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rosenclaws · 1 month ago

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New Years Eve Hideaway || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: It's New Years Eve and you were hoping for this to be the time to tell Logan how you feel, but he's no where to be found.

warnings: angsty kinda (Logan has PTSD and fireworks set him off), fluff, makeout sesh, alcohol/drinking, swearing.

wc: 1.8k

a/n: I thought of this last night and cooked it up in time for new years!! I'm from the west coast so I've got a long way to go until 2025 but I hope you all have a great new years eve/new year and stay safe and have fun <3333 Also if you see me reuse gifs no you didn't.

Wade's place is as lively as ever. New Years Eve was a celebration and for Wade it meant getting absolutely shitfaced and being around the people that you love. The music was turned up to eleven and his apartment was cramped. You said hellos and caught up with a few people you hadn't seen in a while like colossus and Yukio, you love Yukio.

"Wade! Nice party!" You shout as you finally find the host.

He's all decked out in gold glitter and those stupid new years glasses. He hugs you tight and offers you a cup of a mysterious liquid. "It's my own creation!" He said happily as he drank from his own cup. You look down and swear there's glitter in there and so you gently put it to the side.

"You ready for the new year?" You ask and he smiles.

Things were really looking up for Wade. He's back to being Deadpool, him and Vanessa are talking again, and he's got all the people he loves surrounding him. Not to mention a new (very hot) roommate. Your eyes dart around the room. You try to keep it subtle but Wade reads you like a book.

"Looking for Wolvie?" He says with a grin.

He clocked your crush on the man immediately. Relentless jokes and teasing at the both of you about hooking up, dating, a threesome. That last one earned him three claws to the stomach so he left that one alone, for now.

"The big bad wolf fucked off somewhere. Very rude if you ask me. You’d think the guy who did rubbing alcohol shooters would be all over free booze.” Wade shakes his head as he finishes the rest of his drink.

“You think you know a guy.” Wade’s attention gets turned elsewhere as Mary Puppins starts to piss on the couch.

When he leaves you let out the disappointed sigh you were holding in. You loved Wade you really did and you would have come anyway but you were really hoping to find Logan here.

As embarrassing as it sounds you wanted to use tonight to finally tell him how you felt. If things went well then maybe you’d get to have a new years kiss and if they didn’t go well you could blame it on the alcohol and hope he believed you.

You grab the weird drink Wade created and decided if he wasn’t here you might as well get drunk. As you move you fail to notice Shatterstar standing right behind you.

“Shit!” You curse as knock right into them spilling Wades mystery drink all over yourself. He apologizes and you tell him its no big deal. You lived down the street and you really didn't want to leave the apartment to change.

"Wade! Can I borrow your tide pen?" You ask knowing he has a whole box still stockpiled from before his red suit. He sticks his thumbs up and you weave your way through the crowd.

"Pretty sure this is Wades room." You mumble as you open the door.

The first thing you notice is how the room smells. Whiskey and cigar smoke. This isn't Wades room, it's Logan's. It's messy, the sheets are strewn everywhere. There's empty bottles by the bed but there's also pictures hanging up by a piece of tape. Some of Laura, some of Wade and Al, and to your surprise some of you. Its only group photos but you're there.

You're broken from your trance by a weird noise. A muffled noise, what the hell? Carefully you walk up and throw open the closet doors, hoping to god it wasn't a rat or something.

"Logan?" You ask in disbelief. This massive man is sitting on the hard closet floor. Clearly cramped and he's got a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He grunts out. He's clearly not interested in talking but you're not going to leave him on the ground.

"Seriously? Look I'm sure if you wanted to ditch the party there's bars open all night." You try to joke but he doesn't laugh.

There's more to his face than his typical grumpiness. In fact it takes a second to notice. You sit down across from him and you see it. There's this far away look in his eyes, behind the rage, there's fear.

"I get it, the closet it can be nice. Comfortable." You reach out but hesitate. Silence settles over you and you tap your fingers on your knee, not really sure what to say anymore.

"You should go back to the party." He gestures his head to the door.

"I don't want to anymore. I uh, I really only came to see you." You confess. He raises an eyebrow but stays quiet.

"If you want me to leave I can but, It's new years and well...I have a walk in closet. You know the big kind that has more space." You offer.

He's silent and you think you've pushed it too far. This was stupid I mean who asks a man if he wants to sit in your closet. He gets up and places the bottle on the ground, holding out his hand to you.

"You just gonna sit there?"

You and Logan manage to sneak out of Wades pretty easily. Grabbing a pizza and a few bottles of soda (and one bottle of champagne) you head to your apartment. Your closet was much more spacious than Logans for sure but the two of you were still close. You turned on some movie on your laptop and you and Logan ate the pizza.

“God why is there so much singing.” Logan says with a groan.

“Because its a movie musical, look if you didn’t want to watch than you could have said something.”

“What kind of name is the Greatest Showman anyways.” Logan huffs and you roll your eyes.

Your shoulders bump into each other as he reaches for his soda. Though the movie was already half way through, you hadn’t really been paying attention. You were too focused on Logan. He was so close, his arms were big and so musclely.

That’s not even a word but you couldn’t think straight, not with your crush sitting right next to you. He smelled nice, like fresh shampoo. As the movies plays you notice the time, its almost midnight.

“The fireworks should be soon!” You move to go back outside to watch but Logan stays glued to the floor. That fear coming back into his eyes.

“Logan?” You crouch down next to him.

“Don’t worry about me sweetheart, go enjoy the fireworks.” You don’t move.

You don’t ask him to explain either but something tells you he shouldn’t be alone. You turn the movie back on and let it play, letting your head rest on his shoulder as his hand gently comes to rest on your knee. Both of you don’t want to move, afraid of doing the wrong thing.

“Fireworks. They just bring back bad memories.” He mumbles.

He’s over 200 years old but nightmares of his life before still haunts him. He fought in pretty much every war, lost friends, watched people die. He’s been surrounded by violence and gunshots all his life and in the heat of battle he doesn’t even flinch. Even as recently as last Tuesday he’s has bullets fired at him and he just spit them out.

But for some reason fireworks just get to him. It triggers something in him, this deep seated fear that makes him freeze. Most years he’s been shitfaced drunk and isn’t even awake by the time the clock hits twelve.

But this year was different. He had friends and a place to live, a party to go to. He had you. He knew you were coming and he wanted this year to be different. That maybe he gets to truly start fresh with the turning of the year.

But his brain just wouldn’t shut off, spiraling into what ifs and filling him with fear of loss and the worst possible outcomes. So he holed himself in his closet waited for the night to be over. Until you found him and you smiled that pretty smile and instead of laughing at him you joined him.

“That’s okay…Fireworks are overrated anyways.” You don’t know how to help, you don’t want to press but you want him to know you’re there.

There's muffled cheering through the walls and a boom echoes through the closet. Its not as loud but you can still hear it. Without thinking you grab Logan’s hand. Squeezing it tight as the fireworks outside start their show.

“Look you don’t have to-“

“I want to. I want to be here with you.” You cut Logan off before he even has the chance to feel guilty. You reach over and turn the volume up on the movie.

“Happy New Year Logan, there's nowhere I’d rather be than right here with you.” You say sincerely, a soft smile on your face.

He stares at you, it takes a second for him to truly understand that you want to be there with him. That its not guilt or pity you feel for the man, but something more.

Slowly the two of you lean closer, like a trance has spelled the both of you. The fireworks fade to the back as your lips touch. Both unsure at first but once you get a taste of Logan you want more. You wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him towards you.

One of his hands cup your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek softly as his other hand places itself on your lower back, bringing you as close to him as you can get. He tastes like cherry soda and his lips feel just right against yours.

"Logan..." You whine as your lips finally part. He groans as he ducks his head, moving his lips to your jaw and down your neck. Sucking a small spot when he notices you start to melt in his arms.

"Never had a New Years Kiss before.". He purrs and you find that hard to believe.

"Glad it's you." He captures your lips in another kiss as the fireworks seem to subside, not that either of you notice.

Starting off the year together, intertwined in each others arms. All Logan wanted was a fresh start, a true start where he changes from the man he was into the man he wants to be. This is the start to that, he's no longer the violent angry man he was. His world had been flipped upside down and sometimes he still wonders if he really deserves it all.

I mean, after all the pain he's caused how the hell could someone like you ever fall for him, care for him. It's crazy to think about but Logan is going to take this and hold on to it for as long as it lasts. Hopefully it lasts forever. Logan slams your laptop shut and moves it to the side, making room for you to lay down on the ground.

Maybe this new year isn't looking too bad anymore.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett angst #worst!logan howlett x reader #worst!logan howlett

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celestial-sphere-press · 23 days ago

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Book Decoration: AKA All The Ways I Don't Use a Cricut

(this post is for people who don't want to buy an expensive cutting tool, or for those that do have an expensive cutting tool that would like to mix things up a little)

1. Print That Shit

If you're already printing your own textblocks, an easy step for titles is to print them. Above is a title printed onto an "obi" of decorative paper. I measured out where I wanted things on the finished book and laid it out in Affinity, then printed it on a full sheet & trimmed it down to wrap around the book. A more simple method is to print & glue on the label into a slight indent in the cover (to protect it). A third option is to do the spine in bookcloth, while you print on paper for the cover and then glue that paper onto the boards (this usually looks even better when it is a three-piece bradel bind).

2. Foil Quill / Heat Pens

The heat pen is one of my go-to tools, but it can be a bit touchy about materials. The most popular version is the We R Memory Keepers' Foil Quill (which is one of the most ergonomic), but other pens exist that can get you to a higher heat temp, finer lines, or more consistent foil. For example, I have a pen created by a local Japanese bookbinding studio that fares way better on leathers than the WRMK quill & with a finer tip, but it's hell to control. Best results in general are on paper or smooth bookcloth (starched linen, arrestox, colibri - even duo will work but its less solid). The fuzzier a bookcloth is, the less your foil quill wants to deal with it. This means the heat n bond method of making bookcloth does not play nice with a heat pen usually, but there are two solutions: 1) use this tutorial on paste + acrylic medium coated bookcloth instead that will get you a perfect surface for the heat pen, or 2) use the pen on paper & then glue onto the cloth. I did a video tutorial for both foil quill use and this type of homemade bookcloth for @renegadeguild Binderary in 2023.

You get the most consistent results by tracing through a printed template that is taped in place, as I do in the video above.

3. Paint That Shit

Acrylic paints will do you fine! The above is free-handed with a circle template, because I wanted that vibe. If you need straight lines that won't seep, lay them down with tape first & then paint over it first with a clear Acrylic medium, then your color. Same goes for stencils. Two more examples of painted bookcloth:

4. IT'S GOT LAYERS

By using layers of thinner boards, you can create interesting depths & contrasts on your cover. You can also make cutouts that peep through to the decorative paper behind. The most important part to this technique is the order in which each edge is wrapped. To get a good wrapped inside edge, you will split the turn in into tabs to get them to conform to a curve. You can also layer multiple colors of bookcloth without multiple layers of board, as seen below left, so long as you mind your cut edges for fraying.

5. Inlaid... anything

Mirrors! Marbled paper! I saw someone do a pretty metal bookmark once! The key is creating a little home for it to live in, which is pretty similar to the above layering method. On one layer you cut the shape, & glue that layer onto the bottom solid board before covering. You can do the top layer as an entire 1 mm board (like I did for the mirrors) or a sheet of cardstock, like I would use for inlaid paper.

6. Decorative Paper

Decorative paper is always helpful & adds to the paper hoard... & its effects can be layers with other techniques, as below. Marbles, chiyogami, momi, or prints & maps of all kinds can be great additions. Some papers may need a protective coating (such as wax or a sealer).

7. Stamps (with optional linocut)

While I've not used many more regular rubber stamps, I do know some who have, successfully! And I've used one once or twice with embossing powder (see photo 3 up, the gold anchor on the little pamphlet bind). What also works is to carve your own linocut or stamp, & then use block printing ink to ink it onto your fabric (as i did above). A bit time intensive, but it was nice how easily reproducible it was, and I liked the effect I got for this particular bind.

These methods are not exhaustive, just ones I've used, and there are of course many others. I haven't gone too into detail on any of these for the sake of length (& post photo limits) but feel free to ask about more specifics. Usually I'm using them in combination with other options.

#fanbinding #bookbinding #celestial sphere press #ficbinding #in progress review #bookbinding how to #i am not particularly anti-cricut or anything #it's just a very expensive tool #and its prevalence sometimes makes new binders think they HAVE to get one #when they absolutely do not #you can make pretty books without it

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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Code of Conduct 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work.

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Mr. Rogers’ office. This is Rosie, how can I hel--”

“Where is he?” Peggy’s voice cuts over your own.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s currently in a meeting--”

“Get him.”

“Mrs.--”

“Don’t argue with me. Go get him. Are you not his assistant?” She challenges brusquely.

Her accent adds to the sharpness of her words. Her curt demeanour is a stark contrast to her husband. Your boss is always amiable, accommodating even, but the few times you’ve dealt with his wife have been similarly tense. You put a smile on so she can’t hear your anxiety.

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers,” you preen, “I’ll put you on a quick hold.”

“No, you will get him. No hold.”

You suck in a sigh and hold your breath in your chest, “of course.”

You set the phone down. You don’t see how her hearing your desktop will be any better but you wouldn’t want to irritate her further. It must be urgent.

You stand and smooth out your dress. You step out from behind your desk, digging your nails into your palms as you ball your fists tight. You get nervous about most things. Answering the phone took your months to get used to and even now you tend to fumble over your words.

You go to the door and brace yourself. You don’t know why you expect Mr. Rogers to be upset. He’s never been anything close to rude. Maybe short in times of stress but not unpleasant. You knock and wait as you twiddle your fingers against your striped pleats.

It isn’t Mr. Rogers who answers by Mr. Barnes. You give a sheepish smile, “excuse me, doll.”

He steps past you and you bid him a good day. He leaves without further courtesy and Mr. Rogers calls your name from within, “need something?” He asks.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Rogers is on the phone.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that. His cheek dimples and he nods, wiggling his pen at you, “patch her through.”

You go back to your desk and pick up the receiver, “hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s available now--”

“I don’t want to talk to you, honey. Where is my husband?”

You transfer her without another word. Phew. You almost feel bad for your boss as you hear him pick up in his office. His tone is low and dull.

You try not to overhear, letting his conversation drone into a buzz. There’s enough work to be done without worrying about his personal life. Your own afterhours concerns are more than concerning. You wouldn’t say you have much going on and that’s the problem. It’s moment like those that ease your envy of others’ full plates.

You haven’t seen the girls lately. The group chat’s been quiet but you suppose you could go ahead and say hi. Your weekly cocktails petered out to biweekly, then monthly, and now you can’t remember the last time you let go with a mimosa.

You peek over your desk and back at your screen. It’s not only on them to keep things going. You pick up your phone and open the chat. The last message is a meme Elfie sent about printers. You shake your head and send a little waving sticker, keying in a message.

‘Long time no see! I’m in need of drinks. Anyone free? When’s best? Hope you’re all taking care.’

You’re professional tone shines through even on WhatsApp. It’s a bit lame but you’re an entirely different person in text. Most people are surprised to meet the mousy secretary hiding behind her screen after the lively back and forth in Outlook.

You set your phone down and try not to stare at it. A reply never comes while you’re waiting for it, nor does water boil when you’re watching it. As you click around and try to remember where you were, the silence sinks in. Your realisation brings your eyes up as quickly as Mr. Rogers shadow.

You bat your lashes at him in surprise, “need something, sir?”

He gives a half-smile, the type weighed down by disappointment. He sighs and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame, “you hungry?”

“Um, well, it’s only eleven,” you shrug.

“Mm, yeah,” he unfolds one arm to rub his neck, “I’m restless. You feel like getting lunch early?”

“Sure, I can run out and grab you something,” you stand eagerly.

“No, uh,” he drops his arm back over his other, “together. I had a reservation for me and Peggy but she canceled. I’d hate to inconvenience the restaurant and I just can’t sit and mope in my office.”

“Oh, okay, I guess that works...”

“Do you need to ask your boss?” He scoffs.

You laugh at his joke, “do I?”

He smiles, a real smile and drops his arms, “my treat. You know what, you earned it. You work so hard around here, a little employee appreciation is overdue.”

“That’s so nice,” you chime, “uh, sir, I... I should leave an away message, should I?”

“Oh, who cares, come on.”

“Well, I mean...”

“Ah, I get it, boss is a real hard ass,” he winks.

“Sir,” you giggle nervously and teethe your lip. He watches your mouth.

“You can catch up later. Come on, I haven’t played hooky in years.”

“Hooky?” You stammer.

He laughs, “a goody two shoes. It’s why I hired you but it’s okay to let loose once in a while.”

“I know, Mr. Rogers, it’s just... it’s work.”

“Too much of it and you’ll turn into me,” he huffs. “Please, I’m sure your husband would hate if you were never home. Never answered the phone.”

“If I had one, probably,” you blurt out then look away shyly.

“Really? I thought...” he begins and shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll go. I missed breakfast.”

“Um, sure, sir,” you agree and put your hand on the phone.

When he turns, you look down. Missie sent a reply; ‘please, drinks are required!’ Ooh! Yay.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #code of conduct #au #bad bosses #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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bonefall · 2 months ago

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"How big should a Clan territory be?"

For the dozens of people who have asked this over the last couple of years!

This question comes in a lot of forms; "How big are the Clan territories?" "How much space does one Clan need?" "How much land should I give my Clans to exist in?" The answer is a bit complicated, and depends on the type of land, what you're going for exactly, the setting, so on.

But, broadly, there's TWO particular factors at play here; How anthropomorphic you're portraying your warriors, and how productive the land is.

Factor 1: The Anthro Scale

I'm starting with this one because it could you the simpler answer. The Erins write Clan cats like humans in cat bodies, with massive social units and communal living. Realistic feral cats don't act like Clan cats. They are only semi-social, due to domestication.

See, a Clan cat will "share" territory between all of its members, and some Clans have canonically hit populations of over 50 individuals. Real feral colonies consist of "overlapping circles" of somewhere between 2 - 15 cats, most of them related females.

This is relevant because, even in densely populated areas with as much food as they can eat, truly feral colonies will have about 2 cats per 5 acres, capping out at about 15 members. Queens will hang out together and raise their kittens communally, but they will hunt and patrol in their own "circle." These boundaries are violently enforced against outside cats, especially if it's too crowded.

(Toms have circles 5x as big as a queen's, overlapping several territories. They're also considerably less social.)

So, if you wanted to incorporate some cat behavior into your Clan's mindset about how big their territory should be, while still being willing to sacrifice a bit of "realism" for groups over 15-ish members, simply take Clan population and multiply it by 2.5 acres.

30 cats = 75 acres. That's a little under 57 football fields, if you're American, or 50 football fields, if you're European.

Extra reading: How realistic cat territories work. Contains the numbers I'm referencing.

It's also very important to know; feral cat density is completely tied to food availability, the big numbers numbers are for cats whose needs are met. Cats are solitary hunters, and when they feel like they have to work for their food, they become VERY territorial. The density of cats in rural areas can be as low as 1 molly per 15 acres, even lower for toms, and they will leave if hunting is not easy.

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NOT FEED FERAL CATS. Please GOD they are SO invasive, please do not give colonies food, they still hunt when they're full so you just end up concentrating a ton of predators in one place. They are not warriors with a law against disrespecting food, they are just kitty cats with silly kitty instincts

I have a suspicion that most of the people who are asking the question aren't really looking for a "realistic cat" answer, though. We LOVE our big cat Clans with their complicated politics around here. You're probably wondering how much land you need to feed your population!

Factor 2: Land Productivity

The exact amount of space is going to vary a lot, because it's more about productivity of the land to sustain a prey population than it is raw size. Remember what we learned back in Warrior Bites: Dietary Needs; a 30-cat Clan will need approximately 3 pounds of meat (10,500 calories) per day, which is about 2 rabbits, or 105 mice.

Here's some visual examples of what I mean. This one (1) acre homestead...

Has 20 patches of high-value crops, plus an orchard, AND livestock pens. This territory alone could attract enough crows, mice, rats, rabbits, and sparrows to feed all those cats daily. That's not even counting the humans themselves, who may be friendly enough to the colony to toss them kibble occasionally.

(this is why cats domesticated themselves. Even without the free food from the humans, farms are extremely productive hunting grounds.)

Meanwhile, the Edmonton Mall, which is a whopping five (5) acres...

Would be utterly barren. Best food you're going to get out of this wasteland is the leftovers humans toss out, and maybe the rats and pigeons that scavenge as well. It's 5x the space, and yet, infinitely harder to feed the same amount of cats.

So, the most helpful bit of advice I'm gonna give you is this; DON'T ask yourself "how big should this territory be?" You're starting with the wrong question. Start with a real location, and think about how you'd find 3 pounds of meat a day in that area.

It will be a LOT easier to think about the logistics in those terms, and this will lead you to the waaay more productive (and fun) worldbuilding questions. Such as;

"Where would the good hunting spots be?"

"What kinds of animals would they be eating? What sorts of beasts can threaten them, here?"

"How many of these animals would my 30 cat Clan need to hunt a day to equal about 3 pounds?"

"Where would these animals be getting THEIR food?"

"Is there enough habitat in the area for the prey to breed and nest? If not, is there more land beyond the territory that the prey is coming from?"

"Where would infrastructure like dens, walls, and dirtplaces go? What would these be made of?"

"Are there any neat spots for the cats to casually hang out on?"

"What would make for a super cool arena for my climactic narrative boss fights?"

"Does this area have unique stage hazards that my cats would have to learn to deal with?"

"Which sorts of plants and herbs would they encounter?"

If your Clan is tool-using, like BB!Clans are, then you can ask even more advanced questions. Like, where you'd find kindle for fire, what objects you can use as crafting materials, and what might make for unique trade goods.

Think about other things related to your Clan's biome-- in a tundra or desert, there will be less for prey to eat, so the territory will be large to cope with the low density. If there's a major body of water, they might have a constant supply of aquatic prey from upstream. Hunting grounds might change based on the seasons.

Also remember not to underestimate how fast small animals breed, and how many of them there can be in one area. Even using low estimates, 1 female mouse has 6 pups, 7 x 6 = 42, 42 x 6 = 252, 252 x 6 = 1,452. It takes only 4 months for mouse population growth to get exponentially ridiculous.

Finally, remember that prey can vary. A well run Clan would be able to generally understand when they've been overhunting one particular species, and start shifting gears to lift the "pressure" off that population.

(In my cultural expansions series, this management task is assigned to one of the new roles-- the Head of Hunting.)

#Bones gives advice #Clan Culture #How much territory does a clan need?#warrior cats #How big should a Clan territory be?#This is an answer to like 8 people who have asked this question #It's a MEGA popular one and I totally understand why #It's just difficult to answer in a straightforward way because of everything discussed!#So it took me a long time to be able to figure out how to answer it.#clan territory

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sweemmy · 2 months ago

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⋆｡ﾟThe Gregorian era was a time when those with desires outside the social norm lived in the shadow of secrecy, a truth these women knew all too well. ﾟ｡⋆

— Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, and Jinx.

VI.

Vi has never fit into the molds that society tries to impose on her—always rebellious, always challenging the rules. But this time, the struggle is different. There are no punches or screams, just a battle that burns in silence, fought deep in her heart… and this time, she’s completely alone.

When she sees you at events, draped in the elegance expected of a respectable lady, her gaze turns cold, almost unyielding. But it’s not because of you. It’s because of the oppressive system that binds her hands, even denying her the right to look at you the way she truly wants.

Every word exchanged is a carefully measured move on an invisible board. Vi offers you a wry smile, murmuring, "It’s a pleasure to see you," but behind that strong façade, her hands tremble with the uncontrollable urge to reach for yours. She hates feeling vulnerable, but with you, she allows herself to be human.

She glides silently through the cobbled streets of Piltover, seeking out those hidden corners where her people gather. Here, finally, she feels free… but that freedom always casts a shadow, because you can’t be by her side.

She dreams of you more than she dares admit. She imagines escaping with you to a corner of the world where no one knows them, where names and titles fade into oblivion. But she always wakes, and reality reminds her that such a thing is nothing more than impossible.

When she hears other men speak of you, referring to you as the "gem" of the season, a fury burns in her chest, like poison twisting in her gut. "Why can they claim you with words, while I can’t even have you at all?" she wonders, rage and desire intertwined.

One moonless night, she found you lost in the gardens, surrounded by the stillness of the dark. The conversation that followed was soft, subtle, like a whisper in the breeze. Yet in your eyes, Vi thought she saw something more—a silent longing, a spark that reflected what she herself desired. But did she really see it, or was it just the echo of her own naive hope?

She feels that every word she speaks must be carefully calculated, but her love for you burns with an intensity she cannot contain. "If this is a sin," she reflects, letting out a bitter smile, "then let the flames consume me."

Finally, one day, Vi takes the pen and writes a letter, but she never delivers it. Instead, she watches it burn in the fireplace, letting her words dissolve in the flames, like her dearest dream, consumed to the last ash.

CAITLYN.

For Caitlyn, society has always been a chessboard, where every move is calculated with precision, each play evaluated down to the last detail. But you... you're the only move she knows she can never win.

She looks at the other young women who dream of marriage and can't help but feel a pang of envy. Not for them, but because she knows she will never get to enjoy the luxury of looking at you the way the men around you do, with admiration and desire in their eyes.

She writes letters to you with almost obsessive frequency—letters that never see the light of day. She sits at her desk, motionless and lost in thought until late into the night, trapped in the uncertainty of what everything could be like if the world were different.

At social gatherings, she stands by your side as a loyal friend, an elegant and discreet shadow who glides gracefully beside you. The looks from others are just noise; the only thing that matters is your presence beside her, even if it's in the silent role of "companion."

Once, someone dared to make a disparaging comment about "improper relationships." Caitlyn, with an exterior calm that seemed unshakable, didn't let her anger spill over in public, but inside, her indignation burned as fiercely as a scorching sun. No one, absolutely no one, was going to point fingers at you for something she herself held deep within.

She dreams of escaping, of running toward a future where she is free, but Caitlyn cannot deny the reality. "My duty is to protect my family, to protect you," she repeats over and over, holding onto those words like an anchor, trying to convince her heart that, in the end, that’s all that truly matters.

Sometimes, when your laughter rings out or when you take her arm with that confidence that seems to close the distance between you, her pulse races, as if each beat is a whisper of possibilities. In those moments, she allows herself to think that, if only they were braver, they could find an excuse to escape together, to leave behind everything that holds them back. But Caitlyn doesn't dare to be selfish, to risk everything she has built.

Every time she walks in the rain, she can’t help but think of you. The sense of freedom she feels in those moments is the same she longs for both of them, although, aware of the distance between you, she can only give you an empty smile and a "goodnight" that doesn't reflect all she wishes she could say.

The love she feels for you is like a silent wound. It doesn’t bleed, but it always hurts.

SEVIKA.

Sevika knows she’s not made to fit in. Her stance is unyielding, her presence a powerful force, but when she looks at you, something inside her breaks, as if everything she’s built crumbles in an instant.

At first, she denied it vehemently. She believed it was just a fleeting admiration, a passing desire that would fade with time. But soon, the harsh truth revealed itself: she is deeply in love, and that revelation consumes her with rage, because she knows she can’t have you.

Frustration boils inside her when she sees you talking to men who don’t deserve you. "Why should I stay silent? Why can they, and I can’t?"

Sevika was never one to follow rules; she always moved in her own territory, where the rules were flexible, and the consequences, few. But in this game, the rules are different, and she knows it. Any misstep, any wrong move, could destroy you. And she won’t allow it. She won’t let a mistake, no matter how small, bring an end to you.

She finds herself in the darkest corners of her mind, thinking of you more often than she’d like to admit. She imagines holding your hand in public, as if it were something natural, as others do. The mere thought of it is a delicious torture, a game of desires that slowly consumes her.

In a nearly imperceptible gesture, she once offered you her coat when the night was cold. "A courtesy," she said, but deep down, it was her only way of touching you.

Sevika hates the world she lives in. If she could, she would burn it all down to build a new one, one where no one could judge them.

Sometimes, in those dark, secret bars where she tends to lose herself, the glances from others challenge her, silently daring her. "I am what I am," she mutters under her breath, fiercely. Yet, deep in her mind, she never lets your name be tarnished, guarding it with a silent but unshakable loyalty.

Finally, in the solitude of her own company, Sevika whispers her love in a barely audible murmur. It’s a secret she will never reveal, but one that will burn in her chest, keeping her alive in every corner of her being.

JINX.

For Jinx, the world has always been a cruel and senseless place, but when you're near, for a fleeting moment, everything stops, as if the storm in her mind finds a corner of calm.

She doesn't know how to explain what she feels when she sees you, nor why her heart beats faster in your presence. At first, she thought it was just admiration, maybe a need, but soon she realized that what consumes her goes beyond that. It's something darker, more intense... something forbidden.

Jinx watches you from a distance, hidden in the shadows. She doesn't do it for fun, but because she's aware that getting too close could be a risk, both for you and for her.

In her overwhelmed mind, she imagines a world without rules or boundaries. "If there were no laws or morals, we could be everything, we could be together," she repeats to herself with a mix of rage and desire, as if the words could alter her reality.

Once, in an impulsive outburst, she stole a ribbon you wore in your hair. Now she keeps it as her most prized treasure. It's the closest she has to you.

She hears the rumors circulating, the whispers about how "you should get married soon." Meanwhile, Jinx erupts in anger, screaming and destroying everything in her path, but only when no one can see her. The very thought of losing you forever consumes her from the inside; she can't bear it.

She draws you in her notebooks, sketching little silhouettes hidden among chaotic scribbles and bursts of color. You are her only refuge in a world that burns with flames, her corner of calm amidst the chaos.

She dreams of you discovering her, of seeing through her facade and accepting her for what she truly is. But the fear of rejection holds her back.

In the end, Jinx whispers your name to the wind, as if it were a lost prayer addressed to a god who has never listened to her pleas.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane caitlyn #arcane vi #arcane sevika #arcane jinx #caitlyn x reader #vi x reader #sevika x reader #jinx x reader

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incessantscreech2000 · 1 year ago

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Image transcriptions below:

Legendary South African Jewish Freedom Fighters

And Their Condemnation of Israel

Many people don't know that several of Nelson Mandela's closest and earliest comrades and co-conspirators were South African Jews.

These Jewish comrades and their work was pivotal to the defeat of South African apartheid, giving them a unique perspective on the state of Israel.

—

Joe Slovo (1926-1995) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. In 1942, at age 16, Slovo volunteered to travel to Europe to fight the Nazis. Upon return, he studied alongside Nelson Mandela. He eventually was a founding member of uMkhonto we Sizwe, the paramilitary arm of the African National Congress.

Slovo was exiled to Mozambique by the apartheid government. Whilst there, his wife, legendary Jewish anti-apartheid activist Ruth First, was assassinated by a parcel bomb sent by the apartheid regime.

Working from abroad for the fall of apartheid, he eventually returned and became a Minister in Mandela's government. Throughout his life he remained a staunch critic of Israel.

—

"Ironically enough, the horrors of the Holocaust became the rationalization for the preparation by Zionists of acts of genocide against the indigenous people of Palestine. Those of us who, in the years that were to follow, raised our voices against the violent apartheid of the Israeli state were vilified by the Zionist press."

- Joe Slovo

—-

Denis Goldberg (1933-2020) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. He spent 22 years in prison, mostly in solitary confinement, for his political activity alongside Mandela.

He was finally freed when his daughter, who lived in Israel, lobbied the Israeli government, which was closely allied to the apartheid regime, to release him. Due to his staunch opposition to Zionism, he refused to join her in Israel.

—

"The violence of the [South African] apartheid regime was nothing in comparison with the utter brutality of Israel's occupation of Palestine."

- Denis Goldberg

—

Beata Lipman (1928-2016) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. She drafted the original Freedom Charter in her own handwriting in 1952, which became the basis for the constitution of free South Africa after the fall of apartheid.

Lipman was a proud Jewish critic of Israel, penning many letters condeming Israel over its treatment of Palestinians.

—

"We who have fought against Apartheid and vowed not to allow it to happen again can not allow Israel to continue perpetrating apartheid, colonialism and occupation against the indigenous people of Palestine. We dare not allow Israel to continue violating international law with impunity. Apartheid was a gross violation of human rights. It was so in South Africa and it is so with regard to Israel's persecution of the Palestinians!"

- Beata Lipman in joint letter

—

Ronnie Kasrils is a Jewish South African who was also a founding member and Chief of Intelligence for uMkhonto we Sizwe.

In 1992, Kasrils led an unarmed protest when the apartheid government opened fire, killing 28 of his comrades and injuring over 200 others. He went on to serve in various Ministerial roles after the defeat of apartheid.

In 2001, Kasrils was co-author of the

*Declaration of Conscience by South Africans of Jewish Descent, which calls Israel a colonial apartheid-state. He has drawn criticism for stating that Israel has behaved like the Nazis.

—

"We recognise the operation today by the Palestinian resistance in Gaza as a legitimate expression of their right to resist. We support all efforts of oppressed people to liberate themselves from their oppressors in the same way we did in our liberation struggle.

We are saddened by all violence but Israeli Jews will not realise peace until they accept a future where they will live with Palestinians as citizens in a single, democratic Palestinian state, with Palestinians being compensated for seven decades of colonisation, occupation and apartheid."

- Ronnie Kasrils, 7th October 2023

#free palestine #palestine #gaza #hamas #israel #fuck israel #freedom fighters #resistance #south africa #israel is an apartheid state #apartheid #genocide #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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icedoatlatte29 · 2 months ago

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in which you are a fontainian noble young lady and zhongli is said to be a cruel emperor

Diplomacy is a dealbreaker in the mighty world of royalty. Calculated steps, calculated sentences, calculated glances – there is no room for accidents that might cause the annihilation of an entire nation. In this sense, banquets are an important part of dealing with delicate matters between kingdoms, where often the lives of millions of people are on the line.

In the course of history, the lack of proper etiquette had caused numerous unfortunate situations, let that be a kind gesture, mistaken for a threat or some questionable phrases uttered at the worst time possible. Having dealt with many unpleasant situations, the Viscount of Fontaine made it his priority to educate his only daughter, preparing her for the cruel world of nobility. From the tender age of two, she received lessons upon lessons on how to act as a lady of nobility. This made (Y/N)’s early life quite a hassle. Of course, as a dutiful daughter, she would absolutely, under no circumstance, defy her father, but this does not mean that the endless etiquette lessons were her favourite pastime activity. Unlike the young ladies of the aristocracy, she was not all that interested in appearances. Of course, beautiful things and people always caught her attention, but the urge to submerge in this was lower than in the average person. The young maiden’s interest nested in the arts, especially literature. She was notorious for spending her free time in her father’s enormous library, completely forgetting about what was happening around her.

‘Lady (Y/N), have you decided on what ballgown you desire to wear tonight?’ the maid curiously asked the young woman. Usually, the young lady would pay no mind to inquiries like this, simply because the matters of clothing are of no importance to her. However, this was no simple occasion.

‘Yes Edith, I would like to wear the birthday gown I got as a gift from my mother’ (Y/N) answered while standing up from her desk. As per usual, books upon books scattered across the surface, the scent of paper and fresh ink from her fountain pen lingering in the air.

‘The dress from the Viscountess? Oh my, that is an excellent choice Lady (Y/N), I will get it ready right away!’ the maid explained happily and quickly left the room to arrange everything. The moment Edith left the room, the young lady let out a big huff of air. She hated all of this, but there were some occasions where duty rises above personal preferences. Balls are, in (Y/N)’s opinion, quite a drag, although they can be quite interesting. For example, watching the young bachelors, drunk on dandelion wine, trying to woo the ladies with their slurred speech is quite entertaining. But this ball would be very different from the ones she had attended before. For the first time in ages, the emperor of Liyue had finally accepted Monsieur Neuvillette’s invitation for Fontaine’s annual Winter Gala.

The righteous ruler of Fontaine had been trying to arrange a meeting with the Lord Morax, but the emperor was relentless. Unfortunately for Monsieur Neuvillette, the ruler of the Kingdom of Liyue had no interest in meeting with the Fontainian alone, but after months of constant persuasion, Lord Morax finally gave in. This would give the rulers of all nations the opportunity to talk about the situations the war has created.

The current war, which has already taken the lives of numerous people, is yet to stop. Nations trying desperately to stop the bloodthirsty killing sprees, but to no prevail. The moving force behind the unfortunate string of events is none other than the ruler of the Kingdom of Liyue, Lord Morax himself. He is rumoured to be a ruthless emperor who leads his nation with an iron fist to preserve order and justice. But those who came across the brutal sovereign on the battlefield, tell stories of a savage and barbaric commander who spares no lives within his sight. Wielding a spear made from the core of a meteorite, the enemy stands no chance against him and his infamous warriors.

Nations across the globe are terrified, they do not wish to get on the wrong side of the notorious Lord Morax. Many have tried to seek alliance with him through different methods, such as offering a fair maiden’s hand in marriage, however he has rejected every single one of them.

The stern gaze of the Liyuan emperor scanned the enormous ball room, carefully studying the crowd. Only his most trusted soldier, Xiao, stood beside him with his emerald spear tightly sitting on his back. No one dared to approach him, although it was evident that he was the topic of hushed conversations. As he was looking around, his eyes fell upon the figure of a young maiden talking to a young man. The colour of her dress reminded him of garnet, the golden accessories and details emphasizing the red hue of the gown – it was simple, yet elegant. Morax wondered who the person might be, but to his luck, the owner of the dress revealed themselves. As (Y/N) turned around, she locked eyes with the Liyuan man, then her attention was focused once again on the young man conversing with her. In that moment, Morax felt something that he might have never felt before.

The night continued on seamlessly, soft orchestral music and subtle chatter filling the ballroom as the nobility enjoyed their time. However, one young maiden grew more and more restless as she felt the burning gaze of someone on the back of her head constantly. Even when she tried to tone her uneasiness down, the lingering sensation of being watched never left her.

‘I feel like I might actually be going insane.’ sighed (Y/N) as she engaged in conversation with her childhood best friend, Navia Caspar. ‘This is why I despise these gatherings, they are awful!’

‘Oh, come on (Y/N), it’s not that bad.’ Navia tried to encourage her friend in this time of need. ‘At least the food here is delicious, which should be no surprise since Lady Furina is responsible for these delicacies.’ the blonde said while enjoying a strawberry cupcake. ‘And most importantly, this is the first time in ages since Morax had shown himself outside of the battlefield or negotiations. I don’t know about you, but I am hoping for some progress in the peace talks. Hopefully Monsieur Neuvillette will be able to have a decent conversation with him.’

‘Yes, you are right. I just wish that things would soon change for the better.’ With a sigh, (Y/N) grabbed a piece of cake from a nearby table. ‘At least the food is delicious’.

‘Maybe you should take a stroll in the garden, to get away from the crowd for a while.’

‘Hmm, I could really use some fresh air, that is true. And the moon looks beautiful tonight.’

The carefully maintained gardens of the Palais Mermonia were even more fascinating in the moonlight. Even though the air was quite cold, as the wind blew peacefully, the young girl did not mind the weather at all. For compensation, the view was more than enough to make her forget about the cold or the bustling of the ballroom inside of the palace. In this moment she was alone, finally being able to have a quiet moment to calm her nerves. This, however, did not last long when she heard footsteps coming right up behind her.

‘It is very sweet of you to come and check on me Navia, but I really do need some time alone.’

‘I reckon that you were not expecting me, but alas, let me speak a few words with you.’ An unknown male voice spoke behind her. When she turned around, the looming figure of Morax stood right in front of her. Mentally cursing herself, she quickly tried to gather her more noble self, because she cannot be speaking to the Emperor of Liyue as if they were childhood best friends.

‘Oh, I sincerely apologise for my rude behaviour, Lord Morax!’ she explained apologetically. ‘I did not mean to be so blunt. I thought that my friend was trying to come and see whether I was doing okay or not.’

‘Please,’ Morax said as he walked past her to sit on a nearby bench. ‘You did no wrong, there is nothing to worry about. I gather that you do not enjoy these kinds of events, am I correct?’

‘They are rather enjoyable.’

‘You do not need to lie; no prying ears are around us.’ This comment made (Y/N)’s eyes wide, as if she just witnessed the appearance of a ghoul. ‘To be sincere, I myself am not a big fan of these gatherings, I find them rather pointless. It is merely a pastime activity for spoiled aristocrats who know nothing better to do.’

‘If you feel this way Lord Morax, then why have you come here? As my father works in the government, right under Monsieur Neuvillette’s command, he’s told me that it is rather hard to invite you to these social gatherings. Excuse me, if I was rude, but I am genuinely curious.’

‘Well,’ the man started while looking up to the sky ‘I felt like accepting Monsieur Neuvillette’s invitation might bring us closer to coming to terms in certain cases.’

‘I see, Lord Morax. I will not bother you any longer.’(Y/N) flashed a polite smile at the foreign man, but the latter did not want the conversation to end.

‘Would a young lady like yourself spare some time to engage in conversation with me? Truly, I do not wish to idly stand in the ballroom while people whisper about me.’ he explained, resting his gaze on the full moon that lit up the night sky, along with the blanket of stars.

With hesitation, the young girl turned to face Morax, who was still looking up at the night sky. She found it rather odd, how such a man like him would rather be sitting outside peacefully in her company, instead of trying to have a chat with the important people of Fontaine, maybe coming up with a solution for the situation that’s been lingering around for years.

‘I know what the mass has been saying about me,’ the Emperor started, now his eyes resting on the girl beside him ‘but I do promise you, I am not as hostile as the tales portray me.’

‘If that is the case Lord Morax, then why are there such tales told about your cruelty on the battlefield?’ genuine curiosity laced (Y/N)’s voice as she carefully examined the man’s face.

‘People fear what they do not know.’ his voice, like the gushing of the wind, answered. ‘I try to be a righteous leader to my people, devoted and fearless. I do not tolerate any danger that could harm the people of Liyue.’

‘That is an amazing thing, Lord Morax. The people of Liyue are lucky to have someone as capable as you as their leader.’ the Fontainian girl offered Morax a gentle smile. She thought that the man from all the rumours would be a bloodthirsty maniac who enjoys nothing more than killing hundreds upon hundreds of people.

‘I am also worried about the state in which we have found ourselves in.’ a heavy sigh left his mouth. ‘I have given up on my beliefs about these social gatherings and came here today to finally find a solution that benefits all nations in this conflict. I hope that none of the effort will be in vain.’

(Y/N), moved by Lord Morax’s motives, softly put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel that even though he shows strength and resilience, the heavy weight of the wellbeing of his people pain his shoulders. This subtle act of care ignited a sense of warmth within Morax, a feeling which put him at ease. Having gone without affection for long, the Liyuan man felt the hardships of the past years disappear with this simple touch.

‘To be fair,’ the girl spoke after the long pause ‘I am also not a great fan of such balls. While the other ladies are more than delighted to attend these gatherings, I find myself drawn to more… mundane pastime activities. Reading has been a great passion of mine, but as a daughter of nobility, I could not indulge in the world of literature as much as I would have wanted to. Duties call, I am sure you are familiar with this, Lord Morax.’ shared the young woman. ‘Tonight, I am here to help my father to end this suffering.’

He felt like the world has stopped spinning. At first, the simple thought of this ball caused nothing more than a headache to the emperor, nothing but a drag to him. But instead, he stumbled upon this magnificent young lady, who shared the same sentiments as he did. Truly, he felt blessed for once.

‘Oh, I am delighted to hear this. I also enjoy reading, of course, when the time allows me. I would love to send you some Liyuan literature, only if you allowed me to.’

‘Thank you, Lord Morax, I would love to discover more Liyuan literature. I have read some and let me tell you, I am quite fascinated by how your people craft stories. Truly remarkable.’ she felt very happy in this moment. Finally, she could talk freely about the thing she loved the most, without having to worry about not looking lady-like.

‘Well then…’ he stood up, towering over the girl. ‘It was lovely talking to you, Lady (Y/N), I wish we could continue our conversation, but alas, it is time for me to return to the ball. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me back?’ he asked the girl, extending his arm to her. Now, without hesitation, she accepted his offer and walked back into the palace, arms locked.

Upon their entrance, the entire ballroom looked at the two figures, both amazed and confused. How come that the fearless and bloodthirsty emperor is walking arm in arm with the daughter of the Viscount of Fontaine? Hushed speculations filled the grand hall, overpowering the lovely music of the orchestra. The pair slowly walked to the side of the hall, but before parting ways, Lord Morax gently kissed the gloved knuckled of (Y/N).

‘Until next time, Lady (Y/N).’ he gently smiled and released her hand. ‘I promise you that I will be a man of my word.’ And with that, he took off to find Monsieur Neuvillette and the rest of the highly important and esteemed guests.

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin royalty au #royalty au

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arielleslipgloss · 11 months ago

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It Girl Habits!!

(none of these photos are mine)

“You cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours.” - Anne Hathaway

Stay busy!! Do you see those it girls like Serena Van Der Woodsen scrolling on their phone all day? No, you rarely do. It girls are always busy doing something. So, therefore do some self care, study, workout, read, journal, go shopping, go on solo dates, hang out with friends, paint, have a dance party, etc. Do fun activities and take care of yourself. Another example of a busy it girl is, Elle Woods. Elle Woods wasn’t becoming one with the couch everyday. She had goals to achieve. She had people that doubted her to prove wrong. So get up! Start planning out your day or week. Start making goals!!

Have goals! You wanna know why you’re bored all the time? Well, it’s because you have no goals. You practically don’t have a life because all you do is sleep, eat, scroll, and repeat. You’re wasting time doing nothing. You could’ve had a clean room by now. Maybe you could have finished that book. Whatever it is, you could have had it. You could’ve been 1% better than yesterday. You don’t though because you have no goals. That time you’re wasting, can be used toward your goals. It can be used toward your dream life. Maybe, you do have goals? Yet you don’t even take action. What are you waiting for? For someone to do the work for you? No, get up and start taking action.

Be mindful of what you consume online!! Just like how who you surround yourself with affects you. What you consume online affects how and who you are. For example, listening to sad music makes you feel sad. Music is meant to tell a story that you feel deeply. You may not even relate to the song, but you feel as if you do. So, you become sad and continue to listen to sad music. When listening to uplifting music you gain confidence. You still feel like you relate to the song. Just with a more positive effect. As for what you watch and read. Don’t read/watch stuff that will put you down. Watch/read content that will help you.

Complimenting yourself every time you pass the mirror!! Some may say it’s cringy, but DO IT. Would you rather be cringy or be the best version of yourself? Exactly, so either say it out loud or in your head. Say it even if you might not believe it. Say it because you deserve it! Try to be creative with your compliments. Not all compliments have to be about your looks. It could be your personality, your thoughtfulness, how creative you are, etc. Also loosen up, be your own hype girl. When you see the mirror you could say, “Omg I look like the main character.” “Oh wait, I am!” Lastly, don’t forget to have fun with hyping yourself up.

Mediating or journaling when stressed!! When stressed we start to feel a lot of tension. So, that’s why meditating is so important to do when stressed. All you have to do is sit down and focus on breathing. Plus, It calms down your nerves, relaxes the mind, body, and soul. Not just that, but plenty of other benefits. Which includes, helps focus, betters mood, helps you sleep, slows down aging, etc. As for journaling, it’s practically free therapy! That is, at least in my eyes. All you need is a notebook, a pen or pencil, and yourself. Journal what’s making you stressed or anxious. Let all your emotions out, write freely. Your words don’t have to make sense. Nor do you need to have perfect writing. In fact, when you journal it may be all over the place. However or whatever you write, just let it out.

Expressing your gratitude!! Life is so beautiful and has so much meaning. So, either write down what you’re grateful for or thank God. You are so blessed to be here today. That is only just one thing to be grateful for. There are so many things to be grateful for, air, family, friends, your mind, being born as you, water, books, food, shoes, clothes, and so much more!! Express your gratitude everyday. It could be the most random thing like, a poster. As long as you’re truly grateful, then express it.

7. Having a low screen time!! Cliché, I know but it’s true. Your devices are consuming you. Think about what you use your device(s) for. Good examples are, for work, for motivation, tips, workout videos, inspiration, knowledge, and maybe even faith reasons. Now here are bad examples, procrastinating, sinning, hating on others, scrolling, because you’re bored, to watching videos of people that make you insecure, and lastly to cope with something. Which to clarify, trying to cope by using your phone, I understand somewhat. On the other hand, it could make what you’re coping with worse. I say that because there are so many studies on why our phone is bad for us. Seriously, so many and we are completely unaware of the damage it does. So for that reason, try to use your phone only for the good. I know you’re probably going to make an excuse. Which we all do and that’s ok, but please try.

8. Encouraging yourself to do better!! You should always be working hard to be 1% better everyday. So on the days you don’t feel like doing anything, encourage yourself. Show up for yourself, you will be so happy after. Lastly, trust yourself to get whatever done!!

9. Having a healthy sleep schedule!! For me, I try to aim for 8-11 hours of sleep. For others, it may be 7-10 hours of sleep. Whatever makes you feel the most well-rested should work. Just try to be consistent and mindful of the time. I also recommend to be off your phone for at least 30-60 minutes before going to bed. It will improve how you sleep a lot. That also being said, try not to be on your phone when you wake up either. It’ll help improve your health by a lot. Especially, the health of your brain and eyes. As I had mentioned, try to be consistent. Set a certain time to go to bed and turn off your phone. Then, get your lovely beauty sleep gorgeous!!

10. CLEANING!! The last habit is, cleaning. Now, I don’t just meaning cleaning your room or house. I mean even your body and mind. For starters, a clean room equals a clean mind. Therefore, stop procrastinating and start cleaning. Turn on some fun music and maybe even romanticize cleaning. Just make it fun and DEEP clean. I know someone reading this has been procrastinating on cleaning. You know who you are, so clean everything. Then, for cleaning the mind a little extra meditate. I feel like I already went over a bit about meditation. So lastly, for the body, take your showers consistently. Also, please wear deodorant. I see way too many people nowadays not wearing deodorant. Seriously, wear your deodorant.

“Always walk around like you have on an invisible tiara on.” - Paris Hilton

Remember, always apply lip gloss and stay pretty! Love you, dolls 💋

Info I used: https://reallifecounseling.us/blog/benefits-of-meditation

My Pinterest: @arielleslipgloss

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lovelytsunoda · 4 months ago

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the sixth sense | jake "hangman" seresin

summary: after a car accident totals her car and leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, an anxious police desk sergeant learns to live with the ghosts haunting her home, and the crush she has on the hot pilot who lives next door

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

warnings: car accidents, ghosts (but they're very funny ghosts!), sexual innuendos/advances made by a ghost, if you can recognize the names of the detectives/station staff and can correctly tell me what tv show they are from, you get a metaphorical cookie. jake is a very involved neighbour.

author's note: my f1 fics for this collection have been on the struggle bus lately, so here's hoping my top gun one does better

sargeant y/l/n wouldn't say she hated her job, exactly, but there were many days where she wasn't always thrilled with it. take today for example, her desk piled high with requisition forms for fingerprint checks, traffic camera footage, autopsy reports and more.

it wasn't that she didn't like the work. no, she found catching murderers to be most rewarding. it was the people she worked with. detectives who didn't see her as an equal, but as a machine, dropping files on her desk with a demand and an impossible deadline.

"yn, how busy are you for the next few days?"

she raised her eyebrows at the detective across from her. "for you, detective disher? i won't be free until at least the end of the week."

detective disher raised an eyebrow. "how much work are they piling on you? you aren't their servants, you can speak up and tell them you're too busy."

she rolled her eyes, chewing the end of her bic pen. "usually they hightail it out of here before i even have a chance to open my mouth. some of them don't even speak to me or give instructions, they just drop a file on my desk and assume that i know what to do with it."

detective disher frowned. "we really need another desk sargeant."

"you think?"

it was long after sundown when she left the office that night, overtime she probably wasn't going to get paid for. she hoped that leaving at 6:30 was worth it to have a clean desk in the morning, one almost free of files long enough that she could breathe. of course, by the morning, all of the late shift detectives would have dropped all of their files off for her review.

she was about halfway home when traffic started to pick up again, the glow of the led headlights making it difficult to see out of her side mirrors. her glasses claimed to be glare resistant, but what did someone without astigmatism know about glare?

she turned right at the next set of lights, descending down the hill that would lead to her small, cosy neighbourhood. she was still a fair distance away as she watched the light change from yellow to red, taking her foo toff the gas. the car ahead of her seemed to be slowing, but not by much, and the car behind her was uncomfortably close. she sped up slightly, ready to put her foot on the brakes whenever neccesary.

wait a minute, are his break lights out? he's stopping!

she slammed her foot on the brakes, watching helplessly as her car continued to slide forward, her front bumper colliding with the rusted tail hitch.

her head jerked forward from the impact, banging against the steering wheel before it all went black.

she came to in the hospital, where audio was blurry and vision even worse as the doctor explained the symptoms of a concussion to her.

“it was a bad scene all around. you’re lucky you weren’t injured further.” the doctor insisted. “legally, I can’t allow you to drive for the next few days. is there someone we can call?”

realistically, the only name that came to mind was detective dishers. her parents were two cities away, and she didn’t want to disturb them. her sister was on vacation, and she didn’t want to bother any of her friends.

disher picked her up by the main doors, a matchbox twenty song playing on his stereo as she groggily slipped into the passenger seat, a plastic baggie full of prescription drugs in her hands.

“just take me home, randy. I don’t want to talk about it.”

the detective sighed. “okay. But you know you don’t have to come into work tomorrrow, right?”

great. no work meant no leaving the house. no leaving the house meant that her thoughts drove her to the brink of madness.

she simply couldn’t win.

as she slipped into her bed, she must have been slowly losing her mind as she swore that she could hear voices in her room as she was drifting off. she didn't think much of it, chalking it up to exhaustion as she let sleep claim her.

the following morning, she groggily puttered around the kitchen, assembling a light breakfast as she called her captain to explain why she couldn't come to wrok.

"hey captain, i was in an accident last night-"

"i know. randy called me. are you doing okay?"

"no concussion, but the doctor wants me to monitor for signs, so i'm not super hopeful. disher drove me home, and i'm supposed to hear from the mechanics about the state of my car later today."

"well, take care of yourself, yn. if you need anything at all, you have my number, and you have randy's. but don't call adrian, he's probably just going to make things worse."

she sighed, rubbing the skin on her forehead, fingertips teasing the edge of the bandages from where she'd hit her head on the steering wheel. "thanks leland."

"my my, you look a little worse for wear, don't you?" the voice came from nowhere, very thickly british and definitely not familiar.

she spun around, spying a figure in the kitchen doorway. his long hair dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, and his skinny jeans were ripped to oblivion. she screamed, reaching for the metal ladle in her utensils jar.

"how the fuck did you get into my house?"

"your house?" the man looked confused. "sweetheart, i've always been here. i wouldn't throw that at me, if i was you. you'll just damage the wall behind me."

"who the fuck are you?" she stammered. "you're not real, this is just concussion brain, i should call the doctor back and go another scan-"

"you're seeing ghosts, honey." this voice was older, deeper. kinder. and significantly less british. another body materialized in her kitchen, sitting at her breakfast counter. she was round and plump, with a rosy face and sweet, kind eyes. she wore a nun's habit over a white blouse and a long navy skirt. "rick over there died in 1984. i'm sister katherine, and i died in 1961. lovely to meet you properly."

"the fuck do you mean i'm seeing ghosts?!" yn screamed, the sound reverberating through her skull. "you're not real!"

"i understand that this is a lot to take in." sister katherine insisted "but it must have something to do with the accident you were in last night."

"how do you know about my accident?" she pushed, brandishing her metal spoon as a weapon.

rick rolled his eyes. "because we watched that detective bring you home last night. tell me, are you two sordid lovers? if i wasn't dead i would love to get a piece of your-"

"enough, richard!"

"what the hell is happening right now? has he been watching me in the shower?" yn hissed under her breath, starting to pace back and forth in front of her stovetop.

"if you've got a head injury, you should really sit down." the nun kept trying to reason with yn, but nothing in this situation made one iota of sense.

she shakily sat down in one of the ikea chairs in her kitchen, and noted how badly her hands were shaking. she dropped the ladle on the table, clasping her hands together. she refused to look at rick and sister katherine, instead focusing on where her shellac manicure had begun to chip.

she really should book herself in for a fresh one.

"we have visitors!" rick's voice carried, his ghostly body reappearing next to yn. she startled in the chair, refusing to meet his eyes. "he looks annoyed, and he's wearing mechanics coveralls. i wore a pair of those on stage once. ladies love 'em."

"he was in a very unsuccessful hair band." sister katherine clarified.

"i need both of you to stay quiet for a second." she sighed. "he must be from the body shop."

she closed the front door behind her, although that was unlikely to do much against two beings who could walk through walls, but a girl could try.

"are you y/n y/l/n?"

"sergeant y/n y/l/n." she corrected. "san francisco pd. can i help you?"

"i'm from clint's garage, detective disher brought your car in last night."

that didn't sound good. behind her, she could hear a car door slam in her neighbour's driveway. oh good, jake was home. she tried not to let her eyes wander, waiting with bated breath for what the mechanic was going to say next.

"the front bumper was totally smashed, caved in where you hit the trailer hitch. the hood is also bent back a bit from impact. the good news is that the airbags didn't go off, which means your car can be fixed. the bad news is that it's going to cost more than your car is worth."

she could feel her headache coming back, her legs beginning to feel weak. she knew her car wasn't worth much due to it's age. but the city didn't pay her enough for her to be able to take on the payment for a new car outright, even if she was buying used.

she felt unsteady, and her body was starting to list to one side as two strong arms picked her up.

"i've got you, just keep breathing." the smell of cologne was overwhelming. there was no way in fuck that was rick, and it wasn't the mechanic.

she'd know that texan drawl anywhere. and that meant that right now, she was in navy pilot jake seresin's arms.

and that idea made her feel a little more faint that normal.

jake seresin had lived in that neighbourhood longer than her. she'd moved into her rental house just over four years ago, and he'd bene there on viewing day in a tight white tank top and jeans, getting all sudsy as he washed his silverado in the driveway. she couldn't resist watching from the window as he got into his truck in full navy fatigues before he went to work, or when he worked out shirtless on his front lawn since the porch took up most of the back.

she cleared her throat. "can i get an estimate for the repairs? will it cost less than buying a whole new car?"

the mechanic sighed. "look, even at randy's mates rate, it would still be more advisable to buy something new. go to a dealership and look at the preowned lot, anything less than 20k will serve you a lot better than getting this car fixed up would."

she couldn't form words, mind going fuzzy from the feeling of jakes hand on her lower back, and the thought of going back inside and facing the ghosts again.

"thanks, man. she can't drive for a few days anyway," jake started "but i'll bring her to the car lot when she's better and help her find something nicer."

jake helped her back inside, where the ghosts were watching giddily with their heads through the kitchen wall.

"you didn't have to do that." she insisted, avoiding eye contact with sister katherine while she spoke to jake. "i really can't afford a new car."

she could hear sister katherine in the background, whispering to rick. he's a hot one, and a real gentleman too!

"but you can't drive that one either. it's almost twenty years old, yn." jack frowned. "treat yourself. finance if you have to. take the scrap money and run, that's what i would do. you think the navy pays me well either?"

she fought the urge to bury her head in her hands and slump down on the table. "can you drive me to my follow up at the end of the week? he just wants to make sure there's no brain damage. i was going to get detective disher to do it, but if you have the morning off its less hassle."

jake looked puzzled. "why would you want me to do it instead of your boyfriend? shouldn't that be his job?"

"why the fuck does everybody think i'm hooking up with randy?" she shouted. "jesus, jake. he's my fucking boss."

the pilot's face was red as he carded his fingers through his hair. "he just seems to be over here a lot. he drove you home from the hospital last night and i just assumed."

"he's over here a lot because his girlfriend threw him out so sometimes i let him sleep on the daybed in my spare room while he finds a new place. we've been friends for years, we were at the academy together. i could be where he is if i wasn't too chickenshit to go into the field."

jake paused for effect. "well, this is awkward. are you sure you never thought about it."

despite herself, yn laughed. "we hooked up once back at the academy. we were sooo not compatible."

"i fucking knew it!" she heard rick shout in the background. "men and women can't just be friends!"

"richard!" sister katherine cut him off. "let the girl speak and mind your own business."

"lucky for you," jake grinned, totally unaware of the ghosts arguing behind him, every syllable of their argument making yn cringe inside "i happen to have the day off on friday. i'll take you to the doctors, and if everything is good, we can go to the car lot where i bought my truck. the guy will give you a good deal."

"i want a volkswagen. that's non-negotiable." she warned.

"that's fine. we can even stop by the garage and pick up your scrap money to put towards a deposit."

her chest felt tight with everything jake was offering to do for her. it was a slight anxiety, but a positive one. nerves that sprung to mind when she thought that maybe jake was offering to do all of these things for her because he wanted to be more than just her neighbour.

and as incredible as she knew it would feel to have a special place in jake seresin's heart, she'd been out of a relationship for so long that being in one again scared the ever-loving shit out of her.

true to his word, jake picked her up promptly at ten am the following morning. she had stressed about what to wear all morning, dodging criticisms about her outfit choice from sister katherine ('seriously, what on earth are they selling in the clothing shops these days? tops are supposed to go to the top of your jeans! what happened to dressing respectably?) and outdated sex tips from rick (which came with a knowledge of the ghost's kinks that she wished she could erase from her memory).

"just to be clear, you guys are bound to this house, right? you died here and now you can't leave?"

sister katherine nodded. "that is how being dead works, my love. we have to stay here while you go out gallivanting with your fancy man."

she stifled a laugh. "jake is not my fancy man. and neither is randy."

"whatever you say, cutie." rick winked. "and if you ever find yourself being undead in the walls of this house, give me a call and let me rock your world."

shaking her head with a laugh, she closed the front door behind her and headed over the grass to jake's house. he was waiting with two thermoses of hot chocolate and looked like he had just finished vacuuming the inside of his truck.

"good morning sunshine, let's go get you a clean bill of health!"

the wait to see the specialist was longer than the appointment. it lasted no longer than half an hour while the doctor took another brain scan and declared that there was absolutely nothing wrong with y/n aside from some superficial bruising to the skin on her forehead where she hit the steering wheel. jake insisted that her clean bill of health was worth celebrating, ushering her back into the truck and refusing to tell her where they were going.

"you know i'm a serving police officer, right? one call to captain stottlemeyer and there's a all points bulletin out on your truck."

jake laughed heartily. "i'm not kidnapping you, sweets. damn, you really don't like surprises."

"can't say i'm a fan."

minutes later, jake pulled off a secluded country road and into a parking lot lined in mulch. for a place that was so out of the way, the parking lot was packed to the brim and jake had to park the silverado what felt like miles away from the building itself. like a true gentleman, he helped her down from the truck's cab, one hand on the small of her back as they walked towards the large country store.

"a farmers market?" she giggled. "big bad hangman frequents farmer's markets?"

"how do you know my call sign?"

"you have it written on a metal sign in your garage."

jake winked at her, opening the heavy glass door. the country store was in a large refurbished barn, with the hayloft having been fully converted into a small cafe. his hand was warm through her cinnamon colored t-shirt as jake guided her towards the stairs to the cafe.

"do you like cinnamon buns?"

"of course i like cinnamon buns. who do you take me for?"

laughing to himself, jake had a large smile on his tanned face as he guided her towards a window seat. "make yourself comfy, sugar. i'll be right back."

she hated to see jake seresin leave, but she loved to watch him go, shamelessly watching the rippling muscles underneath his tight levis jeans.

he came back a few minutes later, two white china plates in hand, each one with a steaming warm cinnamon bun on top. as he passed her a plate, the cowboy made the bold claim that these were the best cinnamon buns in san francisco.

"i'll be the judge of that." yn said with a laugh, trying to pick up the sticky pastry in her hands in the most dainty way possible. the buns were large, mostly taking up the small plate.

"need a knife for that, sarge?"

"shut up, hangman."

"you know i outrank you, right?" jake joked, a sly look in his eyes.

she stuck her tongue out at the pilot, wishing she had a third hand so she could give him the finger. "bite me."

"all in due time, sugar."

she tried to hide the blush taking over her face, busying herself with taking the first bite of her pastry while she tried to ignore the images that jake's comment had conjured in her mind.

of course, the moan that she let out upon tasting the pastry did nothing to ease the sinful thoughts creeping into her mind. she could tell jake noticed, his breath momentarily catching in his throat despite the smile never breaking on his face.

"am i right or am i right?"

"fine." she playfully rolled her eyes. "you were beyond right. these are incredible!"

she beamed over at jake, wiping up some of the warm glaze on her chin that hadn't fully dried before she'd taken a bite. he was sitting across from her at the small table, and had yet to touch his cinnamon roll.

"you've got a little something..." he started, reaching a warm hand over the table to brush against her lips, wiping up some cinnamon that had been left behind.

her breath caught at the action, her eyes catching jake's blue ones. he truly was a beautiful man. time seemed to slow, jake's eyes slowly moving from her own to her lips and then back up again, her cheeks heating under his gaze.

"yn, can i kiss you?"

"yes."

he leaned over the table, gently rising from his wooden chair as he pressed his lips against hers. he was soft at first, almost apprehensive until she gripped his wrist where he was caressing her face, tilting her head back to give him a better angle and kiss him harder.

kissing jake seresin was everything she'd wanted it to be and more. if this was a movie, there would be fireworks going off behind them, and a sappy pop rock ballad playing as background music. perhaps something by lifehouse or matchbox twenty.

her lips felt sticky as jake pulled away, a goofy smile on both of their faces.

"you haven't touched your pastry." she said shyly.

jake grinned. "that's because you taste a lot nicer."

they stopped at the dealership on the way back, after having picked up the scrap money. yn test drove a volkswagen, fairly new with few miles on it. she decided to make it a point to come back within the end of the weekend, having already fallen in love with the little car. she felt like was, for lack of better words, walking on sunshine as jake pulled into his driveway, one of his large hands resting comfortably on her thigh.

he helped her down, looking forlornly over to her house, almost as if he'd enjoyed himself and didn't want the night to end.

"i have to go into work early tomorrow, and you've probabaly got heaps of work to do as well, so i'll let you get back to it." jake sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. "but, if you're up for it, i can stop by tomorrow and make you something for dinner?"

she smiled up at him, reaching to take his free hand in hers. "i'd love that." remembering her ghostly guests, she hesitated. "but maybe we could do it at your house instead?"

"i would like nothing more, sarge."

"good." she pressed up onto her tiptoes, kissing jake softly.

his hand snaked around her waist, slipping into the back pocket of her jeans as he deepened the kiss. she hummed contentedly, gently stroking his face with her thumb, hand resting on his cheek.

"i can't wait." she winked at him before she cut across her front lawn, backing towards her property. her southern gentlemen saluted her as she unlocked her front door, slipping inside the foyer.

"soooooooo." rick's familiar english drawl began. "how did things go with john wayne over there?"

and despite herself, yn was very much looking forward to sharing details of her budding romance with rick and sister katherine.

things were coming up roses for sargeant yn yln, and she was so excited to see what the future had in store.

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thewulf · 1 year ago

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Not Just Pals || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Hello darling! I have a request for you if you don't mind... It's a hangman x fem! Reader pen pals to friends to lovers kind of thing. Like maybe when he was in the academy someone put his name in this program to write to college students but joke on them because he got paired with reader and they hit it off almost instantly... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew! This one was for whatever reason really tough to write! I changed it up a little bit but I hope you guys still enjoy it. :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.9k +

T/W : Self-doubt

October 9th, 2014

Hi There Y/N,

I’m not sure how you’re really supposed to start one of these things? How are you supposed to go about talking to somebody you’ve literally never met before? Although the Navy/Army pen pal thing could be interesting. I’ll be honest, my buddy signed me up and I didn’t think I’d actually write anything down but then I got the email with your name on it, Cadet Y/N Y/L/N. Consider myself intrigued.

What’s it like up in New York? Is it cold? Do you get a lot of snow? It gets awfully cold down here in Maryland, so I have to imagine how cold it gets up there. I’m from Texas so I’m still adjusting to this weather… four years later. It’s not easy. I think it’s the hardest part of living in the northeast. I’d rather run a marathon with a thirty-pound pack on than sit outside in the snow for more than twenty minutes. I hope to get stationed somewhere warm when this is all set and done.

Your ‘about me’ says you’re going into the Air Defense Artillery after West Point… which is the exact opposite of what I’m doing. Consider myself doubly intrigued Cadet. What do you do? Fire missiles and rockets at jets? That can’t possibly be as much fun as firing them when you’re in the air. It’s cool just not nearly as cool as what I do, know what I mean? Maybe a close second though.

Have you even been in a jet before? I bet you’d like it. I obviously don’t know you, but I haven’t met many people who didn’t like it. There’s something so freeing about flying 1,000 miles per hour in a tiny silver tube. You should try it sometime. If this whole thing works out maybe I’ll even take you up one day, who knows?

I guess that was my attempt at 20 questions. Hopefully you didn’t find it too annoying. Hope to hear back from you soon!

Jake Seresin

November 23rd ,2014

Hello Future Lieutenant Jake Seresin,

I’m thrilled you actually decided to write. I’m glad my name was all you needed to pick up that pen. I have to admit you made me giggle a few times. You seem effortlessly funny Mr. Seresin. Even for a soon-to-be Pilot.

I find it comical you’re asking me about the weather of all things, Midshipmen. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on an awkward first date? But to answer your question, yes it’s cold as all get out up here. But I’m from Indiana so I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish West Point wasn’t in Georgia or something. Why’d they have to put all the Military schools in the north?

What was it like growing up in Texas? Did you ever see snow? One of my favorite memories from this place is watching my roommate (who’s from Florida) see and play in snow for the first time. She froze her ass off but had the day of her life. She also hates snow now. So, it looks like you warm people have that in common.

To sum it up I guess you can say we fire rockets and missiles. My professors always say, ‘If it sounds like rocket science, it is’. Basically, we need to protect the ground troops from the flying bastards aka you. Although we do love our American flying bastards. So, I guess that doesn’t knock you down too many pegs in my book. Do you think they matched us up because our jobs are the antithesis of the other? If so, somebody had a hilarious sense of humor.

I’ve never been in a jet, and I have no plans to either. I don’t think I’d enjoy it if we’re being honest. You’re talking to the girl who gets sea-sick on cruises and had to take a motion pill if we’re going to an amusement park. My lil brain can’t handle the motion. A character flaw as they say. I also have a sense that you wouldn’t go to easy on me, being Army and all. I’ll stick to my calculations and rockets.

Don’t tell anybody I wrote this, but I do think what you guys do is so badass. I work with a bunch of jealous Cadets who couldn’t make it into the Army Aviation division, they’re just bitter. When I was little my dad used to take me to the Blue Angels shows in Chicago whenever they made their way across the States. Kind of the reason why I wanted to be in the military in the first place. But only my dad knows that. And well, I guess you now too. So, keep my secret safe Mr. Seresin.

I know the weather is less than desirable, but I do hope you’re finding things you love in Annapolis! There are some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had there.

Thanks for the smiles after a long week!

Your New Friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

February 16th, 2015

Future Second Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N,

That has a right to it doesn’t it? Your name sounds good with a Second Lieutenant in front of it. Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Getting busy with graduation coming up and practical’s and all. It’s a lame excuse I know, but it’s all I got. I hope you know how big I smiled reading your letter to me. I read it about fifty times before I could write a decent response to you. You have a way with words that I haven’t read in a long, long time.

Was your father in the military? None of my family was. I also loved the Blue Angels when they came down to Houston for the air shows. I’d always beg and plead and finally my mom or sister would give in and take me. They’re also the reason I’m here. So, I guess we should thank them that we got to meet. Neither you nor I would be in these academies without them. Your secret is locked away in the drawer and safe in my head too. It’s super safe with me.

I’ll be honest, the food here is so damn good. I sure do miss my Texas barbeque, but the spread is better up over here. Plus, the snacks? I didn’t know there was different brands sold across the states and you guys have better girl scout cookies! That’s just not fair. I could’ve gone my whole life knowing that there were two versions of girl scout cookies and I got the worse version. I’ve enjoyed the move far more than I’ve regretted it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It doesn’t guarantee I’ll be a pilot, but it means I’m one step closer to getting there.

What all schooling do you have to do after you graduate this spring? Are you up for deployment soon? I’ve got a lot left to go. If I get picked after I’ve got a few years of flight school ahead of me. Then I’ll really be off. Wish me luck I make it!

With Love,

Jake

March 13th, 2015

Mr. Seresin,

I was getting worried! I thought it was something I had wrote. I’m glad it’s your negligence and not mine for the lack of communication. I forgive you though. It’s been stressful up here in New York as well. I luckily don’t have any practical’s I need to worry about. Just a few nuclear engineering classes are standing in between me and graduation.

I just have a year of Officer School (if I get selected that is) after this is all set and done come June. We have to apply this April so I’m getting a little anxious about the whole thing. I don’t really have a backup plan that I’d actually like to do so I really, really hope I get selected. Enough about me though, let’s talk about you. You’re going to get picked! Don’t let any bad thoughts get in between you and your goal. I think you’ll make a fine pilot Jake. You seem to have your wits about you which is the first step a lot of people miss.

My dad was in the Navy, like you. Don’t gloat though, it’ll ruin the finely crafted image I have of you. He was a deck hand or something like that. I wish I could ask him some more about it, but he passed when I was just thirteen. I just remember he loved being in the Navy. He loved everything about it. He made it seem like anything was possible with a passion.

I’m glad you’re enjoying the food and the girl scout cookies. It took me by surprise when I got Peanut Butter Patties instead of Tagalongs when I was down south for a winter. I’m so glad I grew up where the real GSC are sold.

I hope this letter brought you as much joy as yours brought me.

With the Same Love,

Y/N

(P.S. – Here’s my number if you’d like to text instead of write. No pressure!)

It had only been a week since you sent the last letter. Sure, you hadn’t really known the guy all too well but there was something so exciting about sending written mail. You felt like a little kid on Christmas waiting for a response from him. Who knew throwing your name in something so silly for your class would bring you so much joy.

You sat down on your desk setting your computer out front of you to study. Jake was right. It was an awfully busy time of the year. Applying for your future. Studying for you exams. When you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket you truly didn’t think much of it. It was only hours later when you finally closed the laptop shut that you went to check it that your face scrunched in confusion. You didn’t recognize the area code. It was then that it clicked that it could be him.

No pressure at all text! Hi there (it’s Jake).

You grinned reading it over and over again. That was quick! Maybe you made an impression? You sure hoped so. You hardly even knew what the guy looked like. You might’ve gone digging a little when you got his name. He was cute. Handsome even. But he seemed like that type. That arrogant pilot type. But even in just the two letters you received from him you got the hint that he wasn’t that type of guy at all.

I didn’t think you’d actually text me. It’s good to hear from you.

The messages between the two of you were infrequent at best as the semester ended. But he never failed to put a smile on your face. When you needed a pick me up you went through and read the messages that popped up.

On your graduation day you sent him a picture of you and a few friends in a cap and gown with the text: Beat you! You’re also looking at your newest Officer Candidate too!

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Your face only grew with glee seeing his response: Congrats Second Lieutenant. And future Captain. Knew you’d do it. You look beautiful as always.

Typing a quick reply, you hid your smile away just knowing your friends would make a stupid comment about the mystery man that always had you so smiley: You’re making me blush all the way up here in New York. I better get a picture next weekend when you do the same, future Lieutenant.

He came through on your request. When you got the text you could only smile. You spotted him in the picture immediately, your eyes drawn to him. He was so damned handsome. How lucky were you to get paired with a guy like that? Your smile grew further when you read the message: Lieutenant (and future pilot) Jake Seresin reporting for picture duty.

The messages occurred naturally between through the years as you were deployed, and he was in school. Some months you texted more and some you didn’t hear from him at all. It never bothered you. The silly little thing called life happened for both of you.

Still, the two of you often made time for phone calls when the time was right. The first time you talked on the phone you thought you were going to quite literally throw up you were so nervous. But in typical Jake Seresin fashion he made you feel cool as a cucumber. You talked and talked and talked into the morning. It felt so normal. Like you were catching up with an old friend. Jake Seresin. Who was this man that was making it hard to date? He was quite literally everything you wanted and needed in a partner. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

It had been six long years since you received that first letter from him. He was off on a mission now. A dangerous one he couldn’t tell you much about. But he wanted you at his arrival back home in San Diego and you promised him you’d be there. Assured him. That’s how you ended up in here pacing in the hotel room contemplating whether you should really go or not. It felt too intimate, like you were intruding. But he did say none of his family would be there, they had other things going on as the mission was a bit of a surprise to everybody. The pilots were all instructed to keep it as quiet as possible.

Your hands were shaking as you parked your car in the overcrowded lot. Gripping the steering wheel, you took a long breath in. You could do this. You had to do this. For him, for you. You stepped out of the car and made you way to the dock. The aircraft carrier was already docked by the time you got to the meeting site. You stood back and waited. Watched and waited. It felt like an eternity then finally the men and women started pouring out in their Navy Whites. You’d always thought they looked the sharpest of the bunch, but you’d never tell Jake that. He’d make fun of your Army uniforms or something like that.

It felt like both an eternity and seconds later that you spotted him amongst the crowd of sailors exiting the ship searching high and low for you. You promised you’d be there. And here you were. He either felt your eyes on him or had an uncanny sense of timing as his eyes locked with your own. His smile had melted you right there on the spot. You felt helpless as you willed your brain to move but it wouldn’t. You only began to panic a little as he moved with ease through the crowd making his way right to you.

He stood in front of you. Jake Seresin stood in front of you, much taller than you thought, “I knew I recognized you. First Lieutenant Y/L/N.” His eyebrows raised as you gaped at him with wide eyes as if he wasn’t really there. Closing your mouth, you knew you needed to pull it together but that sounded much easier said than done. Jake freaking Seresin, your pen pal was really standing in front of you in real life. He was more of enigma in your mind at this point. Somebody you could have deep life conversations with so easily but never having actually met the man it was hard for you to grasp he was really real. And standing in front of you.

“Jake.” You smiled hoping it sounded somewhat normal. He was so much more handsome than the photos he sent through the years. How was that possible? Wasn’t it supposed to go the other way? You continued once your head finally could form coherent sentences, “Well it’s actually Captain now. Got promoted a couple weeks ago.”

He turned his head to the side just slightly, “You didn’t tell me that.�� Almost looking offended you hadn’t told him.

“Never felt like the right time to divulge. With this mission and all. Had to keep you locked in.” You looked up to him now studying his face as you gained more courage talking to him. He was something your dreams couldn’t make up.

He nodded not daring to take his eyes off you. He too thought you were even prettier than he could have envisioned. You’d sent pictures and he’d followed your social media, but nothing could’ve prepared him. Especially in your civilian clothes, he was a sucker already. Deep down Jake knew you were the reason he was so non-committal before. He was looking for somebody just like you and couldn’t find her. Yet here you stood in front of him. You were so funny and witty and smart, and yet he couldn’t put it all into words. You are the whole package and so much more.

“You still could’ve told me. We talked enough before I left.” He grinned seeing that the tension was already easing from your shoulders.

You shook your head, “Wasn’t about me Seresin. I just wanted you to stay focused and safe. And thank goodness you did.” You admitted a little more than you wanted, but he just made you feel so gushy. Like you were a sweeter version of yourself you could hardly recognize. And the words just kept flowing out when he gave you that look with those green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged you a bit sensing that you were starting to feel a bit more comfortable with him already, “Didn’t think you’d be so relieved darlin’.”

Ignoring the sweet term of endearment you shook your head, “And waste six years of my life on nothing? Jake that’s so inefficient. Of course, I want you safe.” The words came fast, and they were snarkier than you intended. But you truly couldn’t help it. He had you relaxed within the first five minutes of talking to him. You felt like you could just be you.

He threw his head back in laughter. That same weight had lifted right off his shoulders when you snapped back at him like he was waiting on it, “There she is. My favorite mouthy girl.”

He said it so nonchalantly you thought your heart was going to combust on the spot. Your cheeks surely gave way to your reaction to his words. His favorite mouthy girl? Christ. He was trying to send you into a coma or something! Your brain quite literally short circuited as it failed to form any coherent sentence. He only chuckled in response seeing your cheeks heat up in a blazing blush.

“It’s so nice to actually see you in person. You know I’ve always told you this, but it rings even truer even now. You’re quite a stunner, Captain.” His eyes met yours before you looked away quickly feeling as though you were going to faint at those words. You weren’t sure how this interaction was going to go initially. But you really didn’t think he’d come right out and say that he found you stunning. The occasional letter and texts in between had grown flirtier the longer you had known him, but it never crossed your mind he’d be so outright with it.

You turned away out of sheer bashfulness. Never had a man been so bold with you before. It was foreign. Not uncomfortable, no. Nothing could be with him. He made it easier than seemed possible.

“You flatter me Jake.” You grinned up at him hoping your makeup would hide the darkening of your cheeks, “I should say the same for you. Handsome as ever.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Cap.” Sure as hell the faintest pink dusted his cheek, but he seemed much stronger than you. He kept the eye contact going.

You shook your head trying to bite back the big smile you had on your face, but it showed through anyway. How was he doing this? Making you feel so giddy just by looking at him. You knew this man but for the first time it actually felt like you might actually love him. You’d had the deepest conversations with him. When you needed a laugh you texted him. When you craved advice you called him. He was the guy you turned to. And it dawned on you that he never failed to answer you. He wanted to take your calls and answer your texts. He looked forward to it. He too had fallen for a woman he’d never met before.

You needed the change the subject and fast or more words would be tumbling out, “How was the mission? Everyone make it out okay?” You asked having no idea what you were getting yourself into. Jake hadn’t told you much about what they were doing, couldn’t tell you much. But now that it was over he couldn’t wait to tell you every nitty gritty little detail.

“I’ll tell you if you let me buy you a drink?” He gave you a smirk that sent nerves racing throughout your body. Jesus. This man was something else.

Giving him a curious once over you nodded, “Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink sailor? You coming home and all?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll never let you buy me a drink darlin’.”

Gosh, Jake was actually going to be the death of you. He was so good making his words come off so easily. You felt terribly high strung next to him, “And why not?”

“Because I’m trying to woo you sweetheart. When I get you to go on a date with me I have to impress you. Inevitably that’ll work and you’ll become my girlfriend. And I can’t have my girlfriend paying for my drinks, no. And it’ll only get worse when I get the pleasure of marrying you. If my wife thinks she’ll pay for a thing she had another thing coming.” He gleamed at you as if he didn’t just say all of that.

You gulped before a stupid smile grew on your face. Of course, you knew he was forward but again, he just took you on an entirely new adventure with that statement, “That’s quite a bold statement Jake.”

He shrugged, “I thought I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And you’re perfectly you. Sharp as tack. Funnier than ever. You’re you. And I really like you.”

You let out a breath not sure if you really believed all of that, “So not just pals, huh?” It was all you could think of quickly but that did it for him. Sealed the deal. He knew he was going to marry you right then and there. You’d complete him in every way he needed you and vice versa.

He shook his head taking his arm in yours, “Not just pals.” Leaning into his gentle embrace you led him to your car where he would not let you drive. He insisted that it was a gentleman’s job even if he was only running off four hours of sleep. You’d appeased the man who was on his very best behavior. Not that you minded. Nope, not at all. You were thrilled that Jake was exactly who he seemed to be. Your Jake. Not just pals indeed.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy

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izvmimi · 6 months ago

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cw: spoilers. after timeskip. selfship-coded. reader has a defined quirk. hurt/comfort.

As strong as the bond between any high school class can be (even yours, arguably more a small superpowered militia than a group of hopeful freshmen in far over their heads and strong enough to make it through the other end anyway), paths diverge as people follow their dreams, even if they will all forever call UA their home.

It’s fitting that Izuku Midoriya, indisputably the most affected by the trauma of the meta war has kept UA as home base, and settling into his new career as teacher has remained both expected and fulfilling, even if poorly introspective onlookers would think otherwise. He is the heart of what it means to be a hero and that is to inspire the present and the future, and carry on the lessons of the past.

He is also your heart, you muse, as you find him sitting at your kitchen table, poring over graded essays, the red ink from his excessively lengthy corrections and comments practically jumping off the paper it’s scribbled on. You set down your work bag and attempt to sneak up behind him, but even if he’s focused and still, he’s always sharp, setting his pen down to turn around and greet you with a kiss.

“Hey, you’re later than usual, so I just let myself in, is that okay?” he asks. You nod, moving over to wash your hands in the sink quickly, then coming back around to pull a chair next to him.

You’ve wanted to ask him to just move in together for months now, especially since now you spend more time at each other’s places than you do your own separate ones, but something about the proposition has felt wrong, rushed maybe. It’s been just a little over a year since you moved back to Japan after your fellowship overseas, and while you’ve remained in a varying level of contact the whole time since graduation, the flux of things has changed significantly instead of settling normally. For one, confessing an unrelenting affection that was kept mostly secret since high school had changed the trajectory of your lives, finding ways to incorporate seeing each other without fanfare between your busy post-grad education and his UA courses, then finally a year of long distance had made it difficult to ever feel like things had been truly steady.

“I wouldn’t have given you a code or key if not, silly,” you remind him. He smiles, and you glance over at the last assignment he’s corrected, and grimace.

“You know if Aizawa had given me this many comments on an essay, I wouldn’t have shown up the next day, Izuku,” you remind him. He laughs, as you take the paper and read his feedback, mind spinning.

“I mean, no kid’s ever cried yet. I try to be nice.”

He is nice, you think, realizing that not a single word in the practical novel he’s scribbled in the margins of the brief constructed response can be misconstrued as disappointed or demanding.

In fact, you would have cried tears of joy reading this.

“How was the clinic?” he asks over the turn of another page.

“The most darling kid who didn’t have a Quirk manifest yet at age 5 showed up with worried parents with too much money on their hands.” You twist your mouth to the side.

Izuku doesn’t look up as he says, “Oh, that’s too bad.”

There’s a pang of discomfort in your chest for a split second, but he doesn’t say anything else, scribbling a series of checkmarks and x’s, the quick scritch of his pen a little louder and resounding.

Izuku was meant to be Quirkless and is happy being Quirkless yet again, his mission fulfilled and the world better for it - even if sometimes only marginally so - but you know he yearns for the ability to be back on the field, with the same restlessness All Might once recounted feeling once he’d retired to teach as well. It’s evident in the way Izuku stays up a little too late reading/watching the news at every level, and how much of his free time he coordinates to a similarly intense training program at the crack of dawn, and the fact that even now he bristles at the implication of Quirklessness as a disability.

Everyone can be a hero. He was the greatest of them all - is, in fact, and not just your personal one, but his own personal world has shrunk. Documentaries, videos, people’s memories will not change that the fact that he’s far bigger than the quiet life he lives.

Now he’s relegated to cheering his friends on, day in and day out, and preparing a path for the youth to surpass him, something he is willing to do, but you know perhaps the timing is a bit too early for someone who shines as brightly as him.

You rest your head on his shoulder. I love you, you could say out loud, I love you, and the world loves you, for you even more than what you did and what you represent, but it doesn’t help and Izuku cannot help sometimes interpreting your love as pity.

“What do you want for dinner?” you ask instead, keeping your voice as gentle as possible.

He turns to kiss your forehead. “I’m good with anything.”

You hate that no matter what you ask, big or small, he’ll always say this, and decide you’ll order his favorite food instead.

—

Years ago, when Mei contacted you out of the blue while you were ass deep in your medical school finals, asking you if you remembered the last time you’d used your Quirk on Izuku Midoriya, you had immediately assumed she had officially gone insane. It had been greater than five years since you’d last had a normal conversation with her at all, if even that could be considered normal, and you hadn’t had a need to use your Quirk on Izuku since the meta war.

“I know it’s a long shot but I need to know if you still remember-”

“I do,” you answered quickly, then immediately your face warmed at the admission. You can’t help that your Quirk gives you near perfect memory of people by their neuronal diagram, but something about it feels stalkerish when you still think of him affectionately, and not just as someone you’ve once healed. It also doesn’t help what the circumstances were when you’d healed him… but that would be a concern and memory for later.

“How can I help?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes visibly at you when you showed up to Hatsume’s lab the very next day but the animosity between you two has been a running schtick for years and you responded in jest. Using Hatsume’s program to redraw each neuronal connection from memory and adjusting for differences related to age was your greatest contribution to Izuku’s suit, small sums of money to contribute to the class pot whenever you could spare them the other.

There was always a little pang of jealousy that Katsuki could always offer up more money than you could, which once you’d confided to him by late night phone call days before All Might came back to Japan, he’d remind you,

“I’m just trying to beat your boyfriend in a fair fight, don’t make this about you.”

Katsuki’s rash way of speaking has always intuitively comforted you in just this way. It brings a smile to your face, and you offer him a word of thanks, anyway.

“He doesn’t know, does he? I know you like to run your mouth.”

Katsuki can’t see you roll your eyes. “He’s none the wiser, don’t worry.”

“Good.”

—

Izuku sends you a daily good morning message, and you’ve rarely beaten him to the punch, but this morning, you offer him a phone call as you make your way to the center of the city to work. All Might is coming back today and will present his suit to him then, the fruit of all your joint labors, and you were practically unable to sleep due to the excitement. Part of you agonized over whether or not you should try to be with him in the moment, but this is a moment to be kept between them, mentor and mentee.

“How are you feeling this morning, Izuku?” you ask, hoping the pants of your speedwalk (late to work as usual), don’t concern him through the phone.

“Weirdly enough, excited. There’s a feeling I can’t quite place, a good one,” he starts, and your grin is ear to ear.

Hours later, you get an excited text and one of the happiest phone calls you’ve ever received, and your heart is full to bursting.

—

“It’s fine, you don’t have to fuss over me,” Izuku insists, and you pout. There’s one stubborn emerald curl that won’t right itself in your opinion, and he’ll be on set for an interview in just a few minutes - the first since returning to active hero work - but he holds your fingers in his hand and pulls them to his lips instead.

“It’s okay. Don’t be nervous on my behalf,” he reminds you as he kisses them. His eyes are kind and relaxing, and you let out a deep breath, biting your lower lip. “I’ve got this, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“I love you,” he reminds you. “Thank you for always being by my side.”

You nod, as his assistant whisks him away, and he steps back into the spotlight, where he’s always belonged.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes #mimidoriya

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nobodyfamousposts · 1 year ago

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Here's a Thought About Harry Potter...

Okay, so you have bigoted Wizarding children who look down on muggles and muggleborns and put big emphasis on wizarding lineage and whatnot. Big example in canon was Draco and his open use of the derogatory word "Mudblood".

So let's ignore the blatant favoritism where he and others are free to bully and be overtly cruel with no punishment or consequence.

Let's also pretend the teachers actually do their jobs and issue appropriate punishment.

What would happen if one of said teachers decides that the best way to curb Draco's blatant discrimination would be to have him learn about muggles?

So Draco ends up transferred to Muggle Studies.

Draco: This is a waste of time! Name one thing muggles have accomplished that Wizards haven't. Go ahead. I'll wait— Teacher: They've been to the moon. Draco: Wait—what? Teacher: Six times. Draco: WHAT?!

Where he is forced to...(shudder) learn about how muggles live!

Oh nooooooooo.

So he learns about muggle inventions.

Muggle Student1: So there's this square device called a "cell phone" that's compact enough that we can carry around in our pockets. We can also use it to send messages within seconds, chat with people across the world, play games, and look at pictures of cats. Draco: Don't think you can fool me! Like I would fall for something so insane! Muggle Student2: (Sarcastically) Oh no, he caught us.

Muggle contraptions.

Draco: What do you mean they don't use quills? How do they write? Teacher: With pens. Draco: Where do they get the ink from? Teacher: It's IN the pen. Draco: (Stares) …how?

Muggle hobbies.

Malfoy: What is "internet"? Muggleborn Student1: ….oh you sweet summer child. Muggleborn Student2: Don't tell him. I don't think his brain could handle it.

He also ends up falling into the muggleborn black market.

Which comes with the revelation that there IS, in fact, a muggleborn black market at Hogwarts. Because I'm hard pressed to believe that kids in the modern era would just abandon their modern comforts completely.

Muggleborn Student1: Hey, just because electronics don't work at Hogwarts doesn't mean we have to leave everything behind. Muggleborn Black Market Dealer: I have a new stock of Cadbury chocolates, KitKat bars, and Fruit Pastilles. Muggleborn Student1: YES! Draco: (Scoff) There's nothing here I would want. Muggleborn Black Market Dealer: I have one set of "Slytherin" gel pens in black, silver, and bright green. One set of glitter gel pens. And a spiral notebook with a holographic cover. Draco: (Slams money on the counter) GIMME!

And Draco ends up learning a lot.

After all, a Slytherin is supposed to be cunning and ambitious.

It would be remiss of him to not take advantage of such opportunity as it presents itself.

#harry potter au #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco goes to muggle studies #draco learns #muggleborn headcanon #muggleborn black market

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whore-ibly-hot · 2 years ago

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Yan!Bully x Gn!Reader x Yan!Loser

'Art-Project'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Bullying, name calling, degradation, violence, mentions of non-consensual photos, nonconsensual touching, male pronouns for the yans, mentions of school, general perversion, toxic behaviors, creep behavior.

(AN: Had a fun time with this one, really enjoyed toying with the dynamic between this two. I think I'll probably make a part two with these trainwrecks in the future)

Part 2 here

The crashing of books and pens falling on the tile floor rings out through the boy's bathroom, as a young, dark-haired boy is thrown harshly onto the cold multi-colored tile. The boy lets out a cry as he hits the ground, and he scrambles away upon impact, pressing his back up against the wall as he looks up at his assaulter.

"F-fuck off, Patrick!" Ahmed exclaims, his frightened eyes never leaving the predatory gaze of the bully who stands over him. Ahmed's free hand wanders around the bathroom floor, grasping blindly to try and find his book bag. Ahmed's accent only becomes more prominent, as his voice shakes and cracks. "Fuck did you say to me, you little shit?" Patrick grabs the boy by his collar, yanking him up from the ground and sneering at him. Ahmed gulps when he feels Patricks breath tickle his neck, making him tremble. "I-I didn't, didn't mean it, c'mon. I was just shocked when you threw me on the floor, it just slipped out." Patrick rolls his eyes, and as he does, his gaze falls on Ahmed's bright red backpack, laying open on the floor. Patrick notices how Ahmed's eyes widen when Patrick looks at it, causing Patrick to raise an eyebrow.

"What's in the bag, freak?" Patrick whispers, and before the sentence has even fully left his lips, Ahmed is fiercely shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing! Just work, please-" He hits the floor again, and he's sure tomorrow he'll be bruised from the rough treatment. "Pick it up." Ahmed looks up. "What?" "C'mon, pick it up. You're all freaked out, freak... I wanna know why, so I'm gonna tell you one more time." Patrick crouches down, and nods in the direction of the cloth schoolbag. "Pick. It. Up." He pauses after each word, relishing the fear in Ahmed's eyes.

Since Ahmed transferred to Morrisville high, Patrick had made his life a living hell. Not that he wasn't already unpopular at his old school, but people at least tried to avoid him there. People did here at first, before Patrick set his sights on Ahmed. Patrick wasn't sure what drew him to the scrawny, quiet boy. Possibly the way everyone avoided him, or maybe it was how little everyone knew about the new kid. Most likely, it was the knowledge that no matter what he did to the boy, or what he made him do, no-one was going to stand up for the boy. Patrick picked on everybody, but god, Ahmed became his favorite. The way he'd squirm, and cry. The way he was able to convince the other kids at the school to pick on the lonely boy. Things only got worse when Patrick found out that everyone at Ahmed's old school thought he was a freak too. Suddenly, shoulder-checks in the hallway became full-on beatings, stolen homework became shoes and clothes being taken from Ahmed's locker, or even right off the poor boy. Patrick never hesitated to remind Ahmed that even if he reported him, or got away from this school, that he'd still be a freak, no matter where he went.

Ahmed's sobs snap Patrick out of his reveling, as the scrawny boy crawls over to the bag, his hands shaking as he tries to grip the red canvas of the backpack. Patrick huffs, but before he can open up the backpack and take a look, he hears footsteps outside the bathroom, coming from down the hall. "Get in the fuckin' stall, go." Patrick growls, pointy sharply at the large handicapped stall at the other end of the bathroom. Patrick steps outside of the bathroom, and Ahmed can hear Patrick greeting whoever is outside. A friend of Patrick's probably. Another member of his little delinquent gang. Ahmed shuts the lid of the toilet and sinks down to sit on the lid, afraid his knees may give out. The sound of heavy boots approaches, and Patrick fingers slid around the stall door, pulling it open as he slips into the stall, locking it behind him. Ahmed tries to steady his breathing.

"Alright, open it up. C'mon." Patrick nods in Ahmed's direction. Shaking hands pull out textbooks, pens, pencils, even the leftovers from Ahmed's lunch. The objects clatter to the floor, scattering across the bottom of the stall. "See, nothing in here, just my school stuff." Ahmed's trembling hands extend the now empty bag to Patrick, presenting it almost proudly. "What... there's no fucking way." Patrick huffs. He begins to dig through the objects, kicking away the writing utensils as he grasps at the textbooks. He flips through each of the pages, trying to find anything incriminating. His frown only deepens as he finds nothing. He's about to give up, as he reaches for a blue folder labeled 'Math'. When he does, Ahmed lets out an involuntary whimper, causing Patrick to freeze. A sick grin spreads across the blonde's face, as he slowly pivots his head to look at Ahmed.

"There we go, somethin' in here you don't want me seeing?" He asks. Ahmed nods, tears cascading down his cheeks. "Alright, I'll tell you what, freak..." Patrick stands straight up, leaning up against the wall behind him. "Tell me what's in the folder, and I won't even look, okay? Just get it off your chest, I'm open-minded." Patrick purrs at the boy, watching his resolve crack in real-time.

"It's-" Ahmed goes quiet towards the end, his words so soft Patrick can't hear. "What was that? You gotta speak up." He sighs. "Or, I guess I could just look-" He moves to flip open the folder with the edge of his boot, causing Ahmed to jolt forward. "N-no!" The boy yells, thrusting his hands out in front of him. Patrick scoffs, tossing his head back for a moment as he laughs, clutching at his stomach. "Jesus, Ahmed, what the hell is in here that's got you so spooked?" Patrick asks. Ahmed shivers. Somehow Patrick using his real name is worse than him calling him 'freak'. It feels more personal.

"It's nudes... nude photographs." Ahmed whimpers, a blush of shame spreading across his cheeks as his gaze falls to the floor. "Oh- yours?" Patrick asks. Ahmed doesn't respond, causing Patrick's brows to furrow, an amused and pleasantly surprised expression coming onto his face. "Not yours, huh." Patrick glances down at the folder. "Who the hell's been giving you pussy, freak? Who's been letting you take those pics?" He asks. Ahmed's hands are tense, gripping the fabric covering his knees so hard that he worries they might tear.

"I- they didn't, alright?" Ahmed cries, curling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in shame. "They didn't-" Patrick takes a moment to process this information. His eyes light up in realization. "You really are a little pervert, huh? I knew something was off about you." He puts his hand on his knees, leaning over so he can make eye contact with Ahmed's curled up form. "A sick little pervert. You get off on those photos?" Ahmed whines. "Some poor kid at this school doesn't know that the school freak strokes it every night to a picture of them... poor them." Patrick leans down and picks up the folder.

"Wait, w-what are you doing, you said you wouldn't look if I told you the truth about what was in there?" Ahmed coughs, almost full on hyper-ventilating at this point, eyes wide in panic. Patrick nods, keeping eye contact with Ahmed as he flips open the folder. "True, but..." He shakes his head, his blonde locks falling from his loose ponytail. "How do I know you're telling me the truth about what's in here if I don't look?" Ahmed scoffs. "Why would I lie about having a folder of some creep-shots?" Patrick shrugs. "I don't know, maybe something like that doesn't seem that serious to you, y'know, because you're a pervert." He suggests. Patrick sticks his tongue teasingly out at Ahmed, before looking down at the gritty Polaroids nestled behind some math notes.

The photos are taken from all sorts of places. The ones at the front are simple upskirts from behind, the subjects face not visible. As Patrick examines more of them, he notices they seem to get more invasive. The final photograph was clearly shot at night, a bedroom window visible. The subject of the photo lies nude, and Patrick's face falls when he sees the face. He looks up at Ahmed, his breath halted. "They... they are cute, huh?" Ahmed looks up from his knees, confused. "You know them?" Ahmed swallows harshly, then nods. "Sort of... we have English together." As Ahmed explains the nature of his relationship to you, Patrick flips through the photos once more. Now that he knows these photos are of you, they have an even greater allure. "Hmm, I have lunch period with them, gym too..." He muses. "Heh, you should see em' in those little gym shorts, shit..." Ahmed isn't sure where this is going, but Patrick's calm tone and hyper-focused expression stress him out even more than when Patrick is outwardly aggressive. At least then he's predictable. Right now, Ahmed is in new territory with his tormentor.

Patrick sighs, and tucks the photos back into Ahmed's folder. He smacks the folder into the center of Ahmed's chest, making him let out a grunt as his trembling hands grip the blue plastic. "Listen, freak." He whispers. He places a hand on the wall behind Ahmed, allowing him to move his face right up in front of the boys. Brown eyes look back at him with fear. "Nobody has to know about all this. I'm still gonna kick your ass, but nobody has to know about your..." He thinks. "Let's call it 'extracurricular art project', okay?" Ahmed, gulps, and asks. "What do you want in return, I know the way you are." Patrick chuckles. "You're pretty smart, huh? Alright, I'll tell ya. Get me some of those photos, some new ones. And copy that last one, that shot into their room." He says. "Why, y-you like them too?" Ahmed whimpers. Patrick shrugs. "I know they've got a sweet little body, and I wouldn't mind a closer look at it, that's all." Ahmed considers this. If he doesn't agree, who knows what Patrick would tell everyone. God, Ahmed might even have to change schools again, and if he did, he couldn't be near you. He shakes his head. He won't let that happen.

"Alright, you got it. I- I think I can get them to you by friday." Ahmed offers, and Patrick nods. Ahmed moves to stand, but Patrick pushes him back. "One more thing, freak." He whispers. Ahmed bites his lips in fear. Patrick slips his hand from the boy's shoulder, down past his waist, and to the front of his victims school shorts. He roughly palms Ahmed's limp cock through his pants, making the boy choke on his own spit in shock. Patrick sighs softly at his reaction, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

"Snap me a pic of yourself too, freak..."

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lastoneout · 5 months ago

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It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

#anti-AI #actually disabled

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