#i did not get mold sickness

[autistichedgehogs]

hello all! i apologise for the inactivity--i was having a lot of medical (and dissociative) issues in my off-screen life. hopefully i can be around a bit more :)

[httpiastri]

“it could be cool to be a race engineer, but… you really need to be clever, and… 😅”

[werewolfclaws]

YOU HAD MOLD POISONING AND DIDNT EVEN NOTICE?!????

TO BE FAIR. I HAD A LOT GOING ON.

[meateater-rabbit]

[dishyphus]

APRIL HAD MY DISHES YOU GUYS

I'm still like... exaushted after what feels like years of stomach flu followed by fucking some like sinus infection or something??? idk I went to the ER after a while and they said they'd never really seen snot that color that was NOT infected but antibiotics didnt help much.... I guess I just had to work it out of my system

my queue kept going tho it just means I couldnt update about the "̴h̴o̵u̶s̷e̵ ̴m̶e̴e̵t̶i̸n̶g̴"̵ we had like a day or two after my little poll closed

April was kinda mad, first of all, she thought I was being "judgmental" but eventually she kinda accepted that I just wanna be able to CLEAN OUR APARTMENT OKAY?

And at this point most of it is a little fuzzy? Which is probably something I would talk to a therapist about but my really great therapist from when I lived with my fiance couldnt see me anymore after I moved across state lines (even tho these stares are so tiny that he would cross state lines for work lmaowe)

But basically April let me go into her room and collect all the fucknasty dishes she had hoarded in there, including some I hadn't seen the ENTIRE time I've lived here and I spent a day just finally catching up on dishes.... Just in time to get super sick 🎉

[rosicheeks]

Unfortunately relatable. I grew up in the church and have a lot of Christian trauma from that. I show up for special occasions for my parents… sometimes. But it’s uncomfortable from the moment I step through the door. Bigoted pastor, the self-righteousness disguising the prejudice, the political comments from the altar. Shots at young people left right and center as if the hell on earth wasn’t caused by the same older generation 90% of the congregation belongs to..

I miss being young in the choir and the youth groups and not struggling with it. It’s wild to look back at the younger version of me who was unshakeable in his faith and honestly just saddening.

I was texting my sister today about it and she said

“I 100% think ALL of us have a ton of religious trauma and everyone else in the family just doesn’t realize it cause they’re still drinking the kool-aid.”

I ran out of tag room and didn’t want to delete any 😭 seriously not lying I could write a book about all my thoughts and experiences

[alxclaremont]

finished my first year of college last week and i truly do not know how to feel about it

[peggy-uwu]

unwillingly becoming a housewife by way of flatmates incompetence

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[todorokies]

WHEN THE LIGHTS ARE LOW - logan howlett

contents 𝝑𝑒 : fem!reader, nsfw, cockwarming, some fluff & angst (?) got mixed up in this, implied legal age-gap, grumpy old man logan (written with ‘logan 2017’ in mind but he isn’t sick), intimacy scares logan but he tries, 1.1k words

a/n 𝝑𝑒 : this is possibly ooc this is my first time writing for him please go easy on me! ,,,, inspired by the song ‘when the lights are low’ by the paragons

“read to me, please?”

the air in the quite spacious room suddenly turned chilled as life around seemed to come to a halt. the eccentric buzzing of traffic seemingly stilled allowing cicadas and woodland birds to make their presence known.

fireflies tangoing into the darkened night jiving the streets alongside citizens peacefully making their way back to their residences.

it’s unlikely for a friday night to be uneventful for logan. a usual run through of the crazed day would be servicing important higher ups in his limousine, taking them to a glamorous black-tie event or a rowdy group of middle aged ladies celebrating a bride-to-be’s last night of freedom.

it was also unlikely for the said man to be in your bedroom after the hours of eight, conversing with you as the pads of his calloused fingertips ghosted over the satin silk that graced upon your body.

his tensed furrowed eyebrows relaxed for once, as he willingly leaves his on edge and guarded demeanour at your porch.

you don’t know how he was able to get the night off and frankly, you aren’t too eager to find out. rather using your energy to melt in his presence and eventually molding into one as his hazel half lidded eyes cautiously watches you straddle him then ease yourself on his semi hard cock.

his eyes immediately screwed shut followed by a throaty low groan once you bottom out, sitting completely still, your pelvises touching one another. your eyes softly flutter at the pleasurable ache as your hands found refuge around his neck and into the brushy hairs on his nape.

your question rings through his ears like a faint echo. with a quirked eyebrow, he lifts his head off the antique bed frame to face you, sharply examining your features.

“you can’t be serious?” he exasperatedly huffed out closing his eyes again and leaned back against the headboard.

you narrowed your eyes at him, “i’m dead serious. why else would you bring your glasses if you knew you had zero intentions of doing any reading?”

he doesn’t miss a beat, “i keep 'em on me at all times.” his voice is flat, not showcasing any emotion to give you more material.

you sigh, your lips pursed into a thin line while glancing at logan’s salt and pepper tufts of hair, allowing silence to fall amongst the two of you, not willing to continue the small squabble for a rather nonsensical request on your end.

that’s until you hear him scoff and mutter under his breath, “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

with a sharply slow roll of your hips you clamp down onto him, feeling his cockhead prods at your spongy spot. he loudly hisses through his teeth due to the sudden sensation, panting slightly as his fist balls up the sheets.

“you should be glad i haven’t hidden them yet, you old fuck,” you coyly beam.

logan’s brows knitted together as he shakily exhaled a deep breath to maintain —what’s left of— his composure, eyes stuck on your figure. great, you’re mocking him now, but he did have it coming he supposes.

his next movements are calculated, hesitant and uncertain as he reaches for your waist. yes, he has touched you before from head to toe, but there is always a sick gutted feeling of his that you’ll easily wither away in his arms leaving his dread to consume his soul once again.

his grip on your waist is loose, a mere nudge from a ghost, until you cuff your own hands over his to reassure his grip on you, his gaze softens.

“what do you want from me tonight?” his voice comes out as a honey dipped whisper, not what you were expecting as a rebuttal. it throws you off course, breath hitching before lightly nibbling on your bottom lip.

what exactly do you want from him tonight? when you received his sudden call five minutes before his arrival your nerves were over the moon. despite being in a relationship with logan for many months now, he always gave you an unorthodox reason to be nervous.

logan is intense. from how he carries himself to his appearance, his gaze all the way down to his speech patterns, the venom he spits out to his enemies or how he loves and cares for others so deeply; flesh, bones and all.

his love intimidates you —which is ironic in the sense that he could say the same exact thing about you— so truthfully, you don’t know what you want from him. only to be close enough to touch him, smell him, and to strip away his clothes to feel his skin onto yours.

but you choose not to say any of this, “shouldn’t i be asking you that?”

he dryly chuckles. the type of chuckle that reverberates against your own body from close proximity. you always loved when he laughed.

“i suppose you’re right, i am your guest after all.”

his larger hands begin to caress your waist, rubbing small circles with his thumb, “why do you want me to read to you?” genuine curiosity is laced in his tone. he stares up at you patiently awaiting for your answer and you now feel like a deer caught in headlights.

his undivided attention makes you shift against him causing the both of you to softly groan then you shrug, because you truly don’t know why yourself.

“i thought it would be a nice thing for us to do.” you nervously start to pick at the skin that surrounds your nails.

he simply hums in acknowledgment and soon captures your hands in his to stop you from fidgeting, “next time, bub, i just want to enjoy this at the moment.”

you break out into an earnest smile, your hands soon snaking its way out of his grasp to place them back on the base of his neck, his hands soon moves to your waist with much more confidence this time around.

“sooo, does this mean you’ll take another day off to visit me again?” your big doe eyes lit up at the possibility of spending another quiet friday night with logan by your side.

he feigns irritation, “who said i took the day off? i just didn’t have anything better to do.”

you playfully shove his shoulder before passionately locking lips with him. he’s tentative to your reactions as he bores his entire life force into you, a match has been light in the pit of his stomach as you both explored each other’s mouths.

he grunts. wanting more, craving more until you pull away, a small string of saliva follows before separating.

“well, next time when you have nothing better to do you’ll just have to read me pride and prejudice.”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[mrshigurumasshop]

Pregnancy Cravings | Toji Fushiguro ~ the one where he tries your odd cravings

─➭ pairing: toji fushiguro x fem! wife reader

─➭ mentions of: reader is pregnant, anything pregnancy related, super fluffy, weird food combinations(?), toji is a lil meanie but he’s a good man here

note: i’m trying to get back into writing so i’m posting this draft i never finished

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Toji Fushiguro loves you with all he’s got and that’s a fact. He knows you like the back of his hand because you molded yourself into his and megumi’s life. So when you told him that you’re pregnant, he was practically holding back tears because he finally made what he wanted with you true.

Now going back to him knowing you like the back of his hand, that changed when you got into your second trimester of your pregnancy.

Your food cravings were the bane of his existence because of how much it changed your food choices. The things you used to like made you sick in an instant. The smell of pork belly bowl used to make your mouth water and now you turn green then run to the bathroom.

And don’t get him started on the weirdest shit you put together and that shouldn’t be together.

One time it was peanut butter and chicken. Another was vanilla ice cream with bacon bits on top, specifically from the diner that you and toji take megumi to during lunch. And this recent snack was another added to the list.

It was the ass crack of dawn when Toji woke up to hearing cupboards opening and closing, along with the fridge. He sighed as he rolled onto his back to see if you were awake but it turns out that you weren’t even in bed. To him that was an immediate sign that you woke up hungry and craving.

He throws the blanket off before getting out of bed to walk towards the kitchen. And sure enough, there you were eating a spoonful of god knows what.

“Doll…,” he quietly calls to you.

You let out a little squeak in surprise hearing the man’s deep but hot ass voice from behind you. “You scared me,” you whine with a pout.

Toji smiles as he walks towards you and sees a bowl in your hands and glides his hands on your hips. “What are you eating so early in the damn morning?” he grumbles.

“Watermelon,” you say as you lift the fork with a piece of watermelon to his mouth.

But there’s something on the watermelon. Toji doesn’t hesitate to form a scowl on his face seeing that there’s white stuff on top of it. “The fuck is that?” he deadpanned.

You roll your eyes because he’s being dramatic. “It’s good, trust me,” you say.

“That didn’t answer my question, babydoll.”

“Well, it tastes good so try it,” you bite back.

The man doesn’t trust you one bit because you crave weird shit but he can’t say no to you. So he silently answers you by taking the piece of fruit in his mouth.

And sweet god did that taste GROSS…

Toji spit it out into the sink he was next too before he could even get another bite in. “Was that fucking mayonnaise?!” he whisper-yelled, “Fuck, that was sour!”

You roll your eyes with pout because he was being unnecessarily dramatic and a bit mean. “Yeah, it’s that Kewpie mayonnaise…,” you say quietly.

“God, that was fuckin’ nasty,” he sighs aggressively as he grabs a water bottle to drink out of, “How can that taste good to you?” he says as he turns back to you.

You look up at him with a deeper pout. “Why don’t you ask the child that’s growing inside me. Jerk…,” you mumble the last part before waddling away with the bowl in your hands.

Your husband aggressively lets out a sigh as he rubs his eyes with the ball of his palms. “It’s too early for this,” he mumbled as he began to follow you out to the patio of your backyard. He leaves the screen door open to listen for Megumi as he sees you bundled up in the comfy lounge chairs eating the god awful snack in your hand.

He walks towards you in big strides as you ignore him and keep your eyes on on the backyard. He stands next to you waiting for you to acknowledge him but you still ignore him. You know he’s seething in his mind right now because he hates the silent treatment. It continues for another 45 seconds till a squeal was pulled out of you as Toji effortlessly picks you up just to sit himself back down on the chair with you on his lap.

And damn it, the man was warm. You didn’t bother to fight out of his hold because you chose to cuddle right into his chest. You nuzzle your forehead into his neck and position your fuzzy socked feet in between his thigh and the dip of the chair. You keep the bowl of watermelon on your lap to continue eating.

Toji was pulling the blanket that was covering over you to fit both of you as you got comfy on his lap. One of his arms wrap around your round tummy oh so gently to get you as close to him as possible. His other arm wrap around your legs to keep your lower half warm.

“I’m still mad,” you mumble softly as you shove another piece of watermelon in your mouth.

“I know, baby,” he smiles softly feeling you chew with your cheek against his chest, “I’m still a jerk but don’t be a brat and sit out here without me in the cold.” You smile at his “apology” as you continue eating with silence. Then you hear Toji sigh before he speaks again,

“Just so you know…I’ll always be grateful that you’re my wife and the mother to both my kids.”

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[punkshort]

Hi! I would be more than happy with a drabble about reader regaining a memory-maybe an important one for her and joel-but if this doesn't really inspire you, please don't feel obligated to write it, as I wouldn't want you to struggle because of me

After all, I'm more than happy to read anything else you decide to write!❤️

PS roommates is so so good, I'm looking forward to the next chapter!

Ahh thank you so much! I'm so glad you answered, I have no problem putting on my thinking cap for this! I think we could all use a little fluff today... I hope you enjoy! And thank you again for all your support the past year ❤️

three words

An I Know Who You Are drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You remember another memory, this one more special than the rest.

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, amnesia

WC: 1.2K

"It's getting late," you mumbled, your eyes closed as you breathed deeply into Joel's chest. The very last thing you wanted to do was get dressed and go home, but you had patrol early in the morning and you didn't trust yourself to wake up early enough to go home and clean up beforehand.

You felt his chest vibrate as he hummed, his hand dragging lazily up and down your bare back, holding you close and just as unwilling to let you go.

"Stay."

You groaned but buried your face deeper, now angling it towards his flushed neck. "I don't have any clothes here."

"Then maybe you should keep some clothes here."

"I could, but that doesn't help me now."

Joel sighed and turned onto his side, tugging you into him, molding you to him and filling every crack and splinter the world left before you. "Wear my clothes."

You laughed softly, the image of Joel's flannel hanging five inches past your fingertips as you struggled to ride in his oversized clothes just too amusing.

"As much as I appreciate the offer," you began as you pulled away, meeting some resistance from his arms, "I don't think that would work."

He groaned and rolled onto his back, the longing evident in his eyes as you slowly stood and stretched, your naked body pulling and bending before seeking out your clothes strewn about his room.

"Move in with me."

You stood abruptly, your jeans and socks tucked protectively against your chest as you stared back at him in shock.

"What?"

He sat up in bed and flicked on his lamp. "Move in with me," he repeated. Your eyes trailed down his broad chest, evidence of the love bites you left on him a mere hour earlier already darkening.

"Oh-" you croaked, feeling your face flare with heat. To hide it, you looked back down at the ground to find the rest of your clothes. "Uh, don't you think that's a little fast?"

"No," he answered, watching as you struggled to pull your underwear back on. "I love you 'n I want you here all the time."

You were in the process of pulling your bra strap over your shoulder when his words reached your ears, knocking into you so hard you forgot to breathe. "W-what did you just say?" you whispered, hand frozen on your shoulder, eyes wide and filled with bewilderment.

He shrugged one shoulder and gave you a little smirk. "I love you."

Your lower lip trembled and you dropped your jeans to the floor. "I love you, too," you said softly.

His eyes lit up and his smile grew wider. "Then quit standin' over there 'n get back in bed with me."

You giggled and hastily swiped away a tear that fell before scrambling back into bed, allowing him to tug the comforter over you as you wrapped your arms around his middle. He cupped your jaw and scanned your face once more before pressing a tender kiss to your lips, so soft and sweet that it stole your breath.

"Maybe I'll just end up being sick tomorrow morning," you murmured against his mouth, dragging your lips down his throat and nipping playfully at his Adam's apple. He rolled on top of you, holding himself up on his elbows. He closed his eyes and sighed, reveling in the feel of your skin pressed against his.

"Yeah, that -" he paused and gasped when you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, grinding into him as your kisses on his neck grew feverish. "That sounds 'bout right."

-

You awoke with a start, eyes flashing wide open as you stared at the white ceiling, replaying the dream over and over in your mind. Was it a dream? Or was it real? It felt real. You were getting better at distinguishing between the two now.

Rolling your head to the side, you smiled when you saw Joel sleeping so peacefully beside you. His lips were parted and he was snoring softly, looking perfectly content. You almost didn't want to wake him, but you knew it would be worth it.

"Joel," you whispered, pulling the sheet against your neck. You rolled onto your side and ran your palm across the sharp planes of his chest. He mumbled in his sleep and his hand slowly came up to engulf yours, his fingers big and thick and calloused compared to your own. You repeated his name a little louder this time and he finally cracked one eye open.

"Mornin'," he said, voice gravelly and thick with sleep. Every time you heard it, it made your lower abdomen pull and a familiar warmth spread between your thighs.

"I had a dream," you told him, excitement bubbling up as you bit down on your lower lip. His eyes opened wider and suddenly he looked much more alert.

"A dream or a memory?"

"Memory, I think."

He grinned and sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What was it?"

You stretched, a slow smile spreading across your face as you looked up at him. "I think it was when we first said I love you."

He grinned and scratched his chin. "That's a good one."

"I was getting ready to go back home because I had patrol in the morning," you began, and he nodded along. "You told me you wanted me to move in because you loved me. You said it so casually, like it was obvious or something."

"Thought it was obvious," he chuckled.

"It felt like I already knew but I was still surprised to hear you say it."

He gazed down at you warmly. "Then you said it back."

"Yeah," you whispered, threading your fingers with his. "I said it back."

"That was a good day," he told you before leaning forward, gently brushing your lips together.

"So it was real?"

"Yeah," he whispered, then slowly slanted his mouth against yours, his lips leisurely massaging your lips like he had all the time in the world. You took a deep breath and wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close.

It had been a while since you had a memory come back, but it felt like each time it happened, no matter how big or small, it felt clearer.

"Do you think this means I'll remember everything one day?" you couldn't help but ask as he settled between your legs, his mouth dragging down your chin.

"Don't know, baby," he admitted, his focus clearly shifting towards something else as his hands began to push up the material of your sleep shirt.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you anxiously chewed the inside of your cheek. "If I don't, that would be okay, right?" you asked, your voice coming out so timid and small that it made him stop in his tracks. He pushed himself up onto his forearms so he could look you in the eye.

"'Course it would."

You nodded and felt a sliver of relief, but he could tell you still held some doubt.

"Hey," he said gently, "it don't matter if you remember everythin'. 'Cause we'll make new memories together, alright?"

You smiled and he watched you visibly relax, your shoulders dropping back and your brow smoothing out. "Yeah."

He grinned and pecked your lips before picking up where he left off on the crook of your neck.

"Good. 'Cause I wanna make a new memory right now."

[bettysupremacy]

idk if you write for finnick.. but could you write something where it’s the beginning of the quarter quell and he can’t find her? Just pure panic as he runs around the cornucopia?

I’ve never written for him before but I love him! idk how I feel about this but I hope truly that u like it.

Icy hot terror is all Finnick feels when the timer hits one. Loud and disorienting, the bang ripples against the water in vibrations that rumble under his feet.

Where are you?

The sun blares disgustingly into his eyes and skin, an obvious manipulation of the gamemakers sick amusement, but he ignores it, plunging into the only water he’s ever dreaded to tread. You’re not in sight. He’d told you to stay away, to swim, to run as far away from the cornucopia as you could. Don’t risk it, he’d shaken your shoulders, listen to me I’ll find you.

The water is warm and gross against his skin. It’s not as refreshing as the district four that he’s familiar with. It’s hot and fake. He comes up gasping for air, letting the terror settle into his bones as he pushes against the current of a manipulated riptide. Katniss climbs the stone so he does too; pushing his feet deeper into the ground with every step he takes. His breathing is labored, jagged as he runs. He can’t find you, but he will. He can’t find you, but he can find a weapon.

The cornucopia glistens in the sun, never lacking the weaponry he’d expected from it. Bows, arrows, knives, he eyes a backpack stuffed with supplies. Could he lug it with him? Probably not. He diverts his eyes to the trident beside him. Perched in its stand, it gleams in artificial sun as the grip molds to his fingers. He squeezes the deadly lifeline.

The sound of metal on metal scrapes behind him. Katniss. He turns quick, flashing the bangle around his wrist tauntingly. “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

She breathes hard in front of him, eyebrows pulling as she pauses in bated confusion. The weapon doesn’t lower. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?” He gravels, quick enough to be considered panicked. “Duck.”

She listens, dropping to the floor hard enough to sting the weeping palms she balances on. The sick squelch of his trident in the fallen tribute is covered by her hands tight over her ears as she waits for the boom. The gong sounds, and then a scream. An unmistakable scream. It settles in his stomach and throat thickly, sweating his already wet hands. You didn’t listen.

“Finnick!” The voice screams. Sobs. “Finnick! Finnick!”

The sound is nightmare-ish. Something the gamemakers could never manipulate that accurately, and deep down he knows it’s the sound you’ll wake him up from if you ever gets out of this arena alive.

“I’m coming!” His feet hit hard against the gravel as he sprints. His breathing dries his throat quick. “I’ve got you!”

“Finnick!”

“I’m coming-“

The moment skids to a halt as he finds you. Trapped in the arms of a larger, broader tribute, you struggle for air as he headlocks you. He considers doing something rash, but Katniss behind you shakes her head. Like she can see it in his eyes. It’s a slow, quiet moment, hunter quiet as she stalks closer. Finnick eyes her wary to give her away.

“We can talk about this.” Finnick rationalizes slowly. “It’s the beginning of the game.”

“So?” His arm tightens around your neck. Your squeak breaks Finnicks heart.

“Finnick.” You strain.

“Give the viewers what they want.” Finn pleads. “A show. You can’t kill her so quick.”

“I don’t see a bargain being made.”

A bargain? It’s the first ten minutes and he stands next to a gleaming cornucopia filled with sharp armory. He could get something better than a simple metal trident. Throwing knives, poison, a machete. Finnick suspects the victor is doing what he pleaded. Giving the audience a show.

“Take my trident!” He nearly crashes, cool demeanor dropping as he watches you tap the man’s arm in panic, your air slowly constricting. “Give me her.”

It sickens Katniss; the ability to kill someone for views. To feed into the capitals agenda. This is a necessary kill, she reasons, this isn’t for her own survival. This isn’t a selfish homicide; this is Rue in the net, Prim on the stage. This is the girl she could save. Katniss’ fingers loosen, letting the elaborate metal fly from her grip. It hits the nameless career in the back. Her target.

The moment slows in Finnicks eyes. Katniss stands far, arms hanging limply at her sides. She stares at him, grateful for the thankfulness in his eyes that eases her burdened chest.

“Y/N.” He gasps as the man falls hard on you. He runs, helping you from under the heavy weight. “I’ve got you now.”

“Finn.” You weep, hands in his as he lifts you. You stumble, crashing into him hard. He hears a sob in his tribute suit. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you to listen to me.” He doesn’t anger, but this feels close to it as he grips you tightly. “I told you to run.”

You heave, greedy for fresh air, but your lungs are infiltrated by the heady scent of salt water. His hand calms the coughs that rake through your chest, guilty for his scolding. It’s a quiet moment in the calamity of the bloodbath, a stolen moment that he can’t afford to prolong another second.

“Cmon,” He eyes you, hands cupping your face, then falling as he looks up to Katniss. “Let’s go find Peeta.”

[sems-diarie]

Ok but Aizawa is absolutely obsessed with chubby/fat women bc they’re soft and they smell nice and he will use you in place of his sleeping bag all the time. He will come home from a shift or his hell class, see you on the couch and bully you into a position where he can sleep comfortably on you.

If you pout n whine at him just right he’ll let out this huge sigh like you’re stressing him out and then wiggle down between your legs to eat you out until you’re crying, wailing that you can’t take anymore and then he’ll just smack your thigh or ass, enthralled at the way the flesh jiggles before diving right back in.

You wanted his attention right? So be a good girl and take what he’s giving you, and thank him for it.

anon u r brilliant i’ve been thinking ab this for days

you’re not thinking much of him when aizawa comes to sit by you. no, not even when he slots his huge, dense body over your back.

you gave him an initial side eye, but he just grinned real lazy. said he likes being close—don’t you, pretty lady?

you don’t think much of shouta, or his schemes, until he raises his head from motorboating the back of your thighs to slapping a hand into the meat of said luscious thigh. he’s sick, you decide, when he presses his nose against the sweat-slicked skin there.

you squeal and tense at the sudden pain that blossoms where he hit you. you don’t have long to relish in it when his fingers sink into you. he holds you still where you lay on the couch, and shouta groans deep as he molds your flesh with hands.

“it hurt?” shouta asks, sounding like it hurts him to breathe anything but the bewitching aroma of the cute, twitching pussy beneath his nearly drooling mouth. “sorry.”

“i need—,” you whine, rocking back to meet his mouth despite knowing you shouldn’t. “y’can’t, ‘cause i’m gross.”

your shouta doesn’t even bat an eye. the minute the words leave his mouth, he’s gone back to harassing your pussy-soft pillow thighs with his scratchy beard. “i don’t care for the shaved shit.”

“i need t’shower,” you hiss. “you’re tactless.”

you’ve been home all day. well, you showered last night for your early-morning errand run. and then you went and did some roller skating. then, you came back and watched a movie. and now, your husband is home and hungry—

and you’re trying to tell him dinner isn’t ready?

you don’t even bother after that. shouta’s strong hands take to your legs, spreading them a bit. just enough to get space for his shoulders to take up between your hips. for a while, aizawa just looks. and talks shit. fake worry drips from your husband’s tone when you, to his pleasant surprise, fight back against him.

“i just want to lick you a little,” aizawa says. he kisses you now, soft half-bites to soft, delectable parts of your legs. “woke up thinkin’ ‘bout it, came home thinkin’ ‘bout it…”

“you want my pussy in your mouth all the time,” it’s more of a hiss than you mean for it to be. and you nearly cry out as part of him brushes your clit. one of his hands supports your weight on his face; the other slides up your body to pinch your nipple.

“fuck yes. are you offering?” shouta loves how your hips grind back to him, taking the pleasure he’s giving you with a clenching, sloppy pussy. “wish you’d cut it with the panties, too.”

“think i give a fuck about a shower?” aizawa is not shy about it at all as he continues. he bites into the silence your swirling brain so dumbly encourages you to leave. and your brickhouse of a man fills it with the filthy, nasty ways he plans on making those pretty eyes cry as you grind cum all over his mouth.

he growls, “make me fuckin’ messy, baby.”

you whine.

“whining about later—you don’t think this spoiled pussy needs me now?”

shouta revels in the gooey squishes your pussy makes when his thick fingers come to pry your ass cheeks apart. you don’t even get a chance to answer before he spreads you again, and this time his tongue claims the insides of your cunt instead.

[moonlight-prose]

FIRST LOVE IN THE LATE SPRING AIR

a/n: guess who is back on her joel miller shit again. i had the image of young joel possibly in love and just starting out and had to run with it. after not writing for him for some time, i really did miss this grumpy man. i do have a few fics in the works for him so hopefully this fixation lasts some time. this is an unedited jumble of words so enjoy! divider by the incredible @saradika-graphics.

summary: in the late spring air with summer setting like the sun, life with joel suddenly becomes clear.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, fluff, domesticity, she wrote something without angst y'all, allusions to possibly an apocalypse but not really, mentions of pregnancy (don't worry), joel miller being a fucking softie, they're just so in love it's sick.

His sheets clung to your already warm body, molding to the bare skin that scratched along the wrinkled cheap cotton. You asked why he never bought something better, he claimed he didn’t mind how it felt. Of course, that’s how it usually went. Your questions, answered with sarcasm layered in anguish. He never bought more because he never thought he deserved it.

You ignored it for his sake—never pushing further than necessary; he felt like a stone wall at times, and you were the person searching for his cracks. A place to set your hammer into place and swing.

The sun cast shadows in the darkened room, his curtains pulled away to expose the already open window. He was helping his mom fix the air conditioner; you were sweating beneath his covers. The dichotomy felt wrong—too domestic for you to swallow. Yet you drank it down like cold water straight from the tap, already addicted to the way it chilled your insides and pooled in your stomach.

It never occurred to you that the things you did for love would feel silly in ten years time.

But that was in ten years. And this was now.

“I can feel you,” he mumbled into his crushed pillow squished between his arm and cheek. 

You’d been scooting away from him for the past ten minutes. Not because you desired distance—quite the opposite—you couldn’t fathom the way his skin gave off heat. He was a fire waiting to burn you, singe the hair on your arm and beg for more to consume. You were merely asking for reprieve from the suffocating way he felt atop you in the middle of the night.

Spring in Texas was promised to be cool. Sunny air, bright dispositions, and weather you’d find in a luxury brand’s catalog. The kind his mother kept around for you when they arrived in the mail. Yet as soon as May set in, welcoming humanity with open arms and blooming flowers, the heat shoved its way forward. Settling into the air with a vengeance. A promise that you’d suffer through the next few months until you felt defeated enough to beg for winter.

“It’s hot,” you whined, shoving the thin gray sheet off your body. “I need a cold shower.”

“Mm.” His arm slid beneath the covers, tanned skin and already rough fingers reaching out to find you. “Sounds like a good idea.”

You bit back your smile and scooched even closer to the edge of the mattress—your leg halfway off and nearly to the floor. “I meant for me.”

The mess of rumpled brown hair shot up from his pillow, hazy brown eyes catching you in the snare of their web. “You’d leave me outta that?”

“Joel—”

“Cold water and you naked?” He shook his head, flipping onto his back and sitting up before you could get both feet on the floor. “Sorry darlin’. Ain’t happenin’.”

“You’ll distract me.”

He smiled all lazy and warm. Enough to have you considering your chances of braving the overheated bed sheets that still clung to your thigh. Joel in the morning wasn’t a sight to forget so quickly. He looked like he’d been dragged from sleep roughly, as if he’d rather spend hours more in the unconscious state than out with the real world. But when he gazed at you like this—eyes glassy with sleep and lips curled into a soft smile—you finally understood why people died for the ones they love.

“That’s the point.”

How could you argue? When he practically pleaded with you through his gaze alone. His hand grabbed ahold of your upper thigh, fingers digging into the warm flesh in order to yank you closer. Fighting his strength was no use when you were lazy with sleep yourself. Still halfway past the waking point and a dreamland that housed an image of a man who looked oddly like Joel.

Just a few years older.

“What time do you work today?”

He grunted. Awake enough to comprehend you naked, but still far too delirious to realize he’d have to be up in an hour to make it on time. He slept less than he wanted, but on days where the sun was warm and spring beckoned life forward, he didn’t mind so much.

Tommy being away didn’t help the loneliness that had settled on his shoulders within the past few months. His younger brother—the troublemaker. More fuckin’ trouble than he’s worth. Were words Joel was spouting two months ago the night before Tommy’s leave; you caught the pain in his eyes, the dull emptiness that chewed away in his chest.

Despite the multiple jests and bickered words that never quite stuck like they used to—now that they both knew there’d be no time to make up with cheap beer snuck into the backyard and cigarettes Joel claimed weren’t his—Joel would miss his brother.

“Two hours,” he mumbled, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye.

“Then go back to sleep.”

His gaze narrowed. “You’re gonna have to get back in.”

“Why?” You rolled your eyes, already reaching for his t-shirt tossed to the side last night when silence gave way to heady looks and soft promises beneath the light of the moon.

“Can’t sleep when you’re not here,” he huffed, falling back into the mess of sheets. “Need to feel you.”

An ache pricked at your heart, barely a nick in the fleshy organ, but you knew you’d feel it in a year's time. When life looked different. When life shined a bit brighter and Joel finally started up his business. When those promises came with a feasible future.

Wordlessly, you climbed back underneath the too warm sheet that immediately settled over you like a muggy cloud. But Joel’s hands sliding around your waist, tugging you closer, appeased whatever discomfort that attempted to push through. As if his touch was a promise of protection against the weather’s strange antics. A warning to be careful not to fall in too deeply. Lest you wind up left with a broken barely beating heart and a hollow space where he once occupied.

“What are you doin’ today?” he breathed, his leg sliding between yours, ankle hooking around the back of your calf.

Your hands found their way into the tendrils of his hair that stuck up in the back—curling with the heat. “The diner opens at ten.”

He hummed. “I’ll be there for breakfast.”

“Mr. Miller, what on Earth will people think of us?”

“That you’re my fuckin’ girl.” His eyes fluttered open, lashes longer than yours yet still dainty against his face. “Besides. We always have breakfast together.”

You hummed, bliss soaring in your heart as you shifted closer. Life with Joel must resemble this. Simplicity in such a small bubble of privacy you already created together. Mornings filled with coffee over a shared newspaper, lunch on the phone, dinner in a kitchen that always needed cleaning. Nights on the couch until one (or both) of you fell asleep, until Joel eventually woke, leading you to the mattress that would engulf your hopes and dreams with open arms.

The promise of domesticity with the knowledge that it would always be more.

“I have a question,” you whispered.

“Uh oh.”

An audible groan echoed in the room when your elbow met his stomach lightly. “It’s not a bad one.”

“Then shoot darlin’.”

“Romantic. Cowboy,” you scoffed. “What’s our life gonna be like in five years?”

He stilled. The hand sliding gently along your hip in soothing motions suddenly a heavy press against your waist. And you could feel the weight in your chest begin to sink like an anchor, settling in your stomach with force. Lead, cannonballs, the pain of intestines twisting and twining. It all hit you like a hurricane rushing to the shore, wiping clean every bit of life in its path. There was no swimming away from it, no catching the path of the torrential waves that sucked you under.

You could only wait, breaths measured and heart racing, as he processed your words.

“Got somethin’ to tell me honey?”

The gravity in his eyes nearly floored you—his meaning slamming into you with enough fervor to make you lose your breath. “No! Fuck. No, no, no, no—”

The solemn way he watched you never wavered, even as you breathed a laugh in the hopes of moving on quickly. “Definitely not that.” You sucked in a breath, lighter than before. “I just meant…what will we be in five years?”

His lips twitched, hand sliding even lower in order to cup your ass. “Hopefully that.”

“Joel—”

“I love you darlin’.” Something familiar—warm like the soothing balm of the sun caressing your skin in the afternoon—bloomed in your chest. Enough to make you nearly tear up. “That ain’t gonna change in one year or five or ten or even twenty.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, curling in so close your lips brushed his. “You sure you won’t get sick of me?”

He huffed, lips capturing yours briefly as his eyes slid closed. “Can’t get sick of somethin’ I’m addicted to.”

You laughed into the kiss, eyes daring a glimpse at his serene expression. “I’ll hold you to that in twenty years Miller.”

“Good.” His face dug into the crook of your neck, body wrapped around yours. “Means you’ll be around.”

The sheet lay above your heads, forming a haven you had no desire to leave. A space that breathed whispers of a future you could finally form a picture of. What once existed in a dreamscape you often habited on nights spent grasping for more than simply one spring and summer, now turned physical. Slowly shaping that malleable past that led you to right here.

[dclovesdanny]

DC XDP prompt

OK, I made a similar prompt to this one for dead on Main earlier, but I want to slightly change it up

Demon twins AU where Danny was sent to the Fenton by Talia, so that Ra’s could not kill him. He and Damian both believed the other two be dead until about age 16, when they meet due to the justice league summoning Danny.

They did the whole reconciliation thing, but the world ended up going into chaos. The GIW destroyed part of the portal, damaging Danny’s grave, and causing him to go into something similar to shock, severely weakening his powers. The league of assassins also made a mess of things, and now Danny and Damian are the only members of the family who are still able to fight. Damian has just sustained a massive injury on his side, and Danny is getting sick the longer he goes without good ectoplasm, becoming almost feral.

Clockwork offers them a deal to go back, but their bodies will carry over all injuries, including Danny being half dead. They will also have to destroy the Lazarus pits, (in this AU, the pits are a natural portal that was forcibly anchored, making it very toxic ectoplasm, similar to mold and poison.) 

They accept, and Danny and Damian wake up. Danny wakes up alone in his room at 10 years old, and Damian wakes up in his bedroom first tonight he ever spent with the Wayne’s.

The problem, is that Jazz finds her brother crying in his bedroom, with lots of scars, and his eyes glowing green. She is trying to calm her adoptive brother down as he cries in her arms, but she can hear her parents downstairs talking about the portal flickering, and has a sinking feeling in her chest.

In Manor, Alfred has gone to wake up the new master Damian, only to find him staring out the window as he bandages an injury on his side that seems to have not been treated before. The angry boy from last night seems to be gone, and his place is a scared child, one who immediately goes into a defensive position when he notices someone entering, before calming when seeing it was only him.