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python333 · 8 months

Note

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

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synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining.

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water.

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid.

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge.

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office.

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud.

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!”

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands.

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response.

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.”

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.”

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap.

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did.

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast.

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso.

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today.

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter.

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine.

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir.

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine.

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ‘espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it.

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something?

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there.

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does.

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did.

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?”

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.”

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms.

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.”

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.”

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.”

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost.

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this.

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it.

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg.

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this.

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it.

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall.

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on.

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has.

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes.

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle.

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink.

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed.

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit.

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it.

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in.

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?”

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.”

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion.

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?”

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug.

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?”

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.”

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms.

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost.

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.”

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.”

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar.

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee.

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!”

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap.

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?”

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.”

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white.

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.”

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact.

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.”

“Your favorite what?”

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.”

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.”

“I can just taste the love in it.”

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee.

“Not if it’s the one I used.”

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh.

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

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courtneysartblog · 2 months

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The existence of certain Queen songs that have the potential to be in season 3 (it’s a hard life, love of my life, who wants to live forever, the show must go on, etc.)

me:

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #goodomensseason2 #crowly x aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #I’m watching you very closely Neil #I’ve been a queen fan since I was like 12 I will go feral the moment one starts

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incorrect-hunger-games-quotes · 11 months

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Peeta: I need advice.

Haymitch: with what?

Peeta: Love. How did you find out you were in love with Effie?

Haymitch: ...

Haymitch: I'm in love with Effie?

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freewombatconnoisseur · 5 months

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𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠, ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑

Genre: sligh smut, fluff tho

Warning: nsfw, aftercare, soft Jack, implied smut

Pairing: jack Harlow x reader

Author note: I gotta make a jack Masterlist

Comments and reblogs welcome

Enjoy

GIF by simplicitywrites

Jack kissed up your chest as it rose and fell. A minute ago he had just pulled a 4th orgasm from you. You were a sensitive mess, with your mind completely empty from everything. Jack said beforehand he was going to make you forget your name, he very much kept that promise.

Jack ran his hand over your cheek, wiping a stray tear away as he did. He smiled softly looking into Your soft eyes "You ok?" He asked in a soft tone. "You smiled weakly as you nodded, "yeah, I'm ok."

Jack smiled, "ok." Jack kissed your lips gently with his soft pink ones. You moaned a little when he pulled away. "im going to go run the tub."

Jack got up, he pulled on his robe before walking over to the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom. You listened as the tub faucet started running. A few minutes passed before jack opened the door.

"I got you a bath mamas." Jack mumbled. he grabbed your hand pulling you up. You chuckled as jack grabbed your waist helping you stand up. your legs felt like jelly after all of that action.

Jack walked with you into the bathroom. In their the lights were dim down low, the tub was filled with bubbles and a few candles were sitting on the counter. You smiled at the little arrangement jack had set out.

You hopped into the tub with jacks help. The warm water enveloped your body making you sigh out of relief and relax into the side of the tub.

Jack took the time to take off his robe and slip into the tub, sitting across from you. You smiled at him as you brought your knees to your chest.

"what are you smiling about mamas?" Jack asked you. "I just really love you."

"yeah I know, but you don't love me more than I love you."

You frowned. "Yeah.. not true." You sat up on your knees, water moved around as you straddled Jack. He grabbed your hips as he peered up at you with a smirk. You smiled as you ran your wet hands through his curls. "I love you."

Jack hummed. "I love you too mamas."

You kissed Jack roughly. He gripped your hip tighter as you slightly grinned down on him. You moaned as you felt Jack's tongue slip into your mouth. "Jack." You breathed out as you pulled away.

"hm?" He asked as he looked up at you. "You're getting hard again?" Jack laughed lazily. "Of course I am, you're too fucking hot mamas. I'll fuck you again right here."

You laughed as jack began to kiss down your neck. "Go ahead."

Jack pulled away from your neck. He smirked. "Say no less baby." He grabbed your face, kissing you hardly. Boy was it going to be a long night.

#Jan 2 #2022 #iguessweallcrazyithinktho #Jun 12 #𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 #jack harlow smut #jack harlow x reader #jack Harlow fanfiction #Jack Harlow x you #jack harlow

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inkskinned · 2 years

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i both firmly believe that self-diagnosing saved my life and i think that the way tiktok and instagram have recently been spreading misinformation about mental illness/neurodivergence is incredibly harmful.

people who are looking for answers are already people who are in a vulnerable situation.

much of the misinformation appears logically sound; and is presented as definitive fact (prefaced with claims such as "research shows"). it's imperative we remember correlation does not prove causation. it is incredibly dangerous to make definitive statements like "if X happened in your childhood, you now Z as an adult." real scientists will almost always use may or other less-definitive terms. similarly, equating one behavior/experience with any single condition is also unsafe. many conditions have overlapping symptoms; and many people "mask" their key symptoms, even to themselves.

we cannot discern from a singular data point any conclusion. in official diagnosis, for a behavior/experience to be considered a symptom, it must significantly influence your life. many people enjoy an organized space. that is a preference. disrupting your daily life even at personal cost in order to prioritize organization is more likely a symptom.

again, a single data point is not an effective diagnostic tool. it is necessary and important work to catalogue and consider all unwanted/distressing behaviors in order to understand a complete picture of the person.

i will see creators in paid partnerships make generalized behavioral/emotional claims that apply to a large portion of a community, and then they will suggest that the "solution" to that behavior is through their paid partner/through their personal support. "follow for more psych tips/facts" is an incredibly evil marketing tactic. i very rarely see unpartnered/unbranded content on how to aid/comfort those behaviors and feelings.

much of the misinformation employs a subtle technique (called confirmation bias) of setting up a conclusion before "proving" the conclusion. "you know you have X when you experience A,B, and C." no person's experience of their conditions/behaviors will look exactly the same as another's. while knowing certain things might be a sign/symptom of a condition, it is irresponsible to consider it definitive.

confirmation bias is unfortunately extremely effective on tiktok specifically. the algorithm will notice that you interacted longer with the video that "proves" (through a singular video) that you "have" a condition. it will continue to feed you related videos that further confirm what you believe.

this is dangerous because we are, unfortunately, not good at knowing ourselves. i did not know it was unusual to vividly nightmare every night; i didn't consider it a symptom. i was similarly dismissive also of any other signs of my PTSD - i incorrectly assigned them to anxiety/adhd. on the small scale, this can mean a longer journey to healing. on the larger scale, it can mean people with extremely difficult situations are unable to get the help they need.

please, if you can, and you're looking to self-diagnose: be careful about what you assume about yourself. try to keep an honest journal of what you're thinking/feeling/doing for a few days.

do not go in with an assumption. try to keep an open mind. i think we all "suspect" we have something - but like i said, i completely missed my own PTSD symptoms, because i suspected the ADHD the most, and only "saw" those symptoms.

do your own research. if the tiktok says "research shows", google that research. figure out who paid for that research. do further research related to that study - has it ever been repeated? is it peer reviewed? do other researchers seem to accept it as conclusive?

if you feel you really resonate with the materials of one person's experience with a condition, find other examples. see if you relate to other creators who identify similarly.

and please - please do not stop once you come to a conclusion. i fully believe that the diagnostic process should be seen as a first step, not a destination. by knowing what you might be struggling with, you gain an incredibly powerful tool on how to gain peace with that condition.

if you feel yourself emotionally respond to a tiktok/etc that suggests something that might be true about yourself, i'm glad you had that experience. but it's also important to not relax into the "easy" answer. interrogate it. start googling what else that could mean; what ways you could work on healing that wound.

healing does not "belong" to any one condition. i want you to begin to look into healing no matter if you have "proven" you have a condition or not. it is never selfish to practice responsible self-care. even if you don't relate to having adhd, you are not harming me by using adhd-inspired study tips. it is not making my condition worse for you to seek peace by asking for more time on tests. even if it was - the fault would be with the system, not in your need of something the system makes inaccessible.

remind yourself that everything you experience is real. and because it is real, it is complicated. while things might be related - even sometimes clearly related - a stranger on the internet cannot make that discernment for you. you as a person deserve the work, attention, and care that goes into the process of unravelling the harm that has been done to you.

it makes me very, very upset to see how popular these videos have become, because they're so irresponsible. and they clearly are targeting a vulnerable group. for example, making generalized claims about children of unloving caretakers is targeting those who have experienced neglect. there is no way to use 30 second videos to correctly analyze what that neglect might have caused in your adult life. i'm sorry, but it's snake oil.

i know it is so powerful soothing to recognize that you aren't broken. that others exist like you out there. i want every person looking for answers to find their answer. i want you to feel seen and heard and understood. i want you to find your community.

i just want it to happen safely.

#every time i write this im like #i just want to say a short thing about this #and every time it ends up being 12 pages long #but since it keeps happening #and i keep seeing shit like this...#this isn't even everything i feel about this #i hope this is clear like #what im saying is #NOT ''you don't have it if u selfdiagnose''#it's instead....#you might!!! just don't let 1 or 2 videos confirm it!!#also!!! don't assume that symptom A belongs to condition X!!#even as someone who did eventually get diagnosed like #i still find myself being like - oh that's my adhd #only to figure out 12 hours later. nope that was a panic attack #also none of those videos are about how to HELP the behavior #also this doesn't talk about getting a therapist eventually but please get professional help if you can #it took me fucking forever tho #what im saying is that in the meantime #u can heal now #this is too long im posting it on a sunday so nobody reads it

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cherryslyce · 1 year

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Sharp Knives, Sharp Gazes | Clove Kentwell

Synopsis: A dangerous attraction to one of the deadly careers leads to more than you could have bargained for, including unlikely friendships and romance.

Masterlist

Pairing: Clove Kentwell x District 4!Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant (Glimmer lives, careers are OOC because they are not mindless killers). Someone save Finnick before Y/N gives him a heart attack. Marvel is fun to write, even though I'm a Cato fan.

A prickle of anxiety jolted down your spine as you lifted your eyes and met a pair of amused ones. Your eyes flickered down and paused on the grin stretching across her freckled face.

She was undeniably pretty, but the deadly glint in her eyes convinced your fellow tributes to stay away from her. Somehow, you had caught her attention and you would have been endlessly flustered had it not been for the dire circumstances you found yourself in.

“Hey, 4. You look scrappy enough. Good. The last few years your district has produced nothing but disappointments.”

You snap out of your trance and tear your gaze away from the menacing girl from District 2, coming face to face with the smug male tribute from 1–Marvel.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, 1.”

“Feisty. Look, for some reason Clove thinks it would be interesting to bring you into our fold. Don’t look at me like that, she said it, not me. So what do you say? Care to live up to District 4’s legacy as a part of the Career Pack, or are you going to scamper around and die off like a fish out of water?”

The boy finished his (very convincing) speech with a sigh as if you were the terrible inconvenience in this situation. Although, despite how annoyed you grew with him, you respected his skills with a spear and it was apparent he held some begrudging respect for you as well.

“Clove? I thought Cato was your leader? I don’t think he’s open for recruitment, shouldn’t you run this idea past him first?”

“He’s not a dictator, you’ll be fine. Besides, we can all see how valuable you are. You fling around that trident of yours like it’s an extension of your arm.”

Oh. Marvel just praised you. Had you knocked your head too many times on the train ride to the Capitol?

“And then what, you’ll slit my throat in my sleep when I’m no longer of use?”

He smiles a little at your retort before growing serious, an expression so foreign on his face that you couldn't help but wait patiently to hear what he had to say next.

“Maybe. But you have a better chance with us. Who knows, maybe you’ll even win this and get to go home. Bring pride to your district and whatnot.”

You were definitely dreaming. This was the same Marvel who you thought was a bloodthirsty, hormonal time bomb. Turns out he may hate this situation nearly as much as you.

“I’ll think about it. See you at the interviews tonight, Marvel.”

He nods as if expecting your answer, though you catch his eyebrows raising up as you address him properly for the first time.

“See you around, Y/N.”

As he stalks off towards his favorite station--the spear throw station, you look around to see Clove watching you with an unreadable expression. Luckily, it appeared to be less murderous than usual.

Well that’s nice. Better than having her plotting ways to skin me.

It is not until you’re waiting in line for the interviews with Caesar to start that Clove finally approaches you.

“Y/N. Marvel said you would consider joining us in the arena. I look forward to it.”

You gape as you look at the girl, face heating up uncomfortably as you could barely register her words. She looked so…pretty.

The girl looks at you in concealed wonder, eyes twinkling with mischief. You’re confused for a few moments before you make eye contact with an amused Marvel behind her.

“You don’t look bad yourself, Y/N.”

The girl spins around and stalks off towards Cato who’s begun watching the three of you like you’ve all grown another head.

“Smooth. Didn’t know you had the hots for her. I guess you were quite happy that she was the one to ask for you.”

Marvel grins at you, and for once it’s not a condescending ‘I’m better than you’ type of grin. You groan quietly to yourself, too tired to even flinch when he swings an arm around your shoulder and drags you towards the line of tributes.

Well if the other tributes had no idea of your allegiance, they sure did now.

“So you’re with us then?”

“I don’t have any other choice, you’re already clinging to me like a barnacle.”

Cato smiles, oh so minutely, at your remark to Marvel, nodding at you with a reinvigorated respect that he didn’t seem to extend to many.

Glimmer’s pleased grin greets you briefly before she’s being ushered onto the stage, her face morphing into a blinding, albeit fake, smile.

And so it begins. Hopefully Finnick would be able to nab some sponsors for you.

Yeah. Some sponsors would be good right about now.

You were on the verge of just throwing yourself face-first into Cato’s sword.

Glimmer had a close call with a swarm of tracker jackers, and somehow in the mess Katniss managed to escape. To say your allies were pissed would be the understatement of the year.

Seriously, you were sure one of the trees began to wilt after being faced with the withering look Cato sent it.

”Y/N. Go with Clove to gather some wood.”

“Yes, dad.”

Cato looks around before shooting a quick middle finger at you, an exasperated twitch of the lip taking over his face for the briefest moment before defaulting to his usual grimace of contained rage.

You were sure he was somewhat fond of you considering he hadn’t tried to bite your head off yet.

You round on your heel, habitually twirling your trident over your wrist. Clove is not far behind you as you dart your eyes around the trees.

“Once I get my hands on fire girl, I’m going to tear her limb from limb.”

“I have no doubt you will. Can’t say I’m her biggest fan at the moment. She was aiming to snatch Glimmer’s bow, who knows what kind of devastation she would reign upon us if she succeeded. Good thing one of us managed to wake up.”

“Hm, pretty smug for someone who was cuddled up on me all night like a toasted log.”

A laugh manages to slip through your lips and you’re positive everyone watching back at home is convinced you’ve lost your mind. Seriously, laughing from actual joy during the Hunger Games while stranded in a pack of groomed killers is not the sanest of activities.

Honestly, you would give anything to see how Finnick was coping.

You look back quick enough to catch a pleased look wash over Clove’s features.

Before you could even stop yourself, a river of words flew out of your mouth and you were stuck between not caring and being mortified.

“I meant what I said by the way. You’re really pretty.”

Your remark must have caught her off guard as she suddenly stops midstep, an unnerving silence blanketing around the both of you.

“It’s a shame then, that we met here of all places.” Clove’s words held no bite, though the bitterness in her tone was evident to anyone with a good set of ears.

Taking a hesitant step towards her, you slowly and shakily reach down for her hand. Clove looks down at your fingers, swiftly meeting you in the middle and clasping your fingers together.

“It’s not so bad. After all, we wouldn’t have met if not for the games. I’m glad I get to spend what’s left of my life here with you guys.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

Clove’s sudden fury was not aimed at you, but at something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“You’re right, who could have foreseen me getting along with Cato of all people.”

“No. I mean don’t talk like you’re already dead.”

Clove’s stern words take you by surprise, and a sudden tightness constricts your throat as you swallow down a wave of fondness.

She was looking at you like you could actually win this whole thing. Like it didn’t matter to her if that meant she would have to die.

She steps towards you, a vulnerable glint flecking at the usual indifference of her gaze. Her mind was trained to be a killer, but District 2’s Academy did little to train her heart.

You bring your free hand to cup her cheek, breaking into a watery smile. Leaning over, you press your lips firmly on hers.

Suddenly it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that your moment of vulnerability was being televised to the rest of the nation. It didn’t matter that Finnick was probably dragging his hands down his face in exasperation in the District 4 apartment. It didn’t matter that someone could break through the tree line and jam a knife into your neck.

Clove kissed back with the same amount of fervor, hands slowly rising up to hug your waist.

Fuck. You were ready to throw your life away to make sure she made it out of here. And all it took was her pretty little freckled face and her fiery eyes.

After what seemed to be an eternity, you both pull away for air. You gently brush her cheek with your thumb as she gripped your waist tighter.

“I’m going to make sure you go home, Clove.”

Before she could retort, you both snap out of your little moment as voices approach from behind you.

“Fuck. See, I told you! Wood, my ass! They’re sucking face!”

Marvel’s voice rings through the air and suddenly your three allies are approaching you both, donning similar amused looks.

“I guess this note makes a lot more sense now.”

Cato’s words only serve to confuse you until he holds up a sponsor package along with a note.

‘Tell Y/N that she’s killing me -F’

“He has a flair for dramatics.” Glimmer’s words were just so incredibly ironic that you and the others had to make effort to bury the thought.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

#the hunger games #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games x reader #clove kentwell #clove kentwell x reader #clove kentwell imagine #cato hadley #the hunger games marvel #the hunger games glimmer #district 4 #district 12 #district 2 #district 1

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