosts) front for too long as it starts getting uncomfortable for me and for whoever is fronting. Cofronting works well but not full fronting yet. Any tips?

Hey there! We’ll preface our response by saying every system is different - no two systems will look or function exactly the same! Some systems may never reach the ability to fully switch out members, and that’s okay!

That being said, we do have a post with some tips for switching. We’ll link it below:

We’ve compiled a bunch of switching advice and resources into that post, so hopefully something there could help your system with this! We will say, though, that if trauma played any role in your system’s formation, please please steer clear of any t*lpa posts and guides! Encouraging dissociation in order to pull off a switch can be incredibly dangerous for those who already have issues with dissociation. Please use your best judgement and look out for your system when doing research!

We’d like to reiterate that many systems function in many different ways. For some systems, expecting a full switch may be like expecting an apple to turn into an orange. Not every system functions this way, and it’s important to be kind to yourselves and manage your expectations when trying to achieve this sort of thing! If y’all aren’t ever to fully switch, that’s okay! It doesn’t make you any less plural, and you may find that there’s lots of systems in our community who function similarly!

Remember that cofronting is a valid way for system members to have agency and experience the world! Our own system has members who only ever cofront and never front alone - we’re sure this is a pretty common system experience.

We hope this helps, and we’re sorry if it doesn’t! We’re wishing y’all the best of luck with learning more about yourselves in the future!

#fronting #cofronting #switching #endogenic #mixed origins

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heart4gyu · 1 year

Text

friends date pt.2 || nicholas x reader

note: finally right? it’s been like ages since pt.1 but i finally got around to finishing this ^_^ hope you enjoy give me some feedback i always love to hear it !! (also i didn’t proofread i just wanted to post this already aaah)

wc: 2,533 words

as you walked along side each other, you tried to stay involved in the conversation but you really couldn’t stop thinking of what your mom had said. ‘make him your boyfriend already’ she had to be joking. how could she say that? he was your best friend, for years, basically your whole life. and in what way did y’all act like a couple? you literally just acted like friends… whatever, just let it go, she doesn’t understand. no one needed to understand your relationship with nicholas except you and him, and that’s all you needed. “you okay?” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “hm? oh yeah i’m fine, my mom was just being… weird,” you said, laughing it off awkwardly. “oh uh, you wanna talk about it?” he offered but you just shook your head and he let it go. he knew you well enough to know that if you wanted to tell him you would, sooner or later.

you tried to not think about it too much because you knew he’d notice. “so where are we going this time?” you asked, trying to get back to your usual self. "hmm..." he started, staring up at the sky pretending to think about it, "it's a surprise." you chuckled, looking down at the ground, and he looked down at you beside him with the sweetest smile that you just so happened to miss. "oh i bet i’ll be so surprised,” you said, sarcastically. there really wasn’t anywhere you hadn’t taken each other. after all these years, you knew every single one of each others favorite spots. but you could never get bored of any of them, or maybe you’d just never get bored of him…"come on, we're almost there," he said, holding his arm out for you to link yours. you hesitated but took his offer quickly, giving him a smile as to not give yourself away. he always did that, that's how you always walked with him, especially in crowded places. it's normal, friends link arms. you and nicholas are friends who link arms. though, what wasn’t quite normal, was the feeling in your stomach when his skin came into contact with yours. not to be cliche but you felt butterflies in your stomach as you walked so closely to him.

the walk after that wasn’t too long. everything in the city was pretty close, you tried to figure out where he was taking you. you’d already passed up most of your favorite arcades, so no, and the science museum was your favorite but he passed it up too. the zoo wasn’t too far from here just on the other side of the big local park in the center of downtown. “hey, i said surprise, stop trying to figure it out,” he said, waving a hand in front of your face. you laughed, swatting his hand away, “okay okay.” “it’s this way,” he said, turning toward where the zoo was. maybe you were right, you hadn’t been to the zoo in a while. you smiled to yourself, proudly, there hadn’t been a time when you hadn’t guessed correctly where he was taking you. then he suddenly came to a stop, and was pulling the door of a huge building open. “wait- i thought we were going to the zoo,” you said, kind of off guard. he smiled, “nope, you guessed wrong. one point for me.” you rolled your eyes and looked around still trying to figure out where he’d brought you. you’d never been here before and the building was unfamiliar, despite you and nicholas having seen most of the city. the lights were dim and it was cold, you could make out waves and ripples painted onto the wall though. “here, sit here while i get our passes,” he said, walking you over to a bench at the side of the room. he got in line and your gaze found the reception desk, finally noticing to blue led letters behind the employees. aquarium. you smiled to yourself, feeling a blush rise up in your cheeks. you had sent him a tiktok a couple weeks ago of one of the biggest aquariums in the world. it was beautiful and you added that you had never been to one before. but honestly you thought he didn’t take the time to watch all the tiktoks you sent him daily or even read your replies. you almost teared up at the thought of someone caring so much.

a couple minutes passed before he came back holding both wristbands in his hand. when you noticed him coming back, you stood up taking a couple steps toward him. you smiled shyly, and he returned it taking your hand to put your wristband on. “were you surprised?” he asked, looking up at you while he adjusted the band. “yeah, i’ve never been to an aquarium before,” you said, smiling fondly at him. “i know, i remember you told me so i wanted to be the first one to bring you,” he said, handing you his band. his hand was warm when you brought it up to wrap the band around his wrist. “hm, well who else would want to bring me,” you scoffed, lightheartedly. you kept your head low to hide the embarrassment dusting your cheeks, but the look he had in his eyes was not one of pity. he looked at you with stars in his eyes, you’d have to be an idiot to not see how much he adored you. you looked back up at him once you were finished, taking a step away from him toward the double doors. but he stopped you, taking hold of one of your hands, pulling you back a bit. “y/n, anyone would be happy to bring you,” he said, taking a step toward you. he looked at you and you could tell he wanted to say something but he didn’t. he stared at his hand holding yours, then intertwined your fingers. you felt goosebumps from his hand being completely connected to yours. “guess i just always get to be the lucky one,” he said, looking back up at you. your faces only an inch or two away from each other but neither of you moved away for a couple of seconds. you’d never felt tension like this, not with him at least. you kind of hoped he’d lean in some more, or confess something to you in that moment. he backed up and gave you a small smile, and you couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes as he walked you through the entrance.

it was nice, there wasn’t too many people but just enough to fill the silence with quiet conversations. there was a long hallway with marine life facts before the first room. once you entered, the first tank was huge, taking up the whole wall. there was a family and a couple in the room with you. the kids sitting pointing up at the tank and the couple sitting on a bench, leaning into each other. you looked down at your intertwined hands again. finally you looked up into the tank and it was almost like you were inside the tank because of how large it was. you watched the fish make their rounds around the tank, the larger animals taking longer than the small ones. you gasped softly when you saw a small shark making it’s way around. “look, a shark,” you said, only loud enough for him to hear. you pointed excitedly with the hand that wasn’t holding his. “want a picture with it?” he said, letting go of your hand and scooting back quickly when you nodded. he took out his phone and you posed pointing up at the shark before it could move away. he snapped a few, then looked down at his phone, satisfied. he moved beside you to show you the pictures, placing his other hand on your back as you swiped through. you flinched at his touch but not enough for him to notice. what was up with you today? he was always like this with you. both of you were, you were both touchy. but friends are touchy, it’s fine that’s how people show their love. but if you were only his friend and he was like this with you does that mean he’s like this with his other friends? no. no this is not jealousy. you weren’t jealous because he’s just your friend. and it’s okay if he’s touchy with you and it’s okay if he’s touchy with his other friends too… except you still felt somewhat bothered by the thought. you looked up at him and he looked back at you, staying like that for a second. you were close again, really close and you felt yourself leaning towards him. in that moment you almost forgot where you were and that there were other people in the room with you. you blushed again as you took a step back, “uh yeah, they look nice,” you said, hurriedly walking past him, toward the next room.

you spent the rest of your time avoiding his touch, like when your hands brushed past each other as you walked or when you both tried to pet the same stingray. and of course, he noticed. he noticed something was off since he picked you up but he didn’t want to force you to tell him. “you sure you’re okay?” he said, sitting beside you on the small wooden bench. you had decided to stop and take a break, finding vending machines near the bathrooms. he handed you a water bottle and you drank from it before answering. “yeah i’m fine,” you smiled at him as you handed him the bottle. he nodded, as he took a sip from it too. indirect kiss. you looked away, hoping the heat in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “the hallway before the last room is made completely of glass, like a semi-cylinder, i think you’ll really like it,” he said, as he stood. he held his hand out for you to grab it so you did. “you’ve been here before?” you asked, feeling shy all of sudden. “yeah, my mom brought me a couple of times,” he said, leading you towards the next area. you nodded, but for some reason, you felt relieved. the doorway leading into the hallway that nicholas mentioned was glowing, much brighter than the rest of the aquarium. once you stepped in you were in awe, it was like nothing you’d ever seen before. the fish were swimming all around you and the water cast these wonderful shadows onto the floor beneath you. “it’s beautiful,” you said, as you continued walking. he stayed behind as you went on, not knowing where to look. too many colorful animals and plants to choose from. you reached up trying to touch the curving glass above you but you could just barely graze it. “yeah, beautiful,” he said, but when you looked back at him he wasn’t looking up at the tank like you were. he was looking at you. you both blushed when you made eye contact for a split second. then both of you looked away abruptly, trying to find anything else to look at.

you made it through the hall and into the last room. looking around quickly, and taking a couple pictures. but when you exited the aquarium, you didn’t hold hands or link arms like you usually did. you just walked silently, side by side, onto the deck outside. it looked over the ocean and the sun was setting as you made it out. you both stopped at the edge to watch the sunset, folding your arms over the wooden rail. “did you call me beautiful in there?” you finally spoke after a few minutes of silence. he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “i couldn’t help it, i’m sorry, it was weird,” he said, his face still buried in his hands and you laughed. “no it wasn’t weird… it was kinda sweet,” you said and he looked back up at you. he watched your face for any sign that you didn’t really mean it but you just smiled. “… no one’s ever said that to me,” you said, making him raise his eyebrows, beyond shocked. “like ever? how?” he said, standing up straight from his previous hunched over position. “well just my parents or friends when i’m all dressed up, but never just like that,” you said, looking down at the water under the deck. the sun was gone now just leaving the moons reflection on the dark water, but you could still see and hear the small waves washing in. “well you are beautiful… everyday, just like that,” he said, turning his body to face you now. you just smiled at him with your head resting on your hand. he knew you weren’t good at taking compliments, never really believed anyone when they praised you. you always have half-hearted ‘thank you’s or smiles that didn’t reach your eyes. so when he took a step into your personal space and placed a hand under your chin, he just wanted to show you that he was being genuine from the bottom of his heart. “i really mean it y/n,” he said, looking directly into your eyes. the bright, yellow lights that were hung across the pier making your eyes shine just slightly more than they usually did. he didn’t just think you were beautiful, he knew it and he was mesmerized by you right now just like he always was. your chest felt tight as you placed your hand above his on your cheek, leaning into his warmth. you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, and when you looked up at him again, you were sure. with your other hand, you pulled him down until his lips came into contact with yours. and you kissed him, like you never thought you’d want to kiss anyone. his lips were soft and gentle as they moved against yours. after a minute, he pulled away and placed your hand on his chest. “my heart’s gonna explode,” he said, making you laugh because his heart was in fact beating so fast. he placed his forehead on yours and closed his eyes, unable to contain the smile that remained on his lips. “you don’t know how long i’ve waited for you to do that,” he said, barely above a whisper. so you kissed him again, this time more passionately. “then i won’t ever make you wait again,” you replied, just as quietly. now he took his turn to kiss you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he smiled into the kiss. and when you lost count of how many times he kissed you and you kissed him, he walked you home. with your arm wrapped around his except this time it wasn’t in a “friends” way and you didn’t even try to deny it. you leaned into him and he kissed the top of your head and every single thing about this felt right. the only thing you were worried about now was how you would explain this all to your mom…

#heart4gyu #violetsblog #kpop #jpop #&team #nicholas #&team nicholas #wang yixiang #nicholas x reader #nicholas imagine #nicholas fanfic #&team x y/n #&team imagines #&team x reader #&team soft hours #&team scenarios #&team fluff #&team drabbles

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threehuskiesinatrenchcoat · 7 months

Note

Well well well, we‘re back at it again.

You‘ve seen a big part of this before bc I can’t keep this shit from you, it’s a bit embarrassing ngl lmao. I finished it now tho!

The rest of it is on ao3 bc I refuse to post smut on here. Do others do it? Yea. Have I read it? Yea. I won‘t tho. I wanna be able to show my blog to friends, sorry. Can‘t have horny mfs on there for that /hj

This drabble is inspired by the John Wick movie-verse. people r legit sleeping that one

For easy access imma give y’all the link for the series real quick (and yes, I made it into a series, so any and all comments on later chapters r lost but it’s easier to navigate now, hopefully):

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3828004

Enjoy!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Vargas was looking at him, all half-lidded eyes and contemplative smirk and it was driving him insane. They’d been at the bar for about an hour now, low lights dancing through the room, bathing it in a dizzying mix of pinks and blues, drinks flowing freely for everyone around them. Phillip knew this wasn’t the moment to get drunk, though. The mission to infiltrate the club and keep an eye on their mark had priority, no matter how much attention his mission partner was showering him with.

“If you’re not careful, someone’s gonna see the way you look at me”, he mumbled into his drink, surveying the dancefloor. Their mark wasn’t as far away as just a minute ago, making her way towards the bar they were sitting at. It was an opportunity, but he needed the Mexican to keep a cool head if he wanted it to work.

“What if I want them to see? The type of rumours it could spark…” The other’s taunting grin irritated him and he shot him a frosty glare.

“It won’t be as fun when the families get involved, believe me.” He ignored Vargas’ dismissive scoff and noted the mark’s position just two seats over. Honestly, there were better ways to spend a Saturday night, but the woman had dirt on high-ranking members of both their families. Discretion was needed and goodwill had to be shown, hence the involvement from both families – no one could secure the information to use it against the other later. Of course, it was Phillip’s luck to get paired with Vargas. Their continued shared work in the past, if reluctant, had proven successful and success was all their families needed right now. Personal vendettas were of no importance in this, never mind any other kind of previous mingling.

With a last warning look towards the other, who rolled his eyes and ordered another drink, he turned around, acting surprised at seeing the young woman close to them. He smiled charmingly when he caught her eye and feigned interest. “What’s a fine-looking lady like you doing here. We haven’t met before, have we?”

She seemed a bit suspicious of him, but smiled nonetheless, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, revealing a glittering earring. “I don’t think we have, no.”

“That sounds about right. I’d remember a woman as stunning as you. I’m Jason by the way, it’s nice to meet you,” he drawled, putting on his Southern charm and holding out his hand. He didn’t like leaning into it, but many people outside the South liked it enough for him to use it again and again.

She gingerly took his offered hand, shook it once and they got talking. Marienne was French and had studied computer science, she owned a small poodle and had a sister. Phillip nodded and smiled along despite knowing all of it already. There was nothing new she could tell him except where she had hidden the information she had hacked their databases for. He would find out, one way or another, the pressure of his gun against his back where he had tucked in into his waistband a welcome reassurance.

Marienne smiled at him again as she leaned forward, asking him to come home with her for the night. It went just as he had hoped it would, but before he could agree, a hand landed on his hip, making him lose his train of thought as Alejandro stood right beside them, eyeing the woman. Graves’ heartbeat synced with the song‘s bass reverberating through the club, heat spreading from where their bodies touched. He must’ve been listening in to their conversation and gotten up when he heard her request. Something dark glimmered in his eyes and Phillip had a bad feeling about it.

The Mexican looked her up and down and then spoke, voice rough and dangerous. “I didn’t think you would want to get back at me that badly. Is she supposed to make me jealous? You can do better.” It was clear he was talking to Phillip despite looking at their target. Graves was speechless; partially out of surprise, partially out of anger. Couldn’t Vargas take the mission serious for even a moment? This was a huge opportunity he was ruining, as the woman looked from him to Phillip and back again, a sliver of apprehension and fear in her eyes.

She was starting to stand up. He had to save this somehow. Standing as well, he forcefully, if discreetly, removed the other’s hand from his hip and pushed him away as inconspicuously as possible. “He’s joking, I’m not with him.” He smiled reassuringly at her and winked. “Why don’t we get outta here, it’s getting late.” She nodded, but was hesitant about it. Graves slipped a tracker into her handbag while she was distracted by Alejandro still only a few feet away from them. It turned out to have been the right decision, as the other grabbed Phillip’s hand still keeping him in place and brought it up to his mouth to kiss the inside of his wrist.

“Oh please, you can drop the act. My attention is all yours.” He practically growled the last words, sending a shiver down Graves’s spine. This was not the plan. Their target took that moment to give a hasty goodbye and vanish into the crowd. Angry, the American turned towards his assigned partner and glared at him. The bar was more populated now, so he ripped his hand out of the other’s and seized his arm, steering Vargas outside and into a nearby alley.

“What the fuck was that? We almost had her!” Alejandro just grinned and Phillip’s blood started to boil. He pushed the other up against the dirty wall of the alley, the suit’s lapels clutched in his fists and his own nose just a few centimetres away from the Mexican’s. With bared teeth, he had to hold himself back from pulling a knife and getting rid of the nuisance in his grasp. “Why can’t you behave like the professional you’re supposed to be for one evening.”

WELL WELL WELL dw dw ily and i would be offended if you _didn't_ give me spoilers to chew on sjhgfdjsfhgsdf >:)

with that i can finally post this thing i drew for it!!! yay

yall, go read the whole thing NOW as usual im losing my mind and screaming and crying and everything in-between im gonna bite my laptop in half and it's gonna be YOUR fault sir

#cod mw2 #call of duty #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #alegraves #johnwickau

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boqvistsbabe · 4 months

Text

Update!!!!!!!!

Hey Y’all!!

Here is the start of hopefully monthly updates. I know in my last update I said I was going to be more consistently here and active. Obviously, that didn’t happen lol. Trying to hold myself to that rn. So this is probably going to be the format for all of my update posts, just so they are easier to follow.

Refresh:

So I am almost completely done with the blog refresh. I think all that is left is updating links and getting some other posts (ex: theme days) made/redone. Most of that got put on the back burner due to how long they were going to take lol. But hopefully, over Spring Break, I’ll be able to get those done (no promises, another thing I’m trying to do, is be more realistic about what I want to get done by when so).

Writing/Other Content:

Ik I said I’d write more. Once again didn’t really happen. Well, I have written a decent bit, but never finished anything. There is one fic that I am going to try and work on after this week (midterms lol) and have someone look over it (the first time I’ve had a beta reader, look at me go lol). Like the blog as a whole, I am trying to organize my writing, like requests and my ideas and what is going out when etc. (@ any of the other writers if you have any suggestions of what to/where to organize my stuff so it doesn’t get all confusing and mixed up you should def let me know). Speaking of requests, I am going to try and do at least two requests a month. That doesn’t sound like a lot but for me, that feels like something I can realistically do. I will be doing old requests first because even though they are years old at this point, I liked the ideas so I genuinely want to write them. I am still going to be accepting new requests (esp because sometimes that helps spark creativity/help with writer’s block so feel free to send in any ideas!!) but I will try to get those older ones done first. As for any other content (playlists, moodboards, IG edits, drawings, etc.) I am also taking requests for those so feel free to send in any of those requests too.

Another Blog?!

As of rn the second hockey blog has not been “released”. I want to catch up on things for this blog before I throw that into the mix and try to grow that as well. I am hoping to add that sometime this summer. Also, I do technically have a sideblog already (@samistheman) which is normally where I reblog random things, and I don’t really have tags for that blog I just kinda willy-nilly reblog there (it used to be mostly PJO stuff but now that’s kind of here because of how much of it there is lol).

Life Update:

College is a lot rn. I’m doing 17 credit hours and tbh do not know what possessed me to do that. At first, I was doing pretty good, but now not so much. Like I said earlier I have midterms this week. If y’all didn’t know this, I’m shit at taking tests so not doing great rn. Thankfully one of my classes ends on Sunday so at least I don’t have to worry about that. I’ve had a lot going on in my personal life recently that is impacting a lot so trying to navigate that as well. I am moving out in May, which is yes months from now but there is still a lot that I need to do beforehand. Anyway, I’m going to a college hockey game on Thursday and I am super excited. I haven’t been able to go to a game since October. Also little fun update, I’m going on a weekend (work) trip to Boston. Super excited for that. I’ll be getting to go to a Celtics game and a Red Sox game (I’m a Royals girlie tho). I’ve never been to an NBA game so that’s for sure gonna be really cool. I’ve been to many MLB games before but this will be my first at a different stadium. Anyway, I think that is it for this update. Hope y’all are doing well!!

As usual, if y’all ever want to talk dms/inbox are open <3

I am going to tag some moots, I am totally forgetting some people so I am sorry for that (if y'all could reblog that would be amazing)

@2manytabsopen @krugstrash @jimmystrudel @andreburakozy @sidneycrosbyhoe @fallinallincurls @timstuetzle @typical-simplelove @ilyasorokinn @drei-mrssvechii

#blog things

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miralines · 7 months

Text

woe ouatis rpverse sptumblr: the sequel be upon ye

link to the original

172 notes

🥁insubordinationriskofficial follow 🔁 roseredasinfuckyou follow

🧱 roseredasinfuckyou follow

the insubordination risk show was fucking great btw

🥁 insubordinationriskofficial follow

Re: your tags– we’re in the process of launching a crowdfunding goal to get a real album out! We’re just figuring out the logistics, but believe us, we won’t shut up about it when it happens. In the meantime, if you want to support us Luna sells patches on their spetsy, including some band ones ＾▽＾

112 notes

🌱 gayforjohnspratt follow 🔁 antiroyalribbons follow

⚫ zanti-deactivated02334432

Althea Black is a naive fool. I don’t know why anyone agreed to publish that utter trash she calls a book. I’d feel sorry for her if she weren’t helping spread all this propaganda.

My full review of her book will be up on my spyoutube channel at the end of the week. Hint: It’s bad.

🪐 rose-red-apologist follow

oh, fuck off, literally everyone is tired of your shit

🐱 catboykingcole follow

man really thought they could get on the rose red defenders website and say this lmao eat them alive

🌱 gayforjohnspratt

@spstaff wasn’t this guy banned? you wanna do something about that?

19 notes

🟥 realredhood follow 🔁 beaumontbogwitch follow

🧙‍♀️beaumontbogwitch follow

Help how do I convince my brother and brother in law not to name their kid fucking marion

🟥 realredhood follow

I mean I’d send you some receipts but I’m kind of on thin ice with FABLE so just tell them that I said Fucking Yikes

2,294 notes

🌱 gayforjohnspratt follow 🔁 roseredbignaturals follow

🌹 roseredbignaturals follow

FRECKLES LUCK SPOTTED ON SPTUMBLR ABORT MISSION

⚡ thundercatsbecameourskeletonhats follow

I’m sorry WHAT?

♋ aroarrowers follow

I still think it’s fake, but some random blog mentioned knowing her and got a bunch of questions about it and then made a post claiming to be from her saying to leave the blogger alone. Seems like they’re just looking for attention if you ask me.

🌹 roseredbignaturals follow

It’s real there’s a selfie and everything. Believe me if they got that from someplace else I’d have already seen it. Apparently this blog belongs to her adopted kid or something???

🦫 peripheralplatypus follow

LINK??

🌅 atypicalarielien follow

Stop spreading this y’all the blog has been getting death threats. Also stop calling details about her personal life fucking ""lore.""

🌹 roseredbignaturals follow

I’m deleting istg if she sees the shit I’ve posted about her

🌱 gayforjohnspratt follow

coward

118 notes

👩🏻‍🦰 frecklesluck follow 🔁 roseredbignaturals follow

🌹roseredbignaturals follow

so im watching through the event footage for the conference from that interview she gave with the whole like, moulding breaking reveal conference. you all know the one. and i found a shot where she and adam bete are sitting together beforehand between speeches in the backround from a news broadcast. and oh my god. her piercings. its such a crime they made her take them out before she went on the news like. fuck. she's so pretty. her hair was down and she was laughing as something bete said. im so in love this is a crime. she's so hot none of you understand. her eyebrow piercings and her ears and the tattoos on her arms (they always have her wear suit jackets its such a crime like) and. and. im so gay NONE of you understand!! aaaaaaa

👩🏻‍🦰 frecklesluck follow

You know, when i searched my name on this site I expected the usual 'why isn't she in jail' shit that sptwitter tells me. thanks i guess.

83 notes

🌹roseredbignaturals follow 🔁 gayforjohnspratt follow

🌱 gayforjohnspratt follow

so like @roseredbignaturals are you okay. how are you doing after that. your internet crush is married.

🌹roseredbignaturals follow

NO IM NOT OKAY IM NOT OKAY IM NOT OKAY AH

🌹roseredbignaturals follow

M NOTSHE SAW ME SIMPIG

🌹roseredbignaturals follow

FUCK

5 notes

🧱 roseredasinfuckyou follow

for the last time, dyeing your hair red is not fucking appropriating rose red culture norms shut up and stop making things up challenge

If I get ONE MORE goddamn ask about this

82 notes

🌹roseredbignaturals follow 🔁 gayforjohnspratt follow

🌹roseredbignaturals follow

HER DAYS OF SWEEPING LESBIANS OFF THEIR FEET ARE OVER

🌹roseredbignaturals follow

WHY WAS I A TEENAGER ON ARIEL AND NOT IN THE PERIPHERY YEARS AGO IN A GAY BAR WHERE FRECKLES LUCK (FRECKLES LUCK!!!!!!) COULDVE SWEPT ME OFF MY FEET

🌹roseredbignaturals follow

THIS IS THE WORST TIMELINE

🌱gayforjohnspratt follow

you're really having a time of it

🌹roseredbignaturals follow AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

6 notes

♥️ redlikesmovies follow

I told you guys I know her!!

#one thousand and three #sptumblr au #i guess? feels like we need a tag for this at this point #everyone thank travis for roseredbignaturals' lesbian mental breakdown

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justjstuff · 1 year

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Babes. I really appreciate all the asks about Daughter of Fire! It makes me happy to see that people love it as much as I do, I just gotta ask something of y’all. Please leave a review before sending an ask here! I noticed a lot of you don’t do that (not to mention the anon asks that I can’t possibly know if they did comment or not) and I just wanna explain a bit why it matters. I don’t know if u guys have been around here for as long as I have but the fandom culture changed a lot over the years, not all of it for the better. Five, ten years ago, it used to be the norm to comment on almost every single fic you read, in every chapter. There used to be discussions in the comment section, readers answering readers and sparking conversation… just genuinely a lot more interaction than nowadays. I’ve mentioned this before but I felt like writing another post about it.

Please notice that I’m not saying “don’t ever send me an ask about DoF again” or “you should be giving me comments NOW!!!”. I’ve just been scrolling through my endless unanswered asks and noticed that there were a lot like those I mentioned.

Now, I know sometimes it’s hard to send a review. I, myself, sometimes get so anxious just by the thought of writing a comment that I just don’t even read the fic/chapter. But notice how this is aimed towards the people who already took the time off their day to sit down on Tumblr and send me an ask. It would take the same amount of time to drop a review! And you can even do it anonymously too!

Anyways, this isn’t a complaint, I’m just always a bit sad to see that this is the way we led fandom culture? I know it might seem a bit disingenuous to be saying that when DoF has the reach it has but keep in mind that I also write other fics and most of them only get a little bit of engagement. It’s honestly disheartening because while I don’t write fanfiction for the comments, I do share it for them. I could just write them and satisfy that need and keep it to myself, never putting myself out there so others might judge me but I do because I love the fanfiction community and I love interacting with it.

I also noticed that authors who don’t have their social media linked tend to have more engagement in the comment section and that’s kinda what this post is about. Although we don’t comment as much as we did back in the days, it’s still the way some people choose to give fics their time of day, they see if there’s a lot of hits/kudos/comments before even giving it a try. So it does matter in a way that the engagement gets through other media only like some of the asks here! I’m not saying stop interacting with me here and keep only to the comment section, even because I chose to link all my social media because I love interacting w y’all in a deeper level here and on twt and other platforms but like. If you do choose to reach out to me, don’t forget to leave a review!

As I’m writing this I’m already regretting it lmao I don’t want to seem ungrateful and nitpicky but in the end I’m forcing myself to post this because it might spark some conversation and I do know a lot of authors feel like I do. We’re seeing how much writing isn’t being valued in our society and that’s kind of the same in fandom culture imo and I dunno. What do y’all think?

Love u to bits and I’ll see you soon 🖤

Oh, btw! Regarding the next DoF update!!! I can’t, and really it’s more like I don’t want to, give you guys a precise date. I struggled for quite some time with feeling like DoF was a chore, a job I had to keep up otherwise I would let everyone down and that (and some other stuff) led me to the biggest writer’s block I’ve ever had in my life. I’m just now trying to reconnect with that part of me that loves writing and finds actual enjoyment in tackling this huge and complex fic (and any and all writing tbh), so I don’t want to slip back into that same pattern I had before. I don’t like the term hiatus for fanfiction because it gives me this notion that the author is obligated to go back to the fic when in fact they’re not (unless the fic has a set update schedule and the author is letting u know when they’ll be back). No one is getting paid for this and most of us study and work full time jobs before coming and sharing something that can be really personal with strangers on the internet. If an author wants to drop their fic and never come back to fandom life than that’s their prerogative. We as fanfic readers kinda sign that unwritten contract that when we start reading an unfinished fic we might never get to see the end of it. However, I like the term hiatus because it illustrates my point with this which is: I’m not done with Daughter of Fire. I just don’t know when I’ll update next. Rest assured that if I ever decided to let it go, I would let everyone know. I would release all the chapters I have written, I would give y’all all of my notes and unfinished drafts and lone scenes, I would give you the document where I tell you step by step what would happen until the very end of the fic (and the sequel I have planed for it 👀). And I would also leave it open to anyone who wants to continue it to pick it up and give it a try. As it stands, I’m nowhere near done with Daughter of Fire 🖤

#daughter of fire #dof #kakasaku #fandom #fandom life #fandom culture #fanfic culture #fanfic #fanfiction #just me being silly #and talking mostly at myself lol #i love y’all

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clatoera · 1 year

Text

Chapter 2 Always Remember We’re Burned For Better: Still, the Yearning Stays

Hey y’all! Thank you for your endless kindness and support on the first chapter of this fic. I apologize for the delay in chapter 2. Initially this was going to cover far more than it does, but when I crested 35 pages, I decided to break it into a few extra chapters to cover her games so that I could do them the justice they deserve. This segment along ended up being 18 pages, and thus is may be easier to read on AO3. Thank you all for the comments and feedback. It literally means the world.

AO3 Link to this chapter: Still, the yearning stays

Thanks y’all, and enjoy!

If you need chapter 1 the link is right here!

Master Post of Chapters here

once again, thanks to @ms1818 for screaming with me all the time about the besties.

The minute the doors are shut behind him, Enobaria’s grabs Cato around his arm and pulls him quickly into the first side room on the train.

“Listen to me.” Enobaria practically hisses, peeking her head out to ensure that the entourage, and most importantly Clove, is out of earshot.

The look in her eyes is frightening, which is not a feeling Cato is used to having. Something tells him, though, that this is not the last time this week he’ll be feeling his heart race a little faster just beneath his skin.

“You do not touch her this week, got it? She has gamemakers and sponsors to impress, interviews to nail, and not to mention other tributes she needs to intimidate.” Enobaria releases his arm only when he tugs it out of her hand, his strength alone overcoming her sharp grasp. The mentor does not waver in the way she stares into what feels like the depths of his soul, something akin to a threat in her body language. “She doesn’t need to be distracted. That will get her killed.”

She looks into the long hallway again, knowing it won’t take long for Clove to notice the absence of the two people on the train she’s most likely to miss.

“I didn’t even want you to come this year.” Enobaria is nothing if not honest, especially when it comes to Clove and Cato. “You aren’t ready to mentor, Cato, and you’re a liability to her.”

“That's the whole point, I’m here to learn from the best.” He flashes a smile that tiptoes the line of a smirk, and the second he opens his mouth again Enobaria knows which category the expression is supposed to fall into. “Oh, and you. Brutus and you. Come on, you just know your time as a mentor is numbered. Give us a few years, it’s going to be Me and Clove by the 77th.”

Enobaria hits his chest lightly with the back of her hand, though it nearly comes off as playful. If he notices the way her face falls just a little at the mention of Clove’s future, he doesn’t mention it.

“I don’t want to hear your mouth this week. We have one goal, got it? It’s her. It’s getting her sponsors. It’s making sure she nails her interview. We do whatever we have to do to make her favorable for the win. That’s your first lesson. You do what you have to do, to get your tribute out. To get our girl out.” Enobaria gives him a pointed look, one that tells him the phrasing was no mistake. They were on the same page, at the very least, with the same priority. Clove.

“I think she can handle making herself a favorite to win-” Cato argues, arms crossing over his chest, ready to defend, when that oh so familiar voice can be heard all the way across the train car.

“Will you just shut the fuck up already?” Comes from the girl, indifference with just the slightest edge seeping out of her voice.

Enobaria rolls her eyes before pushing past him, and Cato can’t help the little swell of pride in his chest as he follows her out. He told their escort the same thing, a year ago exactly, when she had rambled on about different districts and what results their reapings yielded.

When he enters the dining area, only steps behind Enobaria, he realizes her ire is not aimed at the escort at all, but rather her fellow volunteer.

Great start, Clove.

“Alliance is off to a great start, I see.” Brutus grumbles as he enters the dining car from the opposite entrance of Enobaria and Cato. “Cheery as usual, Clove.”

Enobaria does not even bother with trying to get the story out of them, knowing that doing so was poking at a bomb on the edge of detonation. Not what they need right now. “Listen. I don’t care if you two like each other.”

“Clove doesn’t like anyone.” The boy– what the fuck was his name, anyway? Cato should probably know, he’d been in classes with him for half a decade– tries to refute.

“I might hate you less if you weren’t an idiot.” There’s venom in that voice now, and from the way Clove stabs through a cinnamon roll with a knife intended for slicing meat, Cato knows that she is biting back far worse insults.

“Stop. Save it for when you’re the final two, the whole world will be ready for that show.” Brutus suggests, though it’s an empty suggestion. Two from the same district rarely, if ever, end up in the final showdown.

Cato strategically settles himself directly across from Clove, in the seat between Brutus and Enobaria, who sits herself as the head of the table.

Clove’s scowling at her pastry, and when he lightly nudges her shin with his shoe, that scowl shifts directly to him. He raises his eyebrows at her for a fleeting moment, the briefest exchange that she instantly understands, communicated by the tiniest hint of a smirk on her lips. Years of training together made it so they could practically read the other's mind, to know what they’re thinking without ever even saying it. Right now, they’re in agreement. That final show will be hers, and she better make it a good one.

Enobaria catches the exchange, if the glare she directs towards Cato is any indication. Whatever. After a quick shake of her head directed at the pair, clearly a direction to cut it out, she decides to intervene in the argument at hand.

“Alright. We know you’re both skilled fighters. You’re the best of two’s current pool of trainees. No need to waste time talking about skills, just go to training and you make sure everyone knows who the one to fear is.”

Clove notices she did not say which district to fear.

“We’re just going right into this, starting with strategy. You–” Enobaria points at the boy and asks his name, but it is so inconsequential to Cato that he doesn’t even care to learn it. Not a chance in hell that he’ll even mention the boy when he’s working on sponsors and publicity. “What’s your angle?”

“I’m going for a classic, strong-”

The boy doesn’t even get to finish his plan when Clove cuts him off with a sharp laugh, and the way she rolls her eyes shows everyone exactly where this boy stands. “Oh you’re even stupider than I thought.”

“Clove, that’s not-” Brutus tries to interject.

“No, It’s a stupid fucking idea.” Clove pulls her knife out of her cinnamon roll, waving it around as she speaks. “Strong. That was Cato’s angle.” She directs the tip of her knife in Cato’s direction, waving it up and down to emphasize where he sits before her. “You want to be compared to him? Everyone remembers him, he’s literally the most recent victor. You can’t hold a fucking candle in comparison to him, anyway.” She stabs a strawberry with the steak knife, making a point to bite it right off the tip of the blade. “Four entire years you never beat him once. You weren’t even second best, that was me. Sounds like suicide to be compared to Cato, if I were you.”

Cato doesn’t even try to hide the cocky smile that graces his face, bringing his right hand to rub under his jaw as he looks down and away from her. He knew what the look in her eyes would be, and he wasn’t in the place to see that mischievous glint. He even bites his tongue from pointing out that she admitted that she was only second best.

“And Cato will actively be doing those Victor interviews, the recap, commentary, all that stuff they do between broadcasts. He’s still in everyone’s face.” Clove twirls the silver knife between her fingers, letting it toss out of her palm before landing in the center of a croissant. “You look like a district 12 kid next to him anyway.”

“Let me guess, you’re going for bitch who has no personality other than being a little psycho with knives?”

“Enough.” It is a snarl this time as it comes from Enobaria, who gives Brutus a look that the man clearly understands. They have their long mentoring partnership that lead to a silent communication of their own, it seems.

“Come with me.” Brutus stands abruptly, gesturing to his tribute. “We’ll talk in the bar car. It might be for the best anyway, keeping your strategies separate.”

The boy throws back his chair and nearly stomps down the hall following Brutus, his footsteps drumming in an angry beat as he follows his individual mentor. The second they are behind closed doors, Enobaria whips her head towards Clove.

“You have to play nice, he’s your district partner, Clove.”

“He’s one more body between me and victory.” She reaches across the table now, plucking a strip of bacon directly from the plate that had been placed in front of Cato by an Avox. “besides, I wasn’t wrong.” Clove emphasizes with a crunch on her stolen treat. “He’s half a foot and forty pounds lighter, to start with.”

“You would know what I weigh wouldn’t you-” Cato taunts, this time he reaches over and steals a piece of jam covered toast off of the plate before her, evening the score. He takes a single bite before handing it back, earning him a slap to the hand.

“I actually have to go compete for my life, I need the extra food.” She argues, though it’s not as cold as it may have been if she said it a year or two ago.

Clove leans back in her chair, stretching her feet out in front of her under the table. This time it’s her foot, out of her shoe and bare, that finds his calf. Her flexible leg easily trails up over his knee and to his thigh. He shifts, and when she thinks she’s won, he grabs her foot and holds it in his lap, refusing to let her slip away.

“This is what I meant when I told you not to get distracted, Clove. The two of you need to stop whatever the fuck you two have going on for the next week. Clove is here as a tribute, and Cato is here as the most recent victor. Period. That's it.” Enobaria leans back in her own chair, arms over her chest, and when she notices the way Cato smirks at Clove, and the girl narrows her eyes in response, she says nothing.

Pick your battles, Enobaria.

“Clove, we have to talk about something.” She redirects, angling to face Clove directly, as both Cato and Clove turn to listen to her.

“Are you going to tell me to play nice with the other kids at school?” Clove nearly jumps when Cato’s thumb presses abruptly into the space right underneath the ball of her foot.She goes to tug her foot back to herself, but he’s got her ankle easily held in his other hand. “Asshole.” She murmurs, but stops her fidgeting regardless.

“They’re going to try to bring up your mother.” Enobaria drops like a bomb, not having it in her to continue addressing the two of them and their behavior.

It appears the phrase causes a tone shift in Clove, her whole body language shifting from whatever playful competitiveness she was showing Cato, to something that is somehow both defensive and stunned.

“I’m not talking about my mother.”

“What would they say about your mom?” Cato cocks his head, but the way his hands hold her shifts as well. This touch is hidden to Enobaria, of course, but Clove notices how his thumb strokes little circles over her ankle in an attempt to comfort whatever distress she must be showing. “She isn’t even around, why would she talk about her, Enobaria?”

Clove directs her attention back to the food spread, suddenly finding much more interest in dicing a kiwi into perfect little cubes. “My mom was a tribute.”

“What?” How wouldn’t he know, she’s a victor’s daughter? Her mother must not live in the village, or he’d have seen her by now, surely. “I didn’t know your mom was a victor, It makes sense but-”

“She was a tribute. She didn’t win.” Clove replied in a clipped voice, but it isn't the kind of snark he is used to hearing from her. “She had me when she was fifteen, volunteered when she was eighteen.”

“There’s more to it, and you know that. The Capitol loves a good story, and they’re going to bring up the fact that she-” Enobaria tries to explain, but the firm head shake from Clove stops her.

“I’m not talking about my mother. I got here on my own. I will win on my own, with no help from her.” Clove snaps, effectively ending this topic of conversation. At least for now.

Cato narrows his eyes towards her, trying to read the expression she is desperately trying to conceal.

“When you win they’re going to bring her up.”

“Enobaria, I’ll remind them that I'm sitting there as the victor that she isn’t.” Clove untangles her limbs from Cato’s and stands. She smooths the hem of her dress, and for a moment she remembers the year before, when Cato ran his fingers over the white lace on the dress she wore, as if he were trying to remember how she looked for the rest of his life.

“I’m going to check out the rest of the train.” Clove announces, seeing herself off before either Cato or Enobaria could intercept her.

He watches her go, and once she has shut the door behind her, Cato turns his body and his attention to Enobaria.

“I didn’t even know she knew who her mom was, she doesn’t talk about her. Ever.”

“I mean, you see why. I remember her mother, she was a few years older than me in training. It’s a terrible story, and I'm not telling it. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you. It’s not for me to say.” Enobaria sighs, leaning back on the metal chair, rocking it onto the hind legs so she can balance briefly before falling back forward with grace. “We’ve got our work cut out for us with those two. Welcome to mentoring.”

“She’s our priority, she is our winner.” Cato reminds, though Enobaria isn’t sure if he intends it as a warning or as a reminder.

“Of course she is. But I can't say that part yet.” Enobaria realizes that brunch has unceremoniously ended. “Don’t go to her room. You also have to arrive in one piece.”

And while Cato knows it’s for the best to give her space (Clove was always particularly volatile when she was angry), it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to soak up every moment he has with her.

Enobaria bans Cato from the opening ceremonies and tribute parade. Something about how he needed to stick to the reigning victor narrative, to network himself and lock in support before throwing his complete and total allegiance behind Clove.

“Let her prove herself. She’s got the skills, let her draw in the sponsors, and then you lock them in.” She had instructed him, before she sent him up to the District Two suite on his own.

Enobaria knew what she was doing. He trusts her.

As he watches the parade of tributes, he intends to make note of any competition, any realistic allies. One is a given. Neither tribute looks particularly impressive, average size for careers dressed in head to toe sequin monstrosities, but they are careers nonetheless. Four hasn’t deserved to be considered a career district since Finnick Odair back in the 65th, if someone were to ask Cato. Even Annie Cresta’s win back in the 70th, felt more like luck than training. There’s a large boy from 8, not quite as big as he is, but still significantly larger than Clove. Most tributes are significantly bigger than Clove, but rarely is size a factor against her. After all, she had trained against him for their entire teenage life. A knife doesn’t care how big you are, she’d always taunt when she got him down.

Cato runs his hand on the back of his neck, the other hand on the back of the couch as he watches the parade wrap up, eyes locked on a certain dark haired girl. The angle for District 2 seemed to be inspired by ancient empires, again. Last year it was heavy gold plates, he can remember the stylist calling it gladiator or something along those lines. This year though, they clearly went a different route, one he can actually place on his own.

Clove, at least, is in a shimmery golden fabric that looks nearly liquid as it clings to her. The fabric gathers over her left shoulder, and falls all the way to the ground. There’s a golden band around her waist, made to resemble the laurel wreath that eventually becomes the crown of the victor. A thin gold band wraps around her upper right arm, and when Cato looks close enough he can tell it almost resembles a snake of sorts, crawling up her skin.

They left her hair free flowing down her back, though it is not the typical askew waves and occasional curls no, the length of her hair was meticulously styled to all lay exactly the same way across her back. Most striking though, is the way a piece of bright golden metal, or maybe ribbon, is laced around the crown of her head. It’s bold on the behalf of District 2 stylist, to so clearly emulate the look of a Victor’s crown around her head. Good. Let her competitors see how she’ll shine once they’ve all been sent home in their unmarked pine boxes.

It’s clear that this year they modeled them after the imagery of those ancient Greek and Roman Gods.

With the way her eyes shine from beneath long eyelashes, and the knowing, coy smirk on her tinted lips, Cato believes she looks all the bit the goddess she is meant to symbolize. And, while he can’t remember the exact school lesson that talked about the names of those ancient gods of victory or war, he is sure that it certainly should have been Clove.

As much as it pains him, he obeys Enobaria’s direct orders.

He does not go near her, does not follow her into her room under the cover of night, knowing full well he would never forgive himself if he did distract her. Clove would call him stupid to even suggest that she could be distracted by him, as if they haven’t been playing this game together for over three years.

He goes to his own interview with Caesar, and brags how he is sure that District 2 will be bringing home the win for the second year in a row. If anyone notices that he slips and says that she is the best tribute he’s ever seen, noone comments. A compliment like that from a victor is worth its weight in gold, be it ‘unintentional’ or not.

When her odds jump from 7-1 to 5-1 the next morning, Cato is not reprimanded for his ‘accidental’ slip.

Score release goes as well as expected.

The five of them sit in the circular couch pod in front of the screen, the gaggle of styling teams and the D2 escort babble amongst themselves, trading plans for the final interviews tomorrow.

Clove sits close enough to Cato that with her legs crossed under her, and his legs splayed, their knees faintly brush each other. It’s innocuous to the majority, and even Enobaria bites her tongue when she notices. It’s harmless enough. The scores start and Cato finds the knee touching hers is bouncing, and he is shocked to realize the nervous habit is stemming from himself.

“Let's see if you’re as good as you think.” Cato teases her, leaning back with his arms stretched over the back of the couch on both sides. If one so happens to be behind her shoulders, so be it. “You’re looking at a perfect 10 from me, of course. I’m sure you remember.”

“Scores go up to 12. Far from Perfect.” Clove leans back, brushing against his arm, testing the proverbial waters of just how far they could push.

“Noone scores higher than a 10, it’s a formality to make 11 and 12 feel like relevant districts. I was also a perfect score.” Brutus reminds, giving Cato a knowing nod. He did score perfect, as far as an actual grading scale would go. “Enobaria you were a 10, too, weren’t you?”

She nods, and takes one of the tall stemmed glasses from one of the passing Avoxes. The purple liquid within is unidentified, but clearly Enobaria reaches for something that will calm whatever nerves she may be feeling. Cato can understand. It’s oddly stressful, waiting for the scores of the person you are rooting for. It's almost worse than waiting for his own.“Most Victors from two have had a ten. I can only think of one person who’s ever scored a ten and didn’t win. At least from two.”

The escort, Cato thinks her name is Elena, quiets them. “Shh, it’s starting, it’s starting!”

Caesar’s theme blares through the room as the host introduces himself yet again, as if all of Panem does not know his name. He gives the typical explanation. Three days of evaluation, score 1-12, and so on and so forth.

District one is first. Both the male and female tribute receive nines, strong starts for the career alliance. Clove reminds them that they both chose spears, something that will put them in competition with each other for tools.

The boy is next. When his face flashes across the screen, Caesar announces yet another nine.

“A solid score.” Brutus remarks, though the previous conversation of the value of tens still hangs in the air.

“Also from District 2. Clove.” Cato can feel the way his jaw clenches, and Clove’s whole body tenses as they both lean forward in anticipation. Enobaira has the drink to her lips, bracing for the score. Not that anyone doubts Clove, but the pressure is still mounting.

“With a score of…Ten.”

Clove’s body relaxes and a beaming smile graces her face for the briefest few seconds before it falls into a smirk. The way that smile grabbed at his heart and yanked it towards her is something Cato can think about later.

“What was that about Victors with tens?” She asks in a voice that is feigning sweetness, though drips with venom. She’s out for blood, now.

“Welcome to the Tens Club, kid. You’ve earned it.” Brutus grabs her shoulder, to give it a firm but proud shake.

Enobaria finishes her drink in a quick tilt of her head. The stress is lifted. Clove has more than proved herself a fierce competitor, despite her physical size and overall feminine appearance.

The look she gives Cato, communicating with nothing more than her eyes, is a clear message. Go for it, brag about her to the world. Enboria stands, and walks around the back of the couch, pausing to lean between the two of them and whisper. “That's our girl.”

The rest of the scores pass without anything of note. The big kid from eight gets an eight, but no one other than him and the career pack score above a six. If Clove relaxes when she leans back, just enough that her arm brushes against his and rests there, well she’s just letting herself relax after a high stress week.

“High score of the year.” Enobaria announces the moment the presentation ends, and she actually bears those razor blade teeth in a frightening smile. “Good work.”

“She’s the best.” Cato agrees, and when he looks down at her over his shoulder, he cannot contain his smile.

The next and final night is the interview. Enobaria and Brutus have already made their way down with whats-his-name, leaving him alone to wait for Clove’s team to release her. Cato slides his hands into the pockets of his navy blue blazer, leaning against the wall that holds the elevator. He crosses his left foot over his right, and leans back, chuckling to himself as he hears Clove openly voicing her distaste over some detail he cannot discern.

“I really need to get going–” Which is Clove’s kind way of saying ‘it’s in your best interest to let me leave.’

He hears them trying to fight her as she steps away, clearly wearing some sort of heel by the way he can hear the clicking of her light footsteps across the marble tiled floor.

Her steps came to a halt right as she began to crest the connecting threshold from her room to the rest of the suite.

“I don’t want to hear a single word from you.” Clove warns as she crosses into the living space, hands firmly on her hips as she makes her way towards him in long, sure strides.

Cato can’t help it though, when the second he sees her he tilts his head back and gives half of a laugh. He shakes his head as she quickly crosses the distance between them, and he takes a single step forward that nearly closes the distance entirely. At the last minute, though, he heeds Enobaria’s warning.

That doesn’t stop him from reaching out a hand to run the horrific orange fabric at her waist through his fingers.

“You look like a little marigold.”

“Shut your mouth.” Clove snaps, though she glances down at herself. The orange ruffles at the top of her dress do slightly resemble flower petals, the more that she thinks about it. Sure, the orange satin at her waist is flattering, but the layers of tulle that fall all the way to her feet are doing nothing to make her look intimidating or fierce or any of the other attributes she wanted to express. “I look like a child playing dress up.”

Cato wisely chooses not to comment as he reaches out to touch the various twists and floofs in her hair, shaking his head as he tries to understand what girl they are trying to portray in front of him. “They’re going for unhinged, maybe?”

She smacks his hand out of her hair at that comment, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that yeah, maybe looks a little insecure. Despite the dress covering her feet, she felt so incredibly exposed in this strapless piece.

“Not funny, Cato. They’re going to make me look stupid like this.”

His hand finds her chin, stylists be damned, and he tilts her chin up to look at him. He wants to comment on how the color at the very least makes her eyes look particularly green, but there’s something different about her face that he can’t quite place. Cato narrows his eyes when his thumb runs along her cheekbone, and there must be a look of distaste on his face for Clove to react to.

“What are you looking at- hey!” Clove leans her neck back, knitting her eyebrows together as she scowls at her…her Cato. “They’ll come after me with makeup brushes to fix whatever you’re fucking up, and I don’t want to be disqualified when I kill my stylist team”

He lifts his thumb, and notices both the pale powder on his finger, but also the patch of freckles he’s revealed underneath. “They covered your freckles…then painted more on?” There’s evident disgust in his tone, as he wipes the offensive makeup on the side of his leg.

“Guess they prefer to place them individually, I don’t know.” Clove shrugs, but squints her eyes as he places his hands on either side of her face and wipes the concealer and offending faux-freckles off.

“Fuck that, fuck them.” Cato mumbles, smiling at his handiwork when he realizes he can see the galaxy of freckles on her cheeks once again. “You don’t need all that. You are so, unbelievably–” He’s caught off guard when blue eyes catch green, and it takes the entirety of his resolve not to lean down and catch her lips in his, especially with the way she tilted her head into one of his hands, leaving a long, open expanse of her neck that practically begs him to claim it.

If she rises on her toes to close the space between their lips herself– already shortened by the multiple inches her shoes added to her height– well, who can blame her. It very well could be her last night on Earth, why deprive herself now?

It’s Cato who hesitates though, still cradling her face in his hands he straightens his back and pulls back before they can slip too far into each other. His hands drop from her face in defeat. One free hand now rubs over his jaw as the other slams the down button on the elevator. “After.”

Clove nods in a silent agreement, and they ride side by side down the elevator, arms close enough that they may as well have wrapped them around each other.

As usual District One goes first, playing up glamor or something superficial to an audience who eats it right up. Enobaria is Flanked by Brutus and Cato, standing off stage across from where the Clove will enter in the coming moments.

She is standing in the wings, dress gathered in her hands so she does not trip and make herself look uncoordinated and risk losing sponsors. Clove catches the eyes of the three of them as Caesar begins introducing District Two, specifically being drawn into the approving nod Enobaria gives her as she is called to the stage.

The light is too blinding for Clove to see how Enobaria grabs Cato’s upper arm, giving a firm and reassuring squeeze. They’d been waiting for this.

It feels like a blur, the deafening way Capitol citizens cheer for her. She’s the favorite, evident by the way they go absolutely wild when she flashes them a confident white smile.

Caesar is settling the crowd down as he and Clove sit across from each other. Over the host’s shoulder Clove can see the three of them still watching her with more pride than she’s ever felt directed to her.

He starts his interview by commenting on her knife skills, which she uses as a chance to brilliantly remind him that she is the best.

The audience thrives on her wit, once again rising into deafening cheers when she reminds- not threatens, reminds– Caesar Flickerman that she could kill him from across the stage.

“Now. I hear that you have a birthday coming, is that true?” He leans forward, quirking a blue tinted eyebrow at her.

“Yes Caesar, I’ll be eighteen this week.” She responds in a sweet voice, looking over her shoulder and out towards the audience. “I’m planning to give myself the win as a gift to myself,” she informs them with a coy little grin.

“The confidence! I love it!” He vamps. “I think that would be quite a gift to us all, wouldn’t it?” Caesar, for what it's worth, can certainly work up a crowd. “You had the highest score of the year, no doubt a result of hardwork and practice. I’ve been told that you were the long term training companion to our victor last year, is that true?”

For the briefest minute she catches Cato’s eyes in the wings, and for a moment and only a moment the way she lights up is for him alone.

“It’s true. Between you and I though, he’s lucky he competed last year and not against me.” She pretends as if she shares this secret with the host and the host alone. The audience oohs in response, as if she just shared the hottest gossip in the country.

“Clove, are such a firecracker in such a little package! I love it!”

“You know Caesar, it doesn’t matter how much bigger someone may be. A knife hits them all the same way. And I never miss.”

“Oh I am going to miss this girl!!” The audience cheers in agreement.

“I’ll be back in a few days.”

He ramps the audience up one last time as he holds her hand up in the air. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Clove!”

Clove exits the stage towards Enobaria, Brutus, and Cato, smiling until the moment she is in the wings.

“You killed it.” Enobaria approves, though Clove keeps walking past her, grabbing Cato by the arm as she does.

“I know.”

She continues walking, now tugging Cato by the sleeve for just a couple of seconds until she is sure he is following her.

Clove is not waiting for the other tribute to take the stage, she doesn’t have a fuck to give about any other district either.

When they are out of vision of the others, though she knows the eyes of the Capitol never sleep, it is her fist that slams on the up button of the elevator, it is her who pulls him in by the middle of his button down shirt, and it is her who pulls him to her against the metal wall of the elevator.

He doesn’t resist her this time, they’ve made it to the end of the week. She’s made her name for herself, she’s made herself the favorite. Who is he to deny her– or himself– this.

Cato leans down to meet her half way, hands finding the small of her back and pulling her flush against him. One of Clove’s hands has already begun unbuttoning his shirt, nimble fingers snaking around to latch her nails into the skin of his back.

He’s lifted her up within seconds, her legs wrapping around his hips just as they have a million times. Cato walks them backwards off the elevator when they reach the second floor but as soon as they are inside, he sets her down.

Breathless, his fingers run from her hips to the bubbled segments of her hair “Take this out,”

“Are you fucking serious right now, that’s your priority? Is it this fucking distracting that you would rather that I fix my hair than suck your-”

“Just do it, Clove. Meet me in my room”

Clove storms past him to the nearest bathroom, and instead of painstakingly untwisting each tie, she raises the nearest knife she can find and slices the rubber bands right open. Her hair falls free in loose waves, unbound and covering her bare shoulders. She sees her reflection in the mirror, and takes a few moments to wipe the remnants of makeup under her eyes, the majority of which having been removed by Cato hours ago. Clove kicks off her shoes, before wasting no time in crossing back across the apartment to the room she had been all but formally barred from this week.

“Cato, what are you–”

He’s discarded his jacket, left standing in that nearly entirely unbuttoned black button down shirt and the shining navy pants that matched the jacket. He’s pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, and while she’s always a sucker for those arms, that's not what catches her attention.

Cato steps closer, his golden Victor’s crown in his hands. “I had to bring it for my interviews while you’re in the arena.” He pulls her in by the waist, tilting her chin back up so he can meet the most brilliant jade eyes he’s ever seen.

“I’m going to be the first person to see you crowned.” Cato whispers as he places the golden circle around her hair, his breath caught in his chest the way the gold stands out against her dark hair and pale face. He twists her in his arms so she can see her own reflection, to see herself as the winner she is about to become. It’s a gift, really, to see her crowned in her natural glory before the Capitol will have the chance to paint over her freckles again, or color her lips some dark ruby shade at her own crowning.

This is Clove, in her very own skin, as the victor she was born to be.

His arm holds her across the front of her shoulders, possessive. She’s going to be a victor in her own right, but she is his.

They both look at the reflection of the two of them for a moment, wordless. Her hands hold onto the arm he has across her chest, and she tilts her head as she takes them in. They looked absolutely lethal. Yet, it was as if they were meant to be standing together, the sharp contrast of their appearances making them all the more alluring. It feels like she should be standing directly beside him, in his arms, for the rest of their lives.

Hell, maybe this really was what was left of hers if the odds were not in her favor tomorrow morning.

She twists in his arms, raising her eyebrows in a way that is demanding him to come and get her. He’s a step ahead of her, hands already on the back of her dress, no time wasted as practiced hands finds the zipper.

Clove pushes him backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed, straddling his hips with her own. “I’m keeping it on.” She murmurs, referencing his crown, before leaning in and claiming his lips for herself.

Neither sleep that night, and neither say much either.

Cato stares at the ceiling, drawing circles languidly on the skin over her spine for what seems like hours. Clove faces the window from her place at his side, her cheek using his bare chest as a pillow.

There is too much that needs to be said, and far too little time to do the words the justice they deserve.

“Clove?” Cato whispers as the sun begins to crest the Earth in the horizon, pulling her closer on sheer instinct. Their time is coming to an end all too fast, and Cato would give anything to hold her for another forty years instead of another forty minutes. “Remember when you came to see me, before I left?’

She nods just enough that he can perceive the motion against his chest, his other arm coming to wrap about her torso so that he holds her completely. “I told you that you better fucking come home.”

“And that you’d see me soon.” Cato murmurs into the top of her head, unwrapping one arm briefly to reach into the nightstand just on the other side of the bed. “More importantly though, you gave me this. I think it’s time I return it to you.”

Cato pulls out that silver C, now rethreaded to a much smaller, shorter chain. He clips it around her bare neck, before his hands settle back on the small of her back, rhythmically tapping his thumb in a manner that is meant to calm one of them. He isn’t sure who.

Clove swallows hard, trying her hardest to quell any emotion that dare try to appear right now. This was not the time to go soft. “You’ll see me soon.” She promises, though she cannot dare look up at him and see even a second of fear. In truth, she isn’t sure that it won’t break her resolve and her heart both if she notices doubt in his eyes.

The following silence chokes them, the sun coming up all too fast and burning her eyes. She looks up towards him to avoid the rays of the sunrise, and when he looks down at her the way her heart absolutely pounds in her chest nearly makes her doubt coming to the games at all.

Their time is ending, and it is ending fast.

“Clove..” he starts, trying to build up the nerve to say what he needs to. “Before you go, i have to tell you–”

“No.” Clove stops him, propping herself up on her forearms on his chest. She holds his face with both her hands, forcing him to lock eyes with her. “You can’t do this right now. When I come back… there is nothing stopping us, then.”

“You need to hear it Clove, I need you to know that–”

“I do. But I don’t want to hear you say it just because you think I’m not coming back.” She’s insistent on it, and she stops his argument with a kiss that is borderline gentle coming from her. Clove leans her forehead against his, now hovering over him completely. “We’re going to be all anyone talks about for years, after this. You and I…”

A rapid knock on the door tells them that Enobaria has already noticed she is not in the bed she’s supposed to be in. The knock is a courtesy, one she surely won’t be repeating.

Clove buries her face in the space between his shoulder and his neck, as he holds her tighter for what feels like the last time. She has to be the one to push away and out of the bed, grabbing one of his spare shirts and throwing it on. Not like she could wear her dress from last night out there.

“Clove?” Cato sits up, watching as she grabs for the door handle.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t die.”

She shoots him that brilliant smile, the one he has chased for the last three years at least, before shooting him a knowing smirk.

“Wasn’t planning on it, baby.”

When Clove slips out the door, Cato can’t help but feel like he just watched the rest of his life slip between his fingers.

He isn’t allowed to go to the final send off with her. That is between her and Enobaria, but the send off they had last night well..that’ll be enough until her win.

Cato is alone in the apartment, taking the entire couch up on his lonesome. As the Capitol seal flashes on the TV, and the sixty second countdown begins, he leans his head forward. His knees catch his elbows, and he has to physically hold his head up with his hands. He wonders silently if last year she felt as sick as he does right now. It’s somehow worse, thinking of her in that arena, than when he had actually competed himself.

He sees her instantly. The favorite always gets camera priority, making sure they have plenty of footage for the eventual recap during their post-games interview.

Cato processes the terrain in the same second she does, evident by the wild look in her eyes while he realizes it is entirely white behind her.

A blizzard. The arena is a blizzard.

The look in her eyes when the countdown ends is unlike anything he has seen even in her most intense moments of training.

She is confident. She is bloodthirsty. She is absolutely feral.

As she takes off towards the cornucopia there is not a single soul watching that can deny that this is the moment she was born for.

#the hunger games #the hunger games fanfic #cato #clove #enobaria #cato and clove #clato #clato fanfic #thg cato #thg clove #brutus #THG fanfic #ARWBFB TAG

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timemachineyeah · 1 year

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Hiya I just stumbled across your Mr Robinson post. First of all condolences, I saw that he died a few years ago. Second, I'm very much curious, what subject is he supposed to teach? I couldn't really figure it out from the stories..

So I was in the gifted program at our school

(istg if y’all start gifted kid discourse in notes I will block you! yes everyone should have access to higher quality education, no don’t invalidate other people’s trauma, and this post about my BELOVED DEAD FORMER MENTOR FIGURE WHO DIED WELL BEFORE HIS TIME IN AN ACCIDENT is not the place to talk about it! My notes are not for that discussion thank you!)

and the way the program worked, we had two teachers who taught all subjects - often in interlocking or combined ways. Like a science project that uses the math we’re learning or a history project that ties into scientific advancements of the time, etc.

Like we still had “hours” and “subjects” technically, but only sometimes did the bell ringing indicate we were changing tasks. Depending on where we were in the curriculum it might just mean we all take a five minute break and get back to it.

Our two teachers were Mrs C and Mr R. Sixth graders had Mrs C for the morning and Mr R for the afternoon. Seventh graders had the reverse. Some of the subjects they were technically responsible for switched places when we changed grades - I think C was science in sixth grade and R was in seventh - but they often worked together on kind of interlocking curriculums. So on rare occasions both grades would be together and more commonly we’d sort of make… blind tag team projects? Like our project and their project technically combined into a bigger project.

Or we’d go on lots of hikes and stuff as a group or have big group classes outside. We did lots of catching live bugs and drawing plants with Mrs C. There was a creek right near the school so we didn’t have to go far to see the local wildlife.

I think Mrs C and Mr R pioneered the program together. Our class was the last to finish it as it was run. No Child Left Behind passed in March that year. The program ended with us that June.

Mrs C and Mr R were both fighting to get the program expanded and adopted for all the classes. Like we were supposed to be the proof of concept. They cried when we graduated seventh grade. The sixth graders were all in the room knowing the fun they’d had that year would be cut in half from what it had been planned as.

Our grades were good and our education was top notch and we tested well and I don’t even think it was that much more expensive than what funding a classroom already costs - if at all.

No Child Left Behind has its clear part of the blame - the timing of when the program was canceled and when that was being pushed are obviously linked - I also think it was honestly too liberal for our community. Like, sure, we were happier, learned better, liked school more, passed our tests, etc. But we also had hard discussions about race. We also protested the administration. Good Christian children often from wealthy families were questioning authority too much. Imagine if it got to the rest?

This is just speculation on my part. But it’s not without its evidence.

My wording on the original post was unclear, so let me be clear here: Mr Robinson wasn’t lying when he said we weren’t supposed to learn world religion.

It really was a forbidden subject. We actually did have to hide it from faculty.

Now, this did also make it more fun and compelling for us. And we did treat it like a spy game. But we also knew it wasn’t a game. They could actually get in trouble. And I don’t know. Maybe they did. Or maybe whether someone complained or not, the higher ups just noticed. This program was producing smart kids, high achieving kids, sure, but it was also producing problem kids that questioned the status quo.

And there are people that that kind of education wouldn’t serve.

Anyway to answer your question he taught math, social studies, and sometimes science, but really he taught everything in tag team with Mrs C. Except gym and band.

#timemachine wuz here #mr robinson

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team-heavenly · 8 months

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And Now‚ An Interlude

…Also known as: I just finished playing through the Sky Peak arc and Oh My God, the chapter is going to be such a mountain (har har) of labor to pull together that I’m tossing out some crumbs in the meantime 😅

This may or may not be something I do going forward. It really depends on 1) how long it’ll take me to play through the game and do all the prep work‚ and 2) if I have anything interesting or noteworthy happen on the days that are non-plot related and purely explorations or job requests. If I do make more of these‚ they won’t be linked in my pinned post because it’s not really important enough for that. Think of it as little tidbits of treasure left for you to find!

Another reason I decided to whip this up: I needed more storage space before climbing Sky Peak and I was kind of close to leveling up in team rank from Gold to Diamond? So I knocked out four days of missions to make that happen. (Theoretically it might have taken only three‚ but I fell 20 points short on the third day 🤡)

Now‚ with that little disclaimer out of the way…

We recruited the God of Time.

…Okay‚ not really LOL. Just one of his species. But honestly‚ for a level 12, he was not that bad at all:

His abilities were Frisk and Rough Skin‚ the latter inflicting 1/2 the damage dealt by physical attacks. Which partially explains this heartstopping dynamic during the final battle of main. (But I still have no idea why Seed Flare‚ a special move‚ made Teresa get the counter.)

Now‚ I don’t recall exactly if I picked this up in a dungeon or if it was a reward for a job‚ but one way or another I got my hands on Volt Tackle‚ and boy when I say it was tempting—

That’s eight stars of power‚ y’all. And both of our gals could learn the move.

But… well‚ the more I thought about it‚ the more I wasn’t certain it made sense. As a refresher‚ here are Andrea and Teresa’s current moves:

Andrea: Blizzard‚ Smokescreen‚ Octazooka‚ Mach Punch

Teresa: Mud Slap‚ Dizzy Punch‚ Chatter‚ Seed Flare

Let’s break that down:

Blizzard and Octazooka are both decently strong to begin with and benefit from STAB. Blizzard has a 3+ boost in power from Ginseng. And‚ as we know‚ it’s been a godsend for the absurd amount of monster houses in these dungeons.

Mach Punch (functionally the same as Quick Attack) has been too dang useful with the two tile range. You saw what happened the one time I tried to go without one. Maybe it’s a different story now that we’re a lot stronger‚ but…

Similarly‚ Smokescreen and the Whiffer status is way too OP‚ and a key part of more than a few victories in boss fights.

Dizzy Punch and Chatter also have STAB and both have the chance to confuse‚ which again can make or break survival in certain situations.

Mud Slap... Okay yeah this is a weak move‚ but the drop in accuracy with successive hits can really make a difference. This also has a 3+ Ginseng power boost‚ so it’s not like it’s infeasible. Plus I don’t want to throw those ginseng boosts away if I delete the move.

Which leaves us with… Seed Flare:

Same amount of power as Volt Tackle‚ only one star lower in accuracy‚ and no recoil. And sure‚ both Andrea and Teresa have the Rapid Healer IQ skill‚ but I’ve had too many close calls with unexpectedly hard hitting moves for me to be comfortable with recoil damage.

So‚ regretfully… into Blastoise Storage the TM went. Maybe another day.

Just casually throwing in one of the Seven Treasures as a reward for an Outlaw Job. (I already have this one so I didn’t take it.)

Also‚ who’s Magnezone?? Our cop is Spinarak‚ duh!

The names of the Zero Isles have been revealed!

Great Copse = Zero Isle North

Clean Earthworks = Zero Isle East

Brilliant Landmark = Zero Isle West

Sad Camp = Zero Isle South

I’ll be frank‚ I’m probably never going to these dungeons because they aren’t part of the story and the job requests are usually insane. But hey‚ now we know!

We also picked up this exclusive item! Between this and the North Torc (Rock type moves restore HP instead of dealing damage)‚ Andrea is becoming GOATed. Now if only I could get back that five star healing item for Teresa :(

What’s this?! It’s Wrestler Walrein with a steel chair!

And that’s all I got for now. The goal is to get the Sky Peak chapter out in the next week or so, so look forward to that! And many thanks for your patience.

~Mod May

#pmd explorers #pokemon mystery dungeon #randomizer #post game #and now an interlude

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f1-motogpobsessed · 1 year

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Chapter One of My Fabio Fic <3

Hey my lovelies! So, I decided to try and gain some exposure, to post the first chapter of my Fabio Quartararo fic here on tumblr, in the hopes of interesting y’all enough to head over to wattpad to read it :3

It’s called Along for the Ride, and it’s about a girl named Rose who meets Fabio and had no idea who he was, and he loves it because he gets to be himself around her. But with the upcoming season about to start, theyre trying to figure out how to manage their relationship, or situationship for the time being :)

Enough blabbering on from me, enjoy the first chapter! I’ll link the story at the end :)

Chapter One - They Meet

Rose’s research papers, notes and flashcards were scattered all across the table that she’d managed to snag about two hours earlier. The coffee she had ordered had been sitting in the same spot for so long that the condensation had started to drip down the side of the cup and was inching toward the surrounding papers.

She decided that having a break was probably a good idea at this point, and that getting up to get a fresh coffee was her best bet. She’d closed her laptop and made her way to the register, placing her order with the barista who looked thankful it was just one simple drink. She waved her down to the end of the counter where her drink would be when it was ready. They’d continued talking as she made her drink, absentmindedly talking about the weather, and how if it wasn’t raining outside there would probably be more customers. While she can’t say that she minded the lack of people, it made working on her final paper that much easier. A slow coffee shop so close to Los Angeles was a hard thing to come by, and she was taking as much advantage as she could.

As the small talk lulled, She kept glancing at her table to make sure all her stuff was still there. There wasn’t anything she needed to be worried about, unless the 75 year old man two tables over decided to ditch his coffee and newspaper to steal her laptop. Highly unlikely, she thought to herself, but the thought was enough to make her smile. The barista called out her drink, and gave her one last smile before heading back to the register to handle the person who had just walked up.

If she hadn’t been so focused on looking at her table, and grabbing her coffee she might have heard the door to the coffee shop open, and the footsteps behind her. But because she didn’t, she grabbed her drink, hastily turned around and immediately collided with the body of the person standing right behind her.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she said awkwardly as she stepped away, realizing that they had stayed touching for a moment out of shock from what had happened. She immediately dropped to the floor and tried to scoop up what she could of the ice and put it into the cup, and noticed the man walking right past her and all I could think of was that he was leaving. God, that would be bold as hell, but so shitty. She turned to look at him and saw that he was already heading back over holding napkins that he’d grabbed from the counter behind her. He crouched in front of her and began helping soak up the spilled coffee.

“No, I'm sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He said hastily. She had noticed an accent but couldn’t place it right away.

“I guess that makes two of us,” She replied, trying to ease the tension. He looked up and smiled at her kindly while gathering wet napkins in his hands. She offered the mostly empty cup to him to place the napkins in and he gladly accepted.

“Either way,” He starts, “I do think that I’m more sorry, seeing as it was your coffee that took the fall.” He had a kind laugh, and she could finally piece together where his accent was from, he’s French.

In movies, whenever a French person is portrayed they always have this thick, harsh accent that is almost always unintelligible. But this man was soft spoken and seemed quite gentle.

“Well actually, I think you’re right. I’m not as sorry anymore.” This made him smile as he took the cup from her hands and put it in the trash beside him. “My name is Fabio by the way. I thought you might want to know the name of the man that owes you a new coffee.” He’s definitely cute, She’ll give him that. Smiling, she said, “Well, Fabio, my name is Rose. I would say that It’s nice to meet you but I could think of a few nicer ways.” Rose extended her hand, and he gladly accepted.

“Rose,” he repeated, “Please let me replace that drink of yours.” She nodded appreciatively and they headed to the register. She reordered her drink from the barista who originally took her order, and he added his drink after.

“Thank you, Fabio.” She said as they walked over to the pick up counter, “It’s my pleasure.” he stated, coming to a stop right before the scene of the coffee spill. “So, can I ask how your day is going so far?” Fabio asks, She assumes to try and fill the silence that fell over the two of them.

“Well,” She tried to think of something more exciting than what she was actually up to, but failing, she decided the truth was her only option. “I was finishing my last assignment for a class I’m taking. Once I’m done, I’ll officially be on my winter break.” She motioned to the messily organized table across the cafe.

“You’re a university student then?” He asks interestedly. “Yeah, I thought that being in a public space with others around might force me to just get this assignment over with, so I can finally start my vacation.” She replied. He nodded in understanding.

“Can I ask what brings you here today?” She asked, “Other than spilling a stranger's coffee.” She added quickly, smiling so that he knew she was joking. He returned the smile, “Well, I was supposed to be meeting some people here, but they canceled on me just as I walked through the door. That’s actually what had me looking at my phone when I so rudely bumped into you.”

As he finished his sentence, the barista called out their drinks. He handed her her drink, and she thanked him with a smile.

“Well, if you have nothing to do now, you’re more than welcome to join me,” she said, causing him to smile. “While we finish our coffees of course. You just have to promise not to spill mine again.” He laughed and nodded in agreement. “I think I can manage to control myself.”

She guided him over to the table that she had been occupying all afternoon. “I’m sorry for the mess, I promise I’m usually more organized than this.” She hastily tried to fix the papers and wrangle the notecards, and he helped her stack up the papers and asked, “So, what topic are you researching?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent talking and getting to know one another, almost as if it was an impromptu first date. Rose shared that she’s a cultural studies student in her last year of college, and she was very interested to find out that Fabio was actually in town for meetings with sponsors for his racing team. He races motorcycles for Yamaha sports. She wasn’t even aware that was a thing, her extent of racing knowledge started and ended with NASCAR, she was embarrassed to admit. Though according to Fabio, MotoGP, as it’s called, is kind of a big deal all around the world. More embarrassment for her.

While they’d been talking, the daylight was leaving, or what little light there was coming through the storm clouds. Rose managed to finish and submit her last assignment,

“So, I guess it’s starting to get late.” Fabio started, as he was helping Rose put her notes away, and gathered up the small bits of trash that accumulated from straw wrappers and empty coffee cups on their table. She nodded, “It is, I hope that I didn’t keep you too long with all my talking.” She realized they’d been sitting there for so long, and truthfully neither of them had looked at their phone much at all. He laughed and got up to throw out the trash he had collected, “All of the talking we have done has been so refreshing, It’s been so nice just having a regular conversation with someone.”

She smiled, grateful that he wasn’t showing any signs of regret about sitting there with her for so long. “I will say though, I will have to call an uber to get back to my hotel. The people I was supposed to be meeting with earlier were going to be my ride back.” Rose looked at the time on her phone, “It’s nearly 5 o’clock, I doubt any Uber would be here quickly because of the afternoon rush.” she grabbed her bag and turned to face Fabio who was staring anxiously at his phone. “You’re right, all of these cars say they're 35-40 mins away!” he exclaimed. “Well, if you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t mind dropping you off, it’d be so much quicker than waiting all that time.”

He looked at her with surprise, “You would do that? My hotel is about 30 mins away, though.” Rose smiled while grabbing her keys out of her bag. “Well then I guess we’d better start driving.”

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