mix-ups, mayhem, and gay weddings!

kitty — (any prns)  •  multifandom !!  •  requests: full & closed for now •  main: @frogssincorner

[imkittyjustkitty]

hello & welcome to my fanfic writing sideblog !

[ kitty — ( any pronouns ) — queer — neurodivergent ]

🌺 — Requesting Guidelines ( who i write for , what i'll write , and requesting rules )

💐 — Tag Navigation

🎨 — My Masterlist includes my reader insert masterlist

[aubeystawby]

my halloween 2023 fic bingo!

Posting this relatively early so I can write everything in time for October!

You can find my list of who I write for here! - I'll write for any of the fandoms on this list! I couldn't link my fandom list for some reason, but you can find it through my pinned post!

Send in an ask/message/comment/just tell me however works for you, which character(s) you want a fic for with a certain prompt! You can also include what you specifically might want me to write with that prompt in your request! 💛

Once a prompt has been claimed, I won't accept any other requests for that specific prompt (But you can change your request to a different prompt if this is the case!). You are also free to send in more than one request.

Below is a list of the prompts, and I will update this list as requests come in so you know which prompts are still free!

funeral home

haunted

trick or treating

makeup

ghost(s)

poison apple

midnight

vampire

cemetery

murder

witch

matching costumes

halloween party

connection

cabin in the woods

eternity

[aubeystawby]

I'm really in a hunger games mood tonight, please send in any requests for it!!! i'm happy to write familial, platonic, romantic, polyamorous, etc!!

(also happy to write for tbosas characters!)

[shefollowedthestars]

homemade cookies - blog recs! give me a fandom and i'll tag some blogs (that somewhat surround that fandom) that i think you should check out!

CAN I ASK FOR LITTLE WOMEN PLEASEEE??

yes ofc! i don't know if many little women blogs or multifandom blogs that are in the little women fandom, so i did some digging!! here are a few i found:

@joandfriedrich

@cauliflowertree

@imkittyjustkitty

(the last two are multifandom blogs!)

[imkittyjustkitty]

I can't believe I only just saw this! Thank you so much <33

[imkittyjustkitty]

② are we dancing after death?

🔱 — i'd meet the sea ༄ ⠀finnick odair x gn!tribute!reader ⚔️ 🔖) [one] CHAPTER TWO [three] [four] [five] [six] [seven] [eight]

chapter synopsis; The Quarter Quell nears. warnings; blood & veins mentioned once or twice, implied/mentioned prostitution (doesn't happen to reader), reader imagines strangling someone, like one swear word A/N; paragraphs in italics are flashbacks, i got a bit excited about mentioning other canonical district 10 victors (plus an oc who may or may not show up later 👀), i'm also not too sure how mentors are chosen for the games each year? also i just want to say thank you so much for the support on the first chapter, it makes me so happy to know people are enjoying this series as much as i am!!

It's warm, as it always is in District 10. It may be winter and the temperature is noticeably colder, but you still find that walking around outside with a warm coat on does more discomfort for you than if you were to walk around in the vaguely-cold weather without it.

It's been almost seven years since you'd entered the arena and emerged from the other side a victor. Since then your life in 10 has been undeniably empty, a lonely existence that seems to only serve as a reminder that tiptoes dangerously on the border of a punishment.

You've even found yourself looking forward to the games, if only for the possibility of being chosen as a mentor that year and being able to see.. a certain someone.

You'd met Finnick a couple years ago, when some very enthusiastic 'fans' of yours had practically begged some rich public figure in the Capitol to invite you to a party they were holding. They'd said it was an invite you were free to decline (Though it would 'break their hearts' if you did), but when a group of peacekeepers showed up at your doorstep the morning you were expected to take a train to the Capitol, it was made very apparent you had no choice but to play along with the rich snobs who had demanded your attendance.

You couldn't bring yourself to care too much, very well aware that you were not special in any regard in this situation, victors don't get a day of rest if even one Capitol citizen decides they want you around. You supposed you could even go as far as to say you were lucky, considering they didn't ask for anything other than your attendance.

The Capitol is suffocating, though that should be no surprise. The lights are bright and music beats out of speakers like thick blood pumping through heavy veins.

Your surroundings pound against your walls, a heavy throbbing in your head as you try to seclude yourself to a corner of the giant roof-top party. Your outfit — a 'gift' from a particularly enthusiastic designer — is as ugly as it gets, a green shade that resembles animal faeces more than the it does the tree leaves in 7 that the designer was undoubtedly trying to replicate. It sticks like honey, clinging to every inch of your skin that it covers, almost like a portable prison cell as you try and fail to even lift your arm above your waist.

You calm your frustration by imagining a scenario in which you can rip this fabric prison right off your body and strangle the woman who practically forced you into it.

You'd never do it, but — as some bright red drink that you haven't taken a single sip of sits in your hand heavy like a a threat begging to be heeded, and the world around you is completely out of control full of people who view you as less of a human and more of an accessory, — it doesn't hurt to daydream a little.

You're aware of your resting facial expressions usually resembling that of someone planning a murder — which to be fair is rather accurate right now — so as you notice a shadow in the vague form of a person approaching you, you prepare yourself for the same overused ice-breakers that tipsy Capitol citizens seem to love so much.

What catches you off guard, is the when the figure simply rests against the same wall you're leaning on beside you, not yet saying a word. You blink quickly, trying to clear the fog in your eyes to see who stands beside you.

You think that maybe this stranger finds the silence comforting, maybe they're just trying to get away from the loudness and crowdedness of the party like you. But for you, the silence is anything but comforting, the fact this person has not said a word to explain why they're now standing with you, and you can't even make out who they are in the dim lighting and fog that's building up behind your eyes all night, only scares you.

It's a whisper straight into the wind — when the stranger finally talks — almost like a test to see if you care enough to listen. You do.

He says your first and last name quietly, not like a greeting but rather just a statement void of any goal.

And then he introduces himself, Finnick Odair. You can tell he's known since the moment his eyes landed on you that you're not a Capitol citizen, he says he doesn't make a point to remember the names of every victor that gets tossed aside and forgotten by the Capitol, but he recognises you.

You recognise him too, by name. He had been someone your mother had compared you to late one night, a boy who had won the games so young, just like you were meant to.

But now he wasn't a young boy you'd resented for less than a moment after being basically told he was everything you weren't. In fact, he was better company than anyone you'd met in your whole life.

You carefully make your way through District 10, the wide fields and twisting footpaths granting you a world where for a moment you can pretend you're the only one here, that beyond blades of grass and unstable barns sits only empty land and freedom.

And then your feet hit the pavement of the Victor's village, your silent bubble immediately broken as the sounds of life and activity echo through the rows of houses.

You can hear the sounds of footsteps hitting the ground, and slight conversation mixes with the wind as you watch your neighbours living their lives around you.

The house closest to your left is dusty and not well-kept — as it always has been — the only sign of life being the open curtains, which slightly reveal an old woman by the name of Tule standing with her hands leaning against a kitchen bench, and a slightly taller old man — Greir — sitting on a stiff armchair in front of a television, both undoubtedly preparing for what everyone else is.

To your right, is the Yule household. The houses in the Victor's Village are big, spacious in a way that makes you feel lonely, but in a way that has served yet another victor; Phox — and her family — very well. You can hear through the slightly opened windows that most of them must be gathered in the living room too.

Neighbouring Phox's home, is Karter Breer's, District 10's most recent victor. They won 3 years ago, a year which you couldn't remember anything about other than who won. You know very little about Karter — you've slowly learnt little things here and there about your other fellow victors purely from living near them for so long, and Karter's only lived here for a shorter time than you — but you expect that once their extents of self-isolation lessen and they leave the house more, you'll know just as much about them as you do about every member of Phox's family.

As you keep walking — your shoes hitting the uneven concrete rather ungracefully — you pass an empty house or two, Tule's home, and even the home of Alto; possibly the only other inhabitant of this row of houses who can compete against Karter for loneliest Victor.

You pass more houses — at least four — until you reach yours. It sits right in the corner of the tall fences that surrounds the community here, purposefully as far away from the entrance gate and all your neighbours' houses.

You unlock the front door and try not to wince as it creaks loudly. The inside of your house is undeniably yours. As much as you isolate yourself, you're still human, and you've still slowly made this place your own... and possibly in the process made it Finnick's too.

One of the details that makes it very clear that this house — while you may still be the only one who lives in it — is not yours alone, is the ribbons.

They're tied to chair legs and door handles, each one taking you back to all the moments in which Finnick had tied the different colours around your hair, or wrapped around your wrist like a homemade bracelet, or even daintily tied around your finger when you weren't looking.

They admittedly look a bit tacky, they make your house look almost unkempt to anyone else. But to you, they make this hollow shell of a building more of a home, or at least a reminder of a home you do have, even if it may not be right here.

"Someone is staring."

You don't want to say it any more than he wants to hear it, but the Capitol woman that can't be any more than a few years older than you and Finnick hasn't stopped watching the two of you since she's noticed you.

The ghost of his hand moves away from yours just slightly, an inaudible sigh leaving his lips.

"I should leave..” He whispers to you, making no move to actually walk away.

He’s right, there’s people everywhere, you may not be the only Victors in attendance — although you’re definitely the only ones who look like one of you is about to get down on their knees and ask for the other’s hand in marriage — but that doesn’t mean there's no eyes on you.

You’ve known this all night — known that you’re constantly under surveillance here — but you and Finnick haven’t seen each other in months, haven't been able to speak let alone hold one another. You can’t decide whether you regret risking it all like this or not, him just being close to you feeling like a good enough reason to risk it all.

You don’t answer him, you don't usually do, in a world where you could say so much but have so little time to do so, it grows overwhelming. So your solution is simply say nothing.

Finnick knows this, and loves you for it — not despite — but he also knows that though while you may not say it, you want him to stay with you in this moment where you'll pretend that all is well, even though you both know you shouldn't.

There is a whisper, one purposefully intended to only be audible to you.

"See you later."

Simple. To the point. No room for argument. But you can see, for the fraction of a moment that Finnick's eyes stay on yours and he smiles ever so slightly, there is something more left unsaid.

There's an 'i love you' within that phrase which holds such certainty that you can't help but believe he means it. There's a 'stay safe' almost as a light joke but also meant with full seriousness. And then, for only split second now lost to time, there's a flicker of a sorrowful reality, of something that tells you you both know that later could very well be years.

Later could be later tonight, it could be a moment where you run into each other leaving the party, where you get a chance to pretend no one needs to say goodbye again. Later could be within months, where you could both be chosen as mentors for your districts. Later could be within weeks, one of you could just drop dead at any moment, the other would have to beg and plead to even be allowed into the district where the funeral would be held.

Yet for a moment, it's like Finnick has walked back over to hold your hands in his again, as you mindlessly fidget and simply stare at nothing, your movements freeze when you feel something new around your skin.

And there, wrapped around your pointer finger, is a small yellow ribbon tied in a bow, no doubt the same ribbon that was wrapped around the glass Finnick had been holding not long before.

You may be reading into it too much — as you fiddle with the ribbon, refusing to untie it — but it feels like a promise. That while yes, later will come one way or another no matter how much you try to stop it, but maybe — for now — there is comfort in that.

You can't help but be excited for whatever parties that will be thrown in the coming days, if just to see him as soon as possible.

Your thoughts are only of the possibility of seeing Finnick soon as you walk through the echoing halls of your house, pulling your jacket off tiredly and laying it on the first flat surface you see, then moving to pull your slowly-falling-apart shoes off from your sore feet.

The mundanity of the ritual brings a sort of comfort, your house and dull clothes an unchanging factor in your life (No matter how much several parts of your outfits have been slowly unravelling from unkind weather and getting caught on fences).

For a moment you just stand in the foyer, not too far from the front door. Thoughts don't really cross through your mind as you stand there dully, your gaze simply zoning out where you stand.

A buzz and sudden music coming from your living room pushes you out of this state, your steps calm and un-rushed as you move through your house to eventually find your television showing you the beginnings of a Capitol broadcast.

You sit down on the couch in front of it, slightly leaning forward as to not miss what will soon be said.

Quarter Quells are scary, they're unpredictable, but something deep inside you says it will all be okay, because soon you will see Finnick again at whatever trashy party you're both invited to, and you won't have to give less of a shit about the games.

series taglist: @universal-s1ut @stitch-lele @starrgirl4444 @more-multifandom-of-madness @libbi5001 @lem0ns77 @luvficz @lilmaymayy @magical-spit let me know if you want to be added or removed!

if your @ is bold that means i wasn't able to tag you for some reason, maybe check your settings

[imkittyjustkitty]

hi!! i was wondering if i could be added to the taglist for all thats dead and gone and passed? i LOVE the first chapter its so well done im v excited for the series

Of course!!! And thank you so much this makes me so happy!!! I'm about 2 thirds of the way through the second chapter right now so hopefully i can post it very soon!! 💞💞

[imkittyjustkitty]

i'd meet the sea 🔱 series masterlist ! — finnick odair x tribute!reader set during Catching Fire — 8 Chapters ♡ anyone reaped at the same time as reader is gender neutral so anyone can read this

A/N: The number of chapters and their titles are subject to change as I am still writing and posting them.

① ALL THAT'S DEAD AND GONE AND PASSED summary; Your backstory. Growing up in District 10, training for the games, being reaped... And coming home. warnings; unhealthy family dynamics/childhood, knives/weapons, blood & mild wounds, mentions of animal death & reader killing them, missing persons, mentions of reader killing several people, like one swear word

② ARE WE DANCING AFTER DEATH? summary; The Quarter Quell nears. warnings; blood & veins mentioned once or twice, implied/mentioned prostitution (doesn't happen to reader), reader imagines strangling someone, like one swear word

③ FROM HERE TO KINGDOM COME summary; To be added. warnings; TBD.

④ FOR YOU summary; To be added. warnings; TBD.

⑤ THE SUN IS GOING DOWN summary; To be added. warnings; TBD.

⑥ NO ONE HAS TO UNDERSTAND summary; To be added. warnings; TBD.

⑦ BUY YOURSELF ANOTHER DAY summary; To be added. warnings; TBD.

⑧ THE COLD WIND'S WHISPERING SECRETS IN YOUR EARS summary; To be added. warnings; TBD.

[imkittyjustkitty]

① all that's dead and gone and passed

🔱 — i'd meet the sea ༄ ⠀finnick odair x tribute!reader series ⚔️ 🔖) CHAPTER ONE [two] [three] [four] [five] [six] [seven] [eight]

chapter summary; Your backstory. Growing up in District 10, training for the games, being reaped... And coming home. warnings; unhealthy family dynamics/childhood, knives/weapons, blood & mild wounds, mentions of animal death & reader killing them, missing persons, mentions of reader killing several people, like one swear word A/N; this chapter is just to establish reader's backstory and set up the timing for everything. it's pretty heavy but i don't describe anything too graphically so even if you're a bit squeamish this should be fine!!

The Hunger Games are an entertainment show in all the ways that matter, if anyone plans on surviving them that's how they need to view it. Yes, they serve the purpose they're stated to — they keep the districts at bay, they keep the people's ambitions down and their behaviour in-line — but that's only for the districts.

For the Capitol? When it comes down to it, It's the entertainment event of the year - and a tribute intent on survival needs to treat it like one.

Growing up your mother would teach you how to wield knives and other weapons on the weekends. The memory of losing her brother to the games when she was only 14 and he was only 13 stayed fresh in her mind every time when you were growing up that you'd watch the reaping each year with her, lectures reaching your ears about how one day that would be you, one day you'll be sent off and she'll be damned if you don't make it back.

She'd grip tightly onto your hand every time, almost drawing blood as her nails duck into your soft skin and her hold on you strong.

She would whisper to you in those moments everything about combat she had taught you, mere minutes before each year's reaping she was no longer your mother but rather someone who had known loss and refused to meet it's merciless face yet again. You were not a warrior, you were a soldier who would hang intently onto her every word and order as you would stand with your mother, understanding that in only a few years you would be stood with the other kids your age, waiting to see if you would finally be thrown into the war your mother had been preparing you for.

She treated it like an unavoidable reality, you had been anticipating being reaped your whole life.

Your father on the other hand, saw the games for what they were, entertainment. He'd heard tales passed down generations of family's, friends, brief acquaintances who whispered of the Covey — of the singing girl — how the people of the Capitol latched their claws into her innocent flesh and ate away at her like she was some sort of idol to be held in the limelight and shown off to the world.

Your father understood that what the Capitol wanted was a good show, keep the eyes of their people on the drama and the 'plot'-twists as they punished the descendants of rebels generations after the damage had already been long-since done.

After you'd come home from your mother's training sessions, slight smears of blood grazing along your fingertips and creeping across your warm cheeks, your father would pull you aside as you both would tend to the livestock. He would recall previous tributes, the Covery girl's story always on the tip of his tongue during the lessons, and other young girls who played the part of innocent daughters who were just so excited to be in the Capitol to experience it all - and thus grabbing for the hearts of the Capitol and holding them gently in their grasps. He spoke of the sisters and brothers who simply 'wanted to get back home to their family, please', and who would tear up during their interviews as they recalled all the loving details of their upbringings.

Your father would mention all the facades that tributes tried their desperate hands at, going into detail into every single one and encouraging you to mimic the attributes these children would put on to find any angle that would endear the audiences to themselves.

As you grew, your preparation for The Hunger Games became a second nature. Wake up, feed the cattle, train with your mother, have dinner, practise your act. You were okay with most of the weapons your mother would drop into your hands, you were cool and calculated and never once let it get to you - you hadn't been phased by the fact that this was training for a life-or-death battle since before you'd started middle school.

You and your father had agreed on an act you both had labelled 'The Capitol's Misplaced Jewel', he described it to you like a needle in a haystack. A young farm-raised child that embodied everything that the Capitol citizens would imagine a District 10 citizen to be like, thick accent, crooked smile, but a twinkle in their eyes, all the attributes of a kid who'd grown up in a place where they'd early-on had to learn how to snap a chicken's neck — but without those details, no-one would root for you if they thought you were anything but the digestible image they'd created in their uneducated little heads. You would play the part of a young child who yearned for the glitz and glamour of a world that felt just so tragically out of reach.

And then you turned 12.

Your first proper reaping felt like the end of worlds, you stood among your peers perfectly still. You waited, for your name to be called, to be sent off to the Capitol to do what you'd been taught to do, at twelve years old you closed your eyes for a moment and waited for the rapture, knowing deep down that this was your moment.

And then it all went back to normal, exactly one day went by where it was like you were a five year old just helping out on your family's farm again — and then it was back to the training and acting practice.

Your father was relieved — but even then at only twelve, you could see the confliction in your mother's eyes. She'd given you all of her time and energy to train you to survive something she was so sure you'd get reaped into as soon as you were of age... And yet?

This repeated the next year. It was like the world had ignored your call, forgetting what you were meant for and just dropping you on the side-lines without a care.

Your mother left the next year when you yet again failed to be reaped. She left in the night with almost sign of her departure, not even a note, just a brand new knife stabbed into your bedside table and an air of injustice sweeping through your home that was now only shared between you and your father.

Year after year you were denied your passage to the Capitol.

You stopped waiting for it, you stopped staying up late at night wishing for your name to be plucked out of the signature glass bowl. You moved on.

18 years old and still you lived in the same old farm-house with your same old life that seemed to never change with the tides.

You remember the day vividly - something you're not used to being able to do anymore — you remember the scratch of the over-all's you'd worn to every reaping since you were sixteen, the collared shirt you'd borrowed from your father sticking to your rough skin in the dry summer air as you slowly moved with the flow of other District 10 citizens to the town hall.

You hadn't been listening, well aware of the safety net you'd been granted that seemed to decide you would be free of the games forever.

And then several of your classmates were pushing you away, towards the makeshift stage in front of the town hall. Your eyelids were heavy and confused as the peacekeepers had grabbed you by both your arms and practically dragged you up to the podium.

A man was talking to you, his skin was pale and paper-thin, makeup caked on his slim body and an air of superiority that made you view him as a seventy year old who'd just taken his first dose of morphling and had yet to experience the actual effects — the paper-bag of a man looked like he felt he was above it all, and you bet he felt like such a charitable person for lifting you up to there with him.

The other tribute was fourteen years old and rather good at pretending they weren't scared shitless — you were pretty sure you'd never seen them before in your life.

Your goodbyes consisted of your father reminding you of your 'ditzy farm-raised persona' and how you should act as them. You didn't know how to feel about that at that point, the act you and your father had curated fit a small chubby-cheeked wide-eyed twelve year old, not the hardened closed-off eighteen year old you'd grown into.

One other person came to say goodbye, an old woman who you were pretty sure had been an enemy of your mother's after she had taken too long to find the right amount of hay one winter's day.

She simply reached out to you and held your hand, nodding to herself more than to you. The moment was silent, until you'd grown suffocated by her presence and pushed the frail woman away. She smelt like your mother, she probably thought like her too, probably only came to wish you luck because of some guilt she had felt in the past.

You didn't help her back up after she'd tripped over the carpet and hit the ground harshly, but you didn't kick her while she was down.

You found yourself wishing that your mother would join you for one last time, and perhaps even sneak a knife into your pocket for good measure.

She never did of course, she was long gone and you knew it.

Stepping out of the town hall towards the train that would be your ticket to the Capitol was easy for you, you felt a déjà vu that told you you were doing what you had meant to be doing in all those years prior.

Everything from there was crystal clear, from the chariots to your interview to every single moment spent in the arena. You remember every single kill, everything you said, every gasp you elicited from disgusted Capitol members during your three minute interview with Caesar Flickerman. You had dropped the idea of the farm-girl act, you were eighteen and looked even older — not a single person would believe you to be a bright-eyed bushy-tailed girl who just dreamed to indulge in the glitz and glamour of the Capitol.

No, you had the rough blistered hands of someone who could be gossiped to be a cold-blooded murderer back home and people would believe it, the sunken eyes that should belong on the face of a worn-out single mother who refuses to let go of her dwindling hope. You were a ghost of who you were meant to be, so you took a different angle in curating a Hunger Games Persona.

You told Caesar the detailed story of the first time you'd had to kill an animal, staring right into a camera lens or right into his bright eyes. You fabricated a story of countless friends you had lost due to your violent inclinations, of your yearning for blood. The Capitol hated you, they were your villain, the one everyone wanted gone.

But you were the one who refused to 'just die already!', who in turn took up a considerable amount of screen-time just for the shock-value of it all.

You'd struck up an alliance with your district partner — Aleks — they turned out to be somewhat capable with tracking setting traps. You immediately 'befriended' them, noticing the merit in having a sort of ally by your side would up your chances of survival.

You spent 2 days in the arena with them, they grew to trust you, you were almost like an older sibling figure to them. You didn't make that mistake, of forming an attachment to someone who was only one of the pieces in the puzzle that would get you to winning the games. Their back had been turned to you as they walked carefully in front of you, their assumption being that the two of you were searching for food. You drove a dagger right through their chest and could practically hear the cries of indignation flying from Capitol citizens' mouths.

Winning the 68th Annual Hunger Games, to you, was inevitable — it had to happen — it was what you were always meant to do.

You had heard wind at one point of some Capitol citizens protesting against your victor's tour, but when you stood in front of the crowd of all the colourful people, they cheered. You were their ugly duckling, someone who's name would be mentioned followed by a statement of 'I can fix them'. You'd even heard of the odd citizen who found you morbidly attractive in a sense, dedicated fan clubs flocking to your bloodied feet with giddy squeals.

You were spared the 'opportunity' of staying in the Capitol, no matter how crazed your 'fans' were, they were few and a bit of a guilty pleasure that Capitol citizens mostly hid, the larger population lightheaded with fear at the mere possibility of you walking their streets.

You returned home to find your father dead and your childhood home shattered, years of life lost to ruin.

And so, with your past all but burnt to the ground and your purpose fulfilled, you supposed the victor's village became a sort of tomb.

But it seems even the dead don't get to rest, not with the third annual quarter quell stalking right around the corner.

series taglist: @universal-s1ut @stitch-lele @starrgirl4444 let me know if you want to be added or removed!

[imkittyjustkitty]

writing a finnick x reader series where reader is a tribute and both of them are competing in the quarter quell.... lots of angst but there is fluff between reader and finnick amongst it all.....

anyone interested? let me know if you want to be tagged!

[imkittyjustkitty]

peter parker series in the works perhaps.....

[imkittyjustkitty]

wow i've been away for a while! i've missed you guys, i might try to post something today!!

[certifiedladykiller-deactivated]

PLEASE READ!!!

NEWEST UPDATE: I need help buying the meds day by day currently, as I am often stuck with empty packages. Please share this and my newer posts that are pinned. We have been able to take care of this month’s medication, thank you to everyone who helped so, so much. The anxiety was absolute hell with trying to keep everything mentally together and I really didn't know what to do but everyone has chipped in to help keep my mom recovering for the year, I couldn't have done this without all of you and I truly, from the bottom of my heart am grateful but we still need help. I have never seen my mom look so scared when my grandma died as she was helping us so I wouldn't have to beg, and it's scaring me and we are still waiting for approval- we need to prepare for January’s meds because I have no idea how we are going to get through for the next couple of months, I still can't believe and express the amount of gratitude you all have helped in getting her the meds for this month. It has been life saving to my family as my mom is the glue that holds everything together.

This coming month, we will need 500$ after coupons have already been applied- I have developed a friendship with the pharmacist and am working directly with them, they let me buy a few pills at a time for her and we have already applied coupons but it still results to this amount monthly. If anyone can help, share this or donate, it all helps with giving me hope that things will be fine in the end. I just can't wait until she won't need these pills come this summer, as she only needs them for one year.

My p*yp*I is: saysam @live. ca

For those of you who weren't aware of my situation, this is a screenshot from one of my previous posts where I was melting down, shortly after her heart attack had happened:

[technicallyawritersblog]

okay so i had this mischa x reader idea but i dont know if it’s any good so feel free to not use it if u want. it’s basically reader (like mischa) has a complicated home life so the two of them are always out of their houses together esp hanging at their friends’ houses (at constance’s ricky’s or noel’s house whichever works or all at different times) and they’re like falling for eachother but it’s the yaknow two idiots in love best friends to lovers yeah yeah, and all their friends are like ‘oh shut up and ask eachother our already’

so ye ! that’s basically it, i just realised this doesn’t really require the extra plot stuff of like mischa and reader hanging at the other’s houses and stuff so u don’t have to include that it i don’t want to

thanku !!

Sure thing! I figured with all the information provided it was either abandon all else in my life to turn this into a full fic or do some hcs so I went with hcs. Hope that works!

You don't go into detail about your home life at all, and neither does Mischa for that matter, but the whole group knows that to say the least things aren't great.

Noel, Constance and Ricky, being the ones with the good home lives, quite profoundly do not get it. They're sympathetic and they don't think you're lying, but they emphatically Can't Understand how someone can treat another person the way your respective families treat you and Mischa.

They offer their homes up a lot. During the school week they usually just keep you at their house 'doing homework' until you can go home to find all other occupants asleep but you've spent entire weekends there.

Ocean's parents rarely notice or care what the hell she does so she once hid you both at her place for almost a week before Mischa's parents finally decided they had to report him missing and the jig was up.

You and Mischa quickly become best friends. He needed someone to talk to and so did you, and the others were great but it wasn't the same as talking to someone in the same situation. Any detail whatsoever and suddenly you feel like you're being examined.

Eventually it moved past traumadumping and making fun of your families and into a lot of other stuff. He started sending you first drafts of his songs and you got to see a funnier, more upbeat Mischa than he showed to anyone else. The "rage and passion" persona he put out to the world gave way to a guy with a lot of depth and heart to him.

Honestly it was only a matter of time before you fell in love.

You fell first, Mischa fell harder and it seemed very obvious to everyone but you two that you were destined for each other.

Mischa started crushing on you very obviously.

Noel and Ocean started running bets on how long into any given conversation it'd be before one of you brought the other up. The record was thirty seconds before Mischa made it about you.

Noel suggested both of you ask the other out. Neither of you agreed. You cited Mischa's expressed disinterest in romance with anyone outside Ukraine. He cited your friendship and an unwillingness to risk ruining it.

Neither of you seemed to realize how silly this looked.

Finally Noel snapped and gathered you both in his room, then told you both that basically, you two needed to figure out that you were in love with each other.

You worked things out and started dating. Your friends were mostly happy to see you happy but they were a little relieved that the 'will they won't they' was resolved.

[technicallyawritersblog]

Hi can I please ask for a Mischa x reader where reader takes him to their place and shows them their room, introduces Mischa to their teddies and just gives him all the cuddles and kisses he wants cuz he had a bad day

Sure thing luv! I didn't go into detail about what made the bad day bad, I wanted to allow room for my dear readers to make stuff up and/or project

Mischa had been kinda sad all day. You let him talk about it plenty, which he appreciated, but he still seemed unhappy so you took it a step further.

"Come on," you said. "I'm not letting you go back there like this." He appreciated that too. You knew how the isolation at 'home' might kill him if he had to face it right now. He never did like being completely alone before but he loathed it now.

You didn't let go of his arm the whole way home. He felt your soft hands through his shirt and just felt safe. It was nice.

You took him to your house and up the stairs to your room, which was filled floor to ceiling with stuffed animals and soft things. He looked dazzled, which made you sad. Sure, your room was a bit much, but this just reminded you how little those assholes left him with.

You pointed out some random things. "I hang out in that corner sometimes when it's cold because that corner's always warm," you say. "And that's my bed, it's like 80% stuffed animal at this point, sorry."

"Why do you apologize for this?" he asked.

"I dunno," you said. "Kinda silly now that I think about it."

"They're nice," he said.

"I'm glad you think so," you said. "This one, I've had since I was like six, this one I got last year at the arcade for like five hundred tickets, this one I've had like forever, her name's Sprinkles-" Mischa laughed. "Hey I was like two when I started calling her that."

"She's almost as cute as you," he said. You felt all floaty and flustered.

"Thanks," you said. You lay down with him and started playing with his hair while he just relaxed with his ear over your heartbeat.

Thank you, love, he thought. This is really nice.

[technicallyawritersblog]

Hullo!! I was wondering if I could request a Noel x (male) reader? Maybe Noel asking out the reader on a date for the first time?

Fuck yes I can, I was hoping I'd get a request for him eventually! I hope I was as unambiguous about this being male reader as I wanted it to be!

Do it already before someone else does.

Noel's been repeating that sentence to himself like a mantra the past few days. If he can just work up the courage to ask you out... well, who knows. This could be so many amazing things, this could be so fun, this could be the very thing he's been longing for- real passion.

But he won't know that unless he does something, and he seems incapable of it at this point.

He's planned out three different perfect ways for it to happen.

He can stride up to you in the hallway, call your name. He's too realistic not to think his voice will catch nervously on the first letter, it's just too hard to say.

You'll close your locker and lean away a bit to look at him. "Yeah Noel, what's up?" You'll ask, and he won't crumble as he reaches you and finishes his month long mission.

"I think we should go out sometime," he'll say. "I heard there's supposed to be a fair soon."

And you'd say, "That sounds great, let's do it. Does Friday sound good?"

And he'll say, "Yeah. Friday. I'll pick you up at five." Because he still has a curfew to think about and so do you, probably, he doesn't know.

He can wait until choir rehearsals. You were harrassed into joining by Ocean and Noel thanked his lucky stars you were because your voice was a blessing. He was biased, of course, but still.

You'll be singing next to him. They'll get to the part where you step-touch or whatever next to each other and since he doesn't have to sing that part he'll say under his breath, "I like you."

And you'll go, "huh?" And he'll repeat himself and you'll say, "well... thanks, Noel, I like you too," and he'll sigh.

"No I really like you, and I want to go out with you." And you'll blush and stop swaying and he'll continue, "So... wanna pick me up at five this Friday?"

"For what?"

"A date."

And that one's a little dramatic but it's nothing compared to the ones that cast you as one of Monique's Johns who falls madly in love and begs him to flee Paris with you.

Or he can do it like Monique would in his place. He can saunter into your room after school on Thursday.

"Hey Noel, what's up?" You'd ask.

He'll say as calmly as he can, "You're gonna pick me up tomorrow for a date."

"I am?" You'd ask.

"You're taking me to the fair."

"I am?"

"Yeah," he'd say, and by this point he'd be real nervous.

"Uh... sure," You'd say, and all his nerves would melt away.

"Really? Awesome!" He'd hastily correct himself, "I mean, see you tomorrow then."

And it'll be perfect. He'll be the kind of person who can look you in the eye and touch your hand without feeling kinda floaty. He'll be a step closer to who he wants to be, and he'll have you in his life as more than a handsome background character he can't approach.

None of that can actually happen though because he's a coward.

He passes you in the hall. "Hey Noel," you say. He really likes the way your voice makes his name sound. It sounds almost as beautiful as Monique.

"I'm like in love with you," he blurts out. "I kinda want you to be my boyfriend, do you maybe want to go out sometime? Like to that fair that's coming?"

Sweet Jesus Christ, on a bike, what is wrong with him, what has he just done, did he hear himself? Why did he do that? Well played, Satan, well played.

"Yeah sure," you say. "Sounds great. I really like you too, y'know, I didn't think I was hiding it but it felt like I might have to put up a sign, heh."

Holy shit. Could he have gotten that out of you any other way? Maybe that was perfect.

You definitely are.

And holy shit, he has a boyfriend!

[technicallyawritersblog]

Do you think you could please do Mischa x autistic reader who is very sensitive (physically and emotionally) so like they will try watch horror movies to be ‘cool like him’ but then get really scared cuz it’s loud and not very nice

Yessssss I have autism myself (one of my special interests is roller coaster accidents and that's actually part of why I wrote fic for rtc yay) so I loved this! These are pretty general hcs but they delve into that scenario at the bottom.

He doesn't know what autism is until you tell him you've got it. He spends the whole night googling and returns from the internet rabbit hole with a burning hatred for Autism Speaks and strong opinions on different therapies, and a lot more understanding of various 'quirks' in himself and the choir members.

Oml that's hyperfixating babe guess what

(They're all nd of some kind fight me)

He wants you to tell him about your special interests so damn bad he will actually beg you

"I beg of you, I MUST know... do you have one? What is it? Do you know more of the history of it or the lore/thing itself? Can I buy it for you for your birthday?"

He'll yell at people to quiet the fuck down or go away if they're doing something that bothers or overwhelms you.

His special interest (or hyperfixation, haven't decided yet) is the Saw franchise. He knows all about the making of them, the plot nuances, he's seen every single movie and has strong beliefs about each one. He was so eager to share it with you and you wanted to share this with him after how wonderful he's been to you. Plus horror movies are cool. He's cool. And you've never considered yourself cool.

You can do this for him.

Just one problem: horror movies get under your skin real bad.

They're scary. There's so many sudden loud noises or flashing lights. Jumpscares are common. Gore makes your brain itch in the bad way. You can't stand them.

But Mischa loves them, and you, and you love Mischa, and you want to do this for him.

Mischa notices very quickly that you're practically hiding behind him. Every sound effect makes you cringe or cover your ears and he's not sure your eyes have opened since the first scene.

He offers to turn it off but you refuse. Twice.

Finally he decides to go ahead and shut it off anyway. You object but he points out that you were shaking like a chihuahua and you have to admit he's right. And you're embarrassed. Someone your age shouldn't be such a baby about these things.

He disagrees. You're not a baby, you just don't like horror movies, and anyone who equates the two is annoying and wrong.

Just don't try to trick yourself into liking them for his sake again. It doesn't do him any good.

And you can listen to him infodump all day, you just can't watch them yourself.

It doesn't matter to him one bit. And you're cool as hell either way.

[technicallyawritersblog]

could i req a fic/hc about mischa and s/o's firsts? (first date, first kiss, first time meeting the choir, etc. nothing nsfw lol ! )

I was so happy writing this! Also I snuck in some cute found family content like vegetables.

First Date:

Mischa was so nervous. He didn't really have the money for anything as expensive as all of Noel's suggestions had turned out to be and he wasn't sure anything he could come up with on his own would be good enough.

But he thought the heart of Noel's advice was just to treat you like you mattered to him and let love itself do the rest.

He took you to the Blackwood Cafe because it was cheap enough that he could eat there but had nice enough ambience to feel like the ideas Noel gave him.

He couldn't keep the gangster persona up for long. You saw through it anyway, which was part of why he liked you so much.

He was supposed to walk you home. It was the manly thing to do, and he wanted to show you that he could protect both you and your heart right from the beginning.

But you ended up walking each other back and forth to each other's houses three times because you couldn't stand to say goodbye just yet.

He stayed up late that night blushing and smiling like a fool while he wondered when was too soon to text you again.

First kiss:

A little while later, he decided to kiss you. He ate as much mint as he had food that day and you noticed.

You also noticed that he kept licking his lips while staring at yours. He looked at you like a man starved. You were tempted to make a move yourself but didn't because maybe he'd do it, you had to have some faith. This went on for a whole day.

Finally, you said something.

"What, workin' up the courage to kiss me?" you asked. He panicked.

"No, of course not, yo why would you think-"

"Just do it already and stop teasing me," you said, and leaned in. He tasted aggressively minty.

It was really nice. And left you both reeling.

First Time Meeting the Choir:

You wanted to meet Mischa's family. He'd already explained that his real family- his mother- was in Ukraine and probably dead. And his adoptive family didn't count. He resented them, and they hated him, and you weren't fond of them either, granted your experience with them was limited.

But he did want to show you something, so he figured out a compromise.

At the Blackwood Cafe, he gathered the whole choir.

"What are we here for, Mischa?" Ocean asked. "It's a school night, I have to walk all the way home and do my homework tonight. So should you, probably."

"Sweet Jesus Christ on a bike, do you hear yourself? That sentence was a tiny eternity of Hell," Noel groaned. "Let him explain, you can't just ask a question and then ramble."

"You're kinda doing that too, a little bit," Constance said. "Sorry."

"Guys I wanna hear what Mischa has to say," Ricky contributed.

"Thank you, Space Jesus," Mischa said. He took a deep breath. "I wanted to introduce someone-"

"Your lover," Noel added hastily.

"Yo, shut the fuck- ugh... yes, sort of," he corrected himself through clenched teeth. He had to remind himself that if he was a dick they wouldn't help him. "They wanted to meet my family, but I just thought..."

"You wanted to introduce us as your family, really?" Ocean asked.

"Mischa we'd be happy to help!" Constance said. "We're totally a family, right guys?" He felt warm after hearing that.

Two days later, he brought you in and proudly announced to his new family the identity of the person who'd enveloped his very soul in their heart.

They loved you, and he loved everyone involved just a little more.