oceanbaes

luke alvez + ice cream. 

@mggslover for you

So we all know the 75th Quell wasn’t just for Katniss now, right??

It was - get rid of Finnick, people tell him too much and like him too much

It was - get rid of Mags (she’ll volunteer to save anyone), she’s always been too much of a rebel and cares more about the tributes than the games (i.e. hiding Finnick from cameras)

It was - get rid of Beetee, we’re finally done with him (I want to know why he’s suddenly disposable though). But let’s make it as awful as possible and remind him every day what his son was feeling in his own last days

It was - get rid of Wiress (and also show the world what she’s become) because she never should have won (and we’ll show people what happens when you think you’re smarter than the Capitol)

It was - get rid of Johanna Mason, we killed everyone she loved and it didn’t break her enough so now we can’t control her

And of course, it was - get rid of those rebels from 12

But it wasn’t just punishment for Katniss. She had no idea how influential and volatile of a group they were.

Honestly, I feel like the 3rd Quell might have actually worked if the Capitol hadn’t decided to just send all the most rebellious and threatening victors into them. You can’t put 10+ people who rebelled in their own games back into an arena (and this time they’re all together) and expect it to go well for you???

𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Click.

The light switch gave a soft snap, and light spilled through your apartment, letting you hang up your coat and bag. Odd—it didn’t feel at all like the weight of either had been lifted from your body.

Click.

Even such a small sound felt loud in the silence of your apartment. Always silent. When you tried to cover it up with TV or music, the place seemed to push those sounds away. To reject them, to refuse to let them seep into the walls and thin out the loneliness that clung to them.

You turned the light back off—you were heading straight to the bedroom anyway, not even stopping by the bathroom. But then something came to mind, something that made you freeze for a second.

Click.

You knew your boyfriend would freak out if he even imagined you crawling into the bed you shared without at least washing your hands after a full day out—at work, in that bacteria trap known as public transport. Okay, maybe freak out was a bit of an exaggeration. It’s not like he’d kick you out of bed or crash on the couch. You knew, though, that he wouldn’t feel comfortable with it. And that knowledge alone was enough to make you slip under the covers only after changing into clean clothes.

Well, your boyfriend wasn’t there.

glasses reid glasses reid glasses reid glasses reid

@darkmatilda @esote-rika @reidingandallthat

𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

There were many things Spencer Reid hated about clubs.

He had stepped into one just five minutes ago, and he had already checked off most of them. The purple and pink lights played a never-ending game of tag, intertwining, their intensity constantly shifting—one moment revealing the silhouettes around him in sharp clarity, the next melting them into a single, writhing, deafening mass. Completely cut off from their surroundings—bodies so absorbed in swaying to the pounding beat that they paid no mind to brushing against random strangers or accidentally shoving them aside.

He lost sight of Prentiss almost immediately. They had agreed to split up, sure but he would have preferred to at least know which direction she had gone. There were too many brunettes around to pick her out, and every time he tried to look around, he lost what little control he had over his path, colliding with someone's shoulder.

Eventually, he slowed his pace, nearly coming to a stop—one motionless pillar among the swaying crowd, set apart not just by his stillness but by the reason he was there in the first place.

Work felt like too trivial an excuse. Preventing a tragedy…maybe a bit too grandiose.

Another case, another unsub. This time, a more local one. Someone sneaking into clubs, specifically tampering with fog machines and replacing their contents with toxic gas. One moment, the crowd lost in dance. The next, gasping for breath and collapsing in convulsions on the floor, a pop song cruelly lingering above them as they took their last breath.

and that, ladies and gentlemen, it's my fave shitzu & belgian malinois couple right there

𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

He’s not sure how he got here.

That’s a lie. He knows exactly how he got here, why he’s here, and it’s because every single atom in his body seems to become irrationally unable to say no to you. It’s pathetic, really. You don’t even have to plead anymore—though you still do, of course, pretty eyes widening just so, lower lip pushing out into a slight pout, and it makes his heart clench and his heart swell in ways that distress him. (You’re dangerous for his health, he’s sure of it, but it doesn’t even matter. If his life is cut short, he can’t think of a better way to go than being loved by you.)

Today, you hadn’t even done that. Just words spoken in a soft little whine, “My favorite store has an ongoing sale.”

How is he to deny you? The boutique isn’t too far away, and while he’d had plans to read for his day off, he can put those off for you. He can read anywhere, at any time. In pockets of vacancy at work, idle minutes during his commute. Time with you is precious, and if you want him to accompany you to a store, then that’s precisely what he’ll do.

There’s just one problem: you hadn’t really specified what kind of store.

Would he have been able to say no if you told him from the beginning that he’d be accompanying you into a lingerie store? Survey says no, probably not, but still, the heads up would have been nice. Kind, actually, because now he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, surrounded on all sides by flouncy, see through fabric in suggestive cuts. Lingerie. You brought him along as you went lingerie shopping.

if i have a spencer reid with me while shopping for lingerie, my life would be so much betterrrr

i have no words, just feelings.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer usually gave out his phone number only to the people closest to him.

That way, he didn’t get unnecessary calls distracting him from more important matters, and he could be sure that if someone truly needed to reach him, they wouldn’t have any trouble doing so.

So, as he walked through the Quantico office, planning to track down Hotch—who supposedly wanted to see him—he was so absorbed in their case that he pressed his phone to his ear without thinking, without even looking at the screen, fully expecting to hear a familiar voice. Someone from the team, maybe.

Instead…

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A slightly raspy male voice. Spencer immediately estimated the caller to be around forty, judging by the subtle rustling sound—whoever it was, they were holding the phone just a little too close to their mouth.

Spencer froze in place.

His first thought—a wrong number.

His second—another one of Morgan’s pranks.

Just in case it was the latter, he didn’t hang up immediately. If his friend had planned something, he needed to find out what—so he could properly retaliate later.

forgot that "black cat & golden retriever" feeling, spencer and diva!reid gives me the "shitzu & belgian malinois" type of feeling. cute but dangerous. sweet but protective. spencer being jealous and diva!reader using this as a playful thing it was what i needed to read this night! thank you so much matilda! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

@oceanbaes how are u holding up

me right now:

gonna crash out if we find out haymitch is behind the “if it weren’t for the baby” idea due to something from his past cough cough lenore dove cough cough

@reidingandallthat

unfriendly reminder peeta’s heart stopped three times before he’s even tortured in the capitol. Twice after the first games and once during the second.

the capitol tortured someone who has gone into cardiac arrest three times. maybe his heart stopped there, too. they used electric shocks on Johanna, no reason they wouldn’t on him too.

HOW AM I A WHORE?

- AARON HOTCHNER, 2009

he. is. a. whore.