#americans avert your eyes

[adhd-merlin]

.

[micamicster]

^me as everyone else in the band and also all of us as squidward exploding dot gif!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHHH the big confession scene! sooooo happy you’re liking it 😁 I wrote the bones of that scene really early on (the dialogue at least I knew what it was going to be) and then it just took me… 40 thousand words to get there haha

[fans4wga]

SAG-AFTRA president Fran Drescher's strike announcement speech

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Thank you. Thank you everyone for coming to this press conference today. It's really important that this negotiation be covered because the eyes of the world and particularly the eyes of labor are upon us. What happens here is important, because what's happening to us is happening across all fields of labor. By means of when employers make Wall Street and greed their priority and they forget about the essential contributors that make the machine run. We have a problem. And we are experiencing that right at this moment. This is a very seminal hour for us.

I went in, in earnest, thinking that we would be able to avert a strike. The gravity of this move is not lost on me, or our negotiating committee, or our board members, who have voted unanimously to proceed with a strike.

It's a very serious thing that impacts thousands if not millions of people, all across this country and around the world. Not only members of this union, but people who work in other industries that service the people that work in this industry. And so it came with great sadness that we came to this crossroads, but we had no choice. We are the victims here; we are being victimized by a very greedy entity.

I am shocked by the way the people that we have been in business with, are treating us. I cannot believe it, quite frankly. How far apart we are on so many things. How they plead poverty, that they are losing money left and right while giving hundreds of millions of dollars to their CEOs. It is disgusting. Shame on them. They stand on the wrong side of history at this very moment.

We stand in solidarity, in unprecedented unity. Our union and our sister unions and the unions around the world are standing by us, as well as other labor unions. Because at some point the jig is up. You cannot keep being dwindled and marginalized and disrespected and dishonored. The entire business model has been changed. By streaming, digital, AI. This is a moment of history that is a moment of truth. If we don't stand tall right now, we are all going to be in trouble. We are all going to be in jeopardy of being replaced by machines and big business who cares more about Wall Street than you and your family.

Most of Americans don't have more than $500 in an emergency. This is a very big deal, and it weighed heavy on us. But at some point, you have to say no. We’re not going to take this anymore. You people are crazy. What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Privately they all say we’re the center of the wheel. Everybody else tinkers around our artistry, but actions speak louder than words. And there was nothing there. It was insulting.

So we came together in strength and solidarity and unity with the largest strike authorization vote in our union's history. And we made the hard decision that we tell you, as we stand before you today. This is major. It's really serious and it is going to impact every single person that is in labor. We are fortunate enough to be in a country right now that happens to be labor friendly. And yet, we are facing opposition that was so labor unfriendly. So tone deaf to what we are saying. You cannot change the business model as much as it has changed and not expect the contract to change too.

We are not going to keep doing incremental changes on a contract that no longer honors what is happening right now with this business model that was foisted upon us. What are we doing? Moving around furniture on the titanic? It's crazy.

So the jig is up, AMPTP. We stand tall. You have to wake up and smell the coffee. We are labor and we stand tall and we demand respect. And to be honored for our contribution. You share the wealth because you cannot exist without us. Thank you.

[theoxenia]

Prayers to the Theoi in light of the U.S Inauguration

May Father Zeus judge the actions of the United States and see those who abuse their status as leaders brought to justice. May He protect the vulnerable; may Zeus, patron of foreigners, stand guard over all those threatened by deportation and xenophobic violence. May tragedy fall on those who do not treat each foreigner as if they were a god in disguise, who violate the holy law of xenia. May He give us all the strength to resist injustice however possible. May He empower those underneath the boot of American imperialism and raise them up to freedom. Zeus loves the compassionate, generous, honest, humble leaders, and He despises the vicious, greedy, deceitful, and hubristic leaders.

May Lady Athena raise up the people, that they may govern themselves. May She cast her shining eyes on this government and, when it is found lacking, may it be transformed by Her. May Athena, the Maiden, strike down all those who seek to control women and those they see as women. May Athena bless all those who fight for justice. May She make them clever, brave, bold when needed and peaceful when possible. May She guide us to true wisdom, and give her favor to the people who seek deep knowledge and critical thought. May Athena tear down lies, deception, and all forms of trickery that seek to disguise vice as virtue.

May Lord Apollo see those who bring chaos and violence and take aim at them with His arrows. May Apollo, the Averter of Evil, defend the meek and oppressed. May he protect the elderly, disabled, and sick from disease, and may He inflict it on the corrupt and greedy. May Apollo, who helps those in distress, enact His justice on the healthcare companies that cause untold suffering. May Apollo, protector of fugitives, guard the imprisoned who are used as slaves, as well as the refugees who are met by hostility from every corner; may He guide them to safety.

May Lady Aphrodite foster unity amongst the people. May she fill the cities with love for one's neighbor, love which inspires noble actions. May Aphrodite bless the tongues of those who speak on behalf of love. May She, patron of sex workers, protect all those who will suffer from whorephobic laws. May Aphrodite punish greatly all those who seek to diminish Her domain, and in their hubris make claims about who can love who. May Aphroditos protect all of the transgender, intersex, and gender-non-conforming people, especially the children. May S/He cast her vengeance over all those who seek to diminish His/Her domain, and restrict the expression of the body and the mind. Aphrodite Pandemos blesses us through our relationships with one another. She gives Her favor to those who devote themselves to their communities and seek unity through love.

Feel free to add your own prayers for this incoming time.

[xoxochb]

“I'm watching american pie with you on a saturday night / your friends are around, so be quiet / I'm trying to stifle my sighs”

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“shhh.”

you’re unsure whether to begin laughing uncontrollably or to cry or maybe kill the boy filling you up. repeatedly you had asked him to quiet himself because both rooms beside his were currently being occupied by your friends— and if they were to hear you… well you don’t want to think about the consequences of that. and you curse him mentally for the making of this ship, seriously— adding a room on both sides of both his and yours? fucking dumbass. you try to ignore these thoughts and maybe focus on the sound of american pie playing on the television on… five volume? when you turned it down you surely didn’t care to check. whatever, that’ll bother you if you focus on it too long, you avert your attention to your gradually pace-increasing thrusts, at first slowly as you find the right movements then faster as you discover a perfect rhythm.

with every brush of his tip along a sweet spot you’re not even sure is safe has you seeing stars, maybe if you’re lucky at any point you’ll pass out from the pleasure racking through your senses. you allow yourself to forget about your surroundings for just a while as you move up and down his cock, additionally letting your eyes shut tight as a guttural moan slips past your lips. what a hypocrite you are— telling leo to be quiet when you can barely be yourself. as you reach your growing climax it becomes insanely difficult to stifle your sighs, you only hope and pray that everyone is asleep as you grow closer. you feel a burning sensation pooling your core as your legs tighten and threaten to give out beneath you

your symptoms become harsher as leo makes the consecutive decision to roam your bare skin, quite literally anywhere within his current reach. as his (and also yours) moans reach a louder tone you feel yourself at your peak, continuously rolling your hips over his to prolong your orgasm. and may the gods on olympus save you from the odious conversation you’re unprepared to have with the rest of the argo members the next morning

[winnie1emon]

“I’m a man now”

lorenzo berkshire x american!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx. 1.3k

cw: mdni!! kind of childhood friends to lovers, sort of rekindling, cursing, heavy makeout, sexual language, tiniest bit of fluff (?)

an: lowkey not proofread since I did this instead of sleeping, first piece of work on this blog, title may or may not be a play on louis’ role in enola holmes haha

As sweat began to bead on your forehead, you shielded your eyes from the raging sun, watching the ice cream from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour melt in your hand. In your other hand, were bags of books, a new set of robes, and a brand new cauldron for you to start your final year of education but first school year at Hogwarts after having transferred from Ilvermorny. 

You turned your head to look behind yourself, seeing your mom chatting animatedly with her friend who you know to be Mrs. Berkshire. You remembered her obscurely from the summers she would spend in America when you were younger, bringing along her son– Lorenzo.

Lorenzo was walking beside his mother, casually eating his ice cream without a care in the world. You used to spend time with him as kids in the summer, but it had been about 5 years and you definitely had suspicions about his newfound personality. Despite your mother's insistence on you rekindling your friendship with the seemingly sweet Lorenzo, you spent most of the afternoon purposefully walking ahead of him or trailing slowly behind him. Stopping at a trashcan to wipe your hands with a tissue and throw away the remainder of your ice cream cone, you’re startled when your mother suddenly speaks to you. 

“Got everything you need?” She asks, placing a hand on your back. Regaining your breath, you turned to her, wiping off a bit of sweat on your forehead. 

“Yeah, mom, scared me. Can we go now? It’s terrible out here,” you complained, squinting at the sun. You looked around the bustling environment of Diagon Alley and saw Lorenzo staring at you from the corner of your eye. He stood there, tall and handsome, the sun hitting him in all the right ways. You shut your eyes for a second before opening them back up at your mom in an attempt to distract yourselves from his appearance. 

“Mhm, we’re going to stop by the Leaky Cauldron first though, Lorenzo’s hungry,” she told you. Noticing the hesitant nod you gave her, she added, “Y/n.. you guys used to be such great little friends, why don’t you sit beside him once we sit down to eat?” A slight frown formed on your face as you mumbled a small sure and began to walk towards the Leaky Cauldron with your mom, Lorenzo and his mother following behind. 

As the four of you entered the pub, your mother sat beside Lorenzo’s, giving you a knowing smile. You dubiously took the seat beside Lorenzo, averting your gaze, determined to stare at your mother’s eyebrows and zone out. You’re brought back to reality as Mrs. Berkshire orders. “Three butterbeers and a, uh hot tea for me please,” she smiled at the waiter. The moment the waiter left, you realized it would be the most awkward wait ever, so you excused yourself.

“Just going to use the bathroom real quick.” 

You entered the small, dingy bathroom that was dimmed, noticing the lack of foot space. You looked in the mirror, dabbing off a bit of the extra sweat you had from outside off your chest with some toilet paper. You reached down to your low-rise jeans, fishing your lipgloss out of your pocket. Reapplying the lipgloss, you saw the door open behind you through the mirror and flinched, turning around immediately, hands behind you, resting on the sink. “Holy shit! Who the fuck..” you huffed out, holding your hand to your heart. “Lorenzo. Why would you–?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Mhm, coming into the bathroom unannounced; a sure way to lull someone into comfort,” you retorted. “Wh-what are you even doing here?” You furrowed your brows in confusion, staring at his face. 

“You know,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Just wanted to see why you were avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” you asked incredulously. “There’s no reason for me to avoid you,” you added defensively. “What, you thought I was too scared to talk to you this whole time?”

“Look, there’s no,” he scoffed. “--there’s no need to lie,” he grinned, stepping closer, and you could almost convince yourself that he gazed at the sweat glistening on your chest momentarily. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s fine.” You furrowed your brows from his change of heart and said nothing. “So,” he exhaled. “What have you been up to?"

“Nothing really… bit bummed I had to move, but it’s whatever now,” you shrugged, grateful for the change in direction. “You?” 

“Yeah same, nothing too. Why don’t you like it here?” Lorenzo asked. 

“Dunno… seems a bit boring here. Plus all the guys I’ve seen so far– they seem so immature. The amount of yelling I heard in Flourish and Blotts; insanity.,” you groaned. “They’re all just little boys to me honestly.” Your eyes darted around the bathroom, pursing your lips slightly. 

“Pfft, yeah. I get what you mean, some of them are horrible.”

“They were like you when you used to come over to America,” you teased, a small smile forming on your face. “A complete twit as you people call it.”

“Please,” he sighed. “I’m a man now.”

“Mmm, uh huh,” you nodded hesitantly. The mood somehow shifted, the air becoming palpable. “I’m sure you are.” You gave him half a smile, teasingly. To your surprise, Lorenzo stepped forward, taking one of your hands into both of his and looked into your eyes.

“Missed you.” He said that so casually, the words coming out of his mouth like he had been itching to say those words for an eternity. Taken aback by the change of tone, you paused for a few seconds before saying,

“I missed you too. You’re quite handsome now; did you know?"

Lorenzo placed a hand on your jaw, lightly rubbing it. “Y’think so? Cause you’re not so bad yourself.” Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out of your mouth. His eyes darted around your face, from your eyes, to your lips, even to your flushing cheeks. 

“Lorenzo?” You asked, receiving a quiet hm from him in return. “What are you doing?” you asked, unable to contain a giddy grin. 

“I mean, I think I’m about to kiss you, but I’m not entirely sure,” he answered cheekily. 

“Oh, just do it you absolute twat,” you sighed.

 And that he did. Lorenzo met your lips with his own, his hand snaking around your back. The kisses, at first, were light, you guys pulling away every so often to catch your breaths before he started to kiss you sloppily with increased fervor.

His hands trailed from your back, one resting on your waist, the other reaching down to your ass. You let out a small gasp in surprise, biting your lips to suppress a moan as he reeled you closer to him, grasping at your ass. Pulling your lips away from his, forehead to forehead, he met your surprised look with a coy smile before grazing your swollen lips once more, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

As he pushed your back into the sink, you pulled away, both of your breathing ragged, some stray strands of hair sticking to your face. “Hey…” you exhaled out. “Don’t you think our moms are getting suspicious since we’re taking so long?” You gave him a dazed look, wiping off the excess lipgloss from his lips with your thumb.

“Nah, I told them I was going upstairs to see a friend who’s staying here,” he said, his body still yearning for your touch. 

“Well, what about me?” you questioned. ‘Wh-what will I say?” 

“Just say you blew up the toilet or something…” he teased, his face still tinged with a rosy hue. “I’m kidding, I’m very mature.”

You bit back a giggle, rolling your eyes. “You’re really not, you are making me enjoy my move much, much more.”

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter one: hi it's me you're all in danger summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) pairing: f!reader/task force 141 next chapter

as a longtime charli xcx fan, can't say i expected my brat autumn to be spent writing about the cod mfs 😭😭

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10 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

Somehow, being surrounded by opulence, prestige, and elegance made particular four men currently seated in the back of the space feel a bit out of place.

But they were here on a mission.

Or rather, a job now.

The days of being out on the field in camo fatigues were of the past. Now they were all seated together in suits–black and white, jacket, tie, pants and polished shoes–gin and lemon water on the table.

There was a bit of restlessness in the air and it was starting to spill out in the conversations shared amongst the four.

“Simon, would it literally kill ya to show yer mouth, man? Dae ya want the lass to think yer sick as a first impression?”

“A bit of mystery could be fun, no?”

“Are ya Scooby fuckin’ Doo or somethin?!”

“Johnny, can you keep it down? Your mohawk’s already gotten us enough looks as it is.”

“And what’s so wrong with a lil’ business casual, Kyle?!”

“Can you muppets keep it down!?”

The harsh lash of Price’s tongue had postures straightened and lips hushed.

With a sigh, he brought his fingers to his temple, wondering how he managed to save the world over and over again with these three. Still, his eyes flickered to his watch as he checked the time, a conversation from a month ago coming to mind.

“Price.”

A hand was extended out to him. Fluorescent lights at the American embassy in Paris hung above. Murmurs of French and English lingered in the air as the day proceeded.

Price grinned, returning the exchange with a firm handshake. “Miller. Good to see you standing, old friend.”

Moments later the conversation was held at Miller’s office, a familiar place during the times Price had visited. What stood out to him most was the newly framed photo of Miller and his blushing bride, Priscilla.

A miraculous matrimony all things considered.

Miller, an American ambassador. Priscilla, an activist whose loud and mighty voice helped push for change within socio-political and environmental spaces.

It wasn’t as if it was absolutely impossible for the two to meet–rather, it was just the fact they met after being held hostage alongside other world leaders and activists during a goodwill gala held at Berlin. Terror wished to deliver a haunting message to all of the world, with similar sieges held at other massive events, but thankfully the work of 141 and other allies blocked the reception.

Price glanced down at Miller’s desk, where a few pictures of a glamorous woman were splayed across files: a pop star by the name of Dollface. Formerly part of beloved girl group 4EVA, now setting the music scene alight with impeccable music production, godly vocals, and captivating choreography.

Or so he’s heard.

Right beside her was a clipped out headline from a newspaper:

Glastonbury Saved! Tragedy Averted from Terrorist Threat!

A job well done–courtesy of a certain phantom soldier.

“–I know your days of military campaigns are over, but this has been tearing Priscilla apart,” Miller sighed morosely. “While I know this is the fault of no one and she understands that change in the world comes at a cost, the fact that terrorists would target her niece’s festival performance has been haunting her.”

��Revolution does not come easy, that’s for certain,” Price mused as he glanced over at his friend’s face with an affirming nod. “Even so, it’s something still worth fighting for.”

Miller sighed out in agreement. “Of course.”

“So then.” Adjusting his posture, Price then continued, his tone light, “What can I and a few recently retired soldiers do for you, mate?”

His shoulders relaxing, Miller then reached down for one of the photos of the pop star, pushing it over towards Price. “Watch her. Protect her, please. She’s been an anxious mess ever since Glastonbury.” Gazing down at the newspaper headline clipping, he continued, “Her career’s at such a critical point and her first solo world tour’s been delayed enough as it is. Pressure’s everywhere–label, fans, the media. I know she wants more than anything to finally move forward. But–”

Gingerly picking up the photo, Price took in every single detail of the woman.

Of you.

Turning his focus back to Miller, he grinned, brows raising. “A bit of Price Protection and Co. could do wonders, yeah?”

“You’d be doing miracles, friend” was the response received, along with a vigorous nod.

Price held out his hand.

“It’s a deal.”

And now, the gang was all here, even though the gang was currently driving Price up the wall. Still, if there was anyone who he trusted to get the job done on behalf of a dear old friend, it was Gaz, Ghost, and Soap.

Or rather, from here on out: Kyle, Simon and Johnny.

It didn’t hurt that the gig paid quite handsomely–your label desperately wanted you to get back on stage one way or another. Since the Glastonbury incident, you’ve since been spending your days in London, far too afraid to leave anywhere. The plan was to slowly draw you out of your shell by planning all promotional endeavors around the UK before you would travel the world as intended.

Before any of that however, the first key matter of business is for the five of you to meet together.

10:15 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

“What do you lot think? Full glam or lowkey?” Kyle spoke up, now peering over to look at Johnny’s phone, who had brought up one of your music videos.

Price glanced over, seeing slick skin, big curls, gyrating hips, rouge lips, white heels, and sparkling eyes.

Such visuals were definitely not on Miller’s desk when discussing the job.

“Like right now?” Johnny queried back.

“Lowkey without question.” Simon folded his arms across his chest, his eyes peeking at Johnny’s phone, his expression reflective.

A sudden tap on the back of Price's shoulder just a moment later soon caught his attention. 

“Mr. Price…?”

He immediately turned back, the others following suit.

Johnny’s eyes widened, immediately switching off his phone to shove into his pocket.

Lowkey was correct.

A cap, oversized t-shirt with shorts hidden beneath, hair down, tennis shoes, a pair of sunglasses that were soon slipped off.

The contrast between who they saw on screen to who they were seeing now couldn’t be any more apparent.

Still, even by the way you stood before him, posture shrunken back slightly, eyes a bit downcast, voice softer than the usual bubbly vocals of your music, there was this grace, this aura that you exuded–one that spoke of a true bonafide performer rather than a mere average person.

Smiling warmly, Price held his hand out towards you for you to shake. “That would be me, dear.”

“Uncle Miller’s told me lots about you.” You smiled, bringing your hand up to take his.

So much smaller than his, he noted to himself, chuckling as he responded with, “I hope they’re my finer moments.”

Giggling in response, you affirmed, “As he said, only the best unclassified stuff. I’m Doll–” You quickly stopped yourself, opting to give your first name instead.

“Face pretty like a doll’s still,” Johnny murmured over to Kyle, who nodded in agreement.

Simon didn’t say anything but instead allowed his arms to rest by his sides, continuing to quietly observe you.

A world-renowned pop star with four former soldiers tasked to serve as her bodyguards.

Should be an easy enough job.

-----------------

thank you for reading !!! i know i tend to not really do multi-chapter pieces but idk the ghost of brat summer took over me after seeing a clip of soap and simon banter so i've been genuinely locked in with writing out this tale 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

subsequent chapters are going to be loosely tied together but i hope you enjoy my take on cod yumejo with this pop star otome 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

next chapter's up next friday !!! 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️

[artyandink]

Five-Star

Summary: You’ve been dating Dean Winchester, which is nothing short of a fever dream. A brilliant fever dream. But when you decide to test him on how much he wants you, you don’t get the answer you expected to have.

A/N - Welcome to the Karak Chaii-verse! I had an idea to write Dean with an Indian POC, since I’m one myself. Creds to @zepskies and her brilliant Midnight Espresso-verse, and you should definitely check that out. This is a small drabble that I thought up.

Your family had moved to the US around a year after you were born. That’s because the monsters in India were far more dangerous than in America due to the origination of them from the depths of Indian mythology, such as a rakshasa or arunasura, but you found that here was far more escalated.

At least, you’d found out when you met the Winchesters.

You came from a long line of crazy good Indian hunters, so you were already a great one yourself. Back in India, your parents would pose as part of the CBI, but you had to resort to finding someone who could make you a believable FBI badge once you turned eighteen and got into hunting solo, which was around 1997. There you met Bobby Singer, who hooked you up with what he called the ‘All-American Hunting Kit’, which consisted of an array of fake IDs and a lore book. You were glad your training, done by your dad, was done by the intensity of monsters in India rather than here, otherwise it’d be harder to get by.

On a hunt for a vampire and wraith hybrid in Grant Pass, Oregon, you came across the Winchesters, the shorter of the two having dubbed the hybrid ‘Jefferson Starships’. That man was Dean, and you were taken by his charming, goofy attitude that switched to an attractive sort of intensity when faced with imminent danger. You just didn’t expect ‘imminent danger’ to be the mother of all monsters.

Once your parents had found out that you were hanging out with the Winchesters, who were at the centre of any and all supernatural trouble in America, they sent you a thousand calls telling you to get your ass out of there before you got killed. You being you, you didn’t listen. Not when you knew that you’d get withdrawal symptoms from not seeing the million dollar smile of Dean Winchester, which quickly won you over (and his lips too, which knew damn well what they were doing).

As for Sam, you quickly saw him as your little brother figure, who also helped you manage your unruly hair by recommending the right hair products that you now had stocked up. You’d both nerd over monsters, you’d tell him about all the ones you’d encountered in India while Sam told you stories about all that he and his brother had gone through.

Which was no less than a lot. And you thought India was a harder place to live, by what your parents told you. Here there’s the friggin’ Apocalypse.

Dean was obviously your favourite Winchester. He’d told you he really liked you about two years and a half after you met amid averting eyes and stammered words as he spewed compliment after compliment, standing there in the Bunker’s kitchen like a nervous melon in his grey robe, black shorts with hot dogs on them and black undershirt with fuzzy hair.

You’d cut his nervous ramblings off by pulling him in by the lapel of his robe, lips puckered in surprise as they met yours as the tangy taste of cherry and sweet, buttery pie crust flooded your taste buds and even more so when Dean quickly took control of the kiss, hands tangling in your hair and grabbing at soft curves like his life depended on it.

One thing Dean loved about you was your cooking. Your mom had taught you a wide array of Indian dishes that you could cook, and the moment the first bite of your rajma and rice graced Dean’s mouth, it was hook, line and sinker. You’d taught him how to eat chole bhature, roti and sabzi and which masala was which so he could know what the hell did you put to make him fall for you over and over again.

You were scrolling on your YouTube shorts one day when you came across a video of a woman asking her husband what his favourite snack was to see if he’d say her or not. You didn’t look like the definition of a snack right now, with your unwashed hair tied up in a bun that your mom taught you to do with no hair tie whatsoever in grey sweatpants, Dean’s undershirt and fuzzy mismatched socks, but you decided to try it out anyway as Dean came into the bunker’s living room, approaching you from behind with a delicate yet possessive cup of your chin and a kiss to your temple.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greeted in that low voice of his that was effortlessly seductive even when he wasn’t trying, his hand sliding down to comfortingly rub over your chest and shoulder as he passed by. “Doin’ ok?” He sat down beside you, arm around your shoulder as his fingers began to play with your hair, warm green eyes trained on you.

You nodded, setting your phone aside. “Doing alright, yeah.” Then you decided to try out the question. “Dil, what’s your favourite snack?” You called Dean dil sometimes because it meant heart in Hindi, and he had yours.

The question got a chuckle out of him as he jerked his head to the right in amusement. “Awh, sweet girl, that’s hardly fair. I’d say beef jerky, but that new thing you, uh, introduced me to really raised the bar.” His brow furrowed in thought for a moment in contrast to the large grin on his face. “The aloo whatzitsname.”

“Aloo lachha.” You corrected with a giggle, barely holding back the urge to say what the answer was.

“Yeah, that. Or, uh, pie, but that’s a dessert and not a snack. Maybe that rajma stuff, but that’s a meal.” He continued rambling on any and all snacks he’d added to his palette since meeting you, until a bout of laughter from you slowed his roll. “What? What’s so funny, huh?”

“So… your favourite snack isn’t me.” You teased with a smirk, which got the cogs in his head turning. “You failed, sorry, honey.”

The words got a raise of his eyebrow and a slow and subtle roving of his eyes down your body and a bite of his lip. To him, you looked absolutely delicious. Like the best thing at a five star restaurant.

He stood up with a low grunt, facing you before grabbing you by your hips, hoisting you up so fast that you had to wrap your sweatpant-clad legs around his waist with a small shriek. “See, baby, that’s where you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss that bordered on reverence and somehow the intention to devour at the same time, which had you moaning already. His tongue slipped into your mouth, briefly getting a taste and giving you the distinct flavour of the aloo chaat you had made for lunch mixed with beer before he pulled back and nipped your bottom lip, groaning at the feeling of your fingers now tugging at his hair.

“You…” Dean paused for a breath and a low chuckle, staring at you hungrily. “You are the whole damn buffet.”

TAGLIST:

@k-slla @hobby27 @supernatural-jackles

[court-jobi]

Learn by Doing

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work or Hirune's gorgeous art))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero (fem)reader)

Words: 4.4k

Rating: T+

Warnings: ANGST/COMFORT, canon-typical fights mentioned, light injuries, minimal pronouns used, big feelings turned big confessions, reader is not very demure/mindful in this one and that's refreshing to me, Hizashi Yamada is a good friend, emotionally constipated Aizawa needs a hug

Summary:

You’re in trouble with just about everyone, in some way. Mixed reviews at best… but no doubt in trouble with your agency, the damage control unit, and most notably– Shouta Aizawa. You can look the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission in the face should you ever royally mess up; but not a disappointed ‘Zawa. 

In the moment, you expect to have to avert your sights from his trademark flat look of disapproval. But instead, you are honed in– finding him more raw than ever before. Turns out, Aizawa wasn’t just angry: he’s scared. He’s an angry crier, and that scares you straight. 

A/N: Omg I've been sitting proofing this one for so long, trying to get it right, until... i just needed to release it to the hounds of the internet. Just some friendly neighborhood AngstZawa for your viewing pleasure.

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Back in your beloved UA building, you expect Shouta Aizawa to start up the lecture you’re due for, but still- nothing from him. 

No word when you rejoined the team outside the raided building. No word when you received mixed praises of success from your superiors: who might have given all glowing remarks if it wasn’t for your unorthodox way of earning them that had them worried there for a moment. There’d be more investigation and potentially some penalties for tonight’s actions, even if the result was overwhelmingly positive. Though through each step of your mission debrief, Aizawa was dead quiet.

Not a single word from him -even out of comfort- when you got checked over by the medics on site, and nothing still on your drive back to UA courtesy of an equally tense Hizashi Yamada, who could no doubt feel ‘the energy of the studio’ tonight.

Hizashi looked at you sympathetically between the surface level chatter you two share in the car. Behind his aloofness behind the wheel, you gathered there wasn’t much he could say to appease the storm that he knew might be looming behind Aizawa’s nearly shut eyes. Per usual, said hero remained like a mouse in the backseat, his silence blaring loud. The twinkle in Hizashi’s eyes offered only the unspoken wish that you’d be patient and keep your pretty chin up. You relied on this energy, because it stems from a lifetime of knowing Shouta Aizawa and carries confidence, and have to trust in that history- even if you held a healthy amount of nerves from his silence that you’re certain is burning a hole into the back of your head in the car.

‘Zashi would ordinarily have said a quick ‘good luck’ once you parked… if ‘Zawa wasn’t waiting right outside your door, for you. This time, you merely gave a muted word of thanks and got on your way from the passenger’s seat.

The uncomfortable quiet remains when Yamada heads to the teacher’s lounge while you and your co-teacher head back to the dorms to check on the students and head to bed yourselves. However, when Aizawa veered to the South A tower -toward his classroom- he paused and checked for you in his peripheral– the unspoken command to follow rings loud and clear.

Even though you obeyed with a step behind him, your spirit was hardly calm like the night air around you. Aggravated by your still present headache, your pulse keeps thumping in your ears as you step through the still, minimally-lit hall. 

Aizawa opened the door to his room, holding it for you, while turning his head back down the hallway- away from your face as if he couldn’t spare the glance. 

God, this silent treatment. It’s juvenile, you’d think, if he didn’t radiate so much stern control that unnerved even the most upright student.

But the minute the door closes with his lock to seal you both in, Aizawa’s trademark drone returns– lethal as ever.

“You've sure got a lot of nerve, Miss America.”

Finally. 

You can take the dig at what reputation precedes you. At the end of the day, Aizawa tends to hear you out, no matter the tone, so you’re simply glad to be on talking terms again.

…but that doesn’t mean you’re entirely passive. You’re known for your sugar and spice. Unable to curb your attitude, you make no attempt to hide how much his pouting annoyed you, 

“Had enough of my chatty time-out, huh?”

“I find berating anyone when they’re already down to be cruel and ineffective,” Aizawa merely shrugs his coat off, then nods to the desks facing him at the front of the classroom. “But to say you don't need to get a firm talking-to would be delusional.”

The knocking around you received is a wound enough, so you’re thankful he doesn't mean to pour lemon juice right on it with a snappy reflex of ‘you should have been more careful’, with regards to your scrapes. But quite the long debrief awaits you now, nonetheless.

No, you know the events that got you to the point of overextension and liability must have been the bigger concern: 

"Look I get it,” you finally settle on the lip of the desk, Young Ojiro’s. “To you, that was a hothead move. But I've been around the block with ops like this, it’s far from my first...” 

You stress that your ‘nerve’ was not misplaced while Aizawa rounds his desk to loosen and stow his capture weapon.

“-but you saw on those cameras, they were teetering Iseri and Koshito too close to the edge- I couldn't just--"

"Both of whom are plenty prepared for these situations."

“But they’re kids-”

“They graduated four years ago, and have been in the pro circuit for the last three. They're not UA students anymore, and certainly not our direct reports. Those were the roles assigned in the mission terms, and you signed them.”

The shortness in Aizawa’s voice ignites so many things in you. Namely, outrage. Being shut down and interrupted has been -and continues to be- a big temper trigger for you.

But you remember, above everything else you know of the teacher: facts over feelings is the tactic that’s going to land with him. You had to lean into the rational side of things in order to explain yourself. 

The truth was, you were afraid he wouldn't trust you again. 

Over the last two years, you've trained with these students together. This year’s class is particularly promising -and challenging- due to the ridiculous amount of villain interferences you've faced as a staff… that you've faced together. More than any other sidekick, any other partner, Aizawa has been your anchor in all the ways that matter- even those unspoken.

Thankfully he’s in a listening mood now, and you hope it’s enough of an opening to talk this out. Since reapplying some eyedrops, Aizawa is solely set on figuring out what was wrong with his goggles. He’d gotten smacked around a good bit, too, though not as harsley as you. He’s scraped along his good cheek just a touch from a square hit to the face, though the poor lackey who chose to come at him with cheap moves didn't fare as gently. 

You train your volume down a pitch, seeking out a more tender part of the man before you. A still, small hope holds true that he could follow your line of reason enough to not dismiss you entirely. You couldn't bear that thought. 

"You trusted my judgment and I clearly see that I broke that... but I did nothing to put anyone at risk outside of myself, and when I see another way that can spare others, I take it. Without the visual outside, without any signal, I couldn't see any other ways to follow the plan, or else I would have done it,”

You press on, joining him in front of his desk now. Things are improved, him speaking to you, but not perfect. He’s not looked you in the eye in hours. So, you’d make yourself impossible to ignore. 

“I went off-book, and I acknowledge that. But please know that I don’t go rogue for nothing. Not because I feel like it, certainly!”

Still, no response. 

You flick at the still itchy residue from the butterfly bandages stretched taught at your temple and cheekbone. 

“You see this and think that's bad.. Imagine watching me pulling moves like that five years ago when I thought I was hot shit, n’where that would have gotten me…”

Aizawa’s jaw worked as he clasped and unclasped the hinge on his specs.

Unnecessary; they’re not broken badly. Anxious? Surely not.

“Aizawa, please say som-"

The goggles resound with plastic clatter on the table; its owner rounded the corner with blazing irises, and not one lit by any quirk. 

Aizawa in all his intimidating glory came close fast while leaving a desk’s distance between you, his eyes turning from anger- to fear- to utter heartbreak.

"There were other plans. There will always be alternatives. Solutions that don’t involve anyone, if you’d just slow down for a second to think.” 

“What solutions?!”

“They called Oversight in- who brought drones. He was on call the whole time,” Aizawa fired anger in short, perfect jabs, “Or did you ‘forget’ reading that, too?”

You’re put on notice quick.

“Wh– he was?”

“He took point on leveling tactics for the building. The city came with artificial reinforcements, too- diversions he created and leased to them for reconnaissance, tech designed to work on command without room for any human error,” Aizawa finally grits out his impeccable perspective, 

“We knew your radio went down, and we knew we had to get you help or else you'd be blind, so we called in  failsafes– but your blasting through going a mile a minute the moment we lost contact was far from rational. You didn’t even give us a chance to try and help.”

Shame bubbles where indignancy once filled you. 

You speed-read through the mission brief- overly confident, perhaps, and missed- -honestly, a key detail that might have changed everything. You’re clearly not used to serving on a team this large, this wide of a support net, and it shows.  Hyper-independence was costly now.

“...I.. didn't hear that.”

“No you didn't,” Aizawa answered cooly and aired his grievances further,

“You look at what's right in front of you, but you've got these blinders on, and that's one of the most dangerous things you can do in battle. You’re part of a team now, but you’re still acting like a vigilante. That’s reckless, no matter how seasoned you are. Think about Kaminari: you think he doesn’t look around before he sets off thousands upon thousands of volts in every direction before he acts? Or that Todoroki doesn’t consider if his ice is going to freeze out any bystanders or harm himself in the process? Each one of their actions can be costly: to those around them, and themselves.”

You swallow your idealistic pride beating beneath your chest, because you know he’s right. 

On that exposed open platform of the building, you’d been so worried about who had been close to the edge, that you tried to divert all attention to yourself in order to get them away from that precipice.

Your actions, your ‘diversion’ resulted in a tousle that: yes, gave the younger rookies a better chance at a safe exit, but landed you square in the trap yourself, and in limited range to the still-fighting thug who was not just caught, but pissed.  You’d also created more work for the Net Hero below to cast a gridlock wide enough to grab the villain effectively. 

As a long-distance fighter, those were poor odds you subjected yourself to. You’re lucky to have gotten out as smoothly as you have.

“I know that. And I am sorry–” you gestured to your own new set of blooming bruises for good measure, “-- and I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson… That’s how you say your students learn best, right? ‘Learn by doing, learn what stings’?”

–Aizawa’s upper lip jolts in a scowl. Wrong thing to say.

“That’s not a win,” Aizawa threatens lowly. “No one in their right mind would be celebrating something like this. Injuries happen, but they shouldn't be needless.”

You wince, torn between guilt and annoyance again. 

“Yeah, well, I get it’s needless now, but I didn’t know what I didn’t know. At some point, we have to call mistakes what they are, and leave it, right?” 

“This is too important to drop,” Aizawa growls, “and I won’t, until I know you understand. This isn’t a test, this isn’t for a grade. This is serious. You’re getting hurt over it.”

Your defense was wearing thin, but you stood your ground. A more sassier remark would have been along the lines of dooming yourself to the ‘stupid Americans’ club till you’re inevitably deported- but that would be too emotional of a response, and not helpful. A fool’s hope was all you could carry now. 

You studied Aizawa for anything that would level out his respect for you- praying he held any. –you square yourself before him after as deep a breath as your winded lungs can give you– 

“I was wrong,” you pressed the point once again, “I overlooked key information that would have impacted my actions. I can -and will- learn from this and do better, and even do my part in meeting with more of our allies so I can work with them, not around them. Get all the information, and actually use it... And I don’t have to stick my dumb ass out on the line like a rookie, with shit like that.”

Aizawa agrees, but doesn’t look altogether happy about your apology.

“Any of those steps would have sufficed- if you truly couldn’t stick to the plan…”

You’re waiting for a final lesson learned, but receive a strange pang of emotion from Aizawa’s firmly set stare–

“But plans may still fail. You’re going to have to go off-book, it’s inevitable. I’m not slighting you for that. But if there’s one thing you have to keep at the front of your mind, it's that there’s only one you.”

You’ve been guarded this year. On edge, day after day, by threat of attack at all hours. You accepted this role as a teacher to help bolster the faculty’s support staff of heroes with the rising crime rates, but have come to enjoy the job on a much deeper level- in a way you wouldn’t have experienced without Aizawa specifically at your side…

This feeling -safety, even in the most uncertain circumstances- radiates from him whenever you’re together. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing; you don’t have to be in pressing danger or fight-or-flight to feel it. It’s a constant hum of assurance from Aizawa that settles your spirit and draws you to him. 

By action, he never pronounces his entrance or use flamboyant body language; rather it’s his subtle and meaningful motions that aim to soothe.  With his words, he says what he means, and doesn’t sugar coat things– and by that very token, you know even the kindest of affirmations that come out of him must also be true- few and far between as they are.

Those signs are all subtleties that point to a very private person. Ultimately, if you did not know him so well by daily interactions, you may never have picked up how a man like him truly feels. 

Only right now, you can’t help but see it. Every emotion he’d hold inside is palpable. He does feel very strongly, and you’re gifted by its raw power: even as you are the sole audience for such a show.

There’s something in his eyes that’s not so much angry, but pained. It’s rearing up like wings to make itself appear bigger than it is, but also to shield away from unwanted eyes. It forces you to stare back, and not look away. Demands you attention, because this matters.

It’s scared.

“I know you don't give a damn what you think of yourself,” he says cautiously, “but the rest of us do care what happens to you-”

The words your nursing friend had said at the hospital tending to your most recent injuries. That this is beyond a dauntless streak of selflessness, but that your life has value and meaning. Aizawa must not have been ignoring you fully earlier. Hearing him say this proves that he had overheard you both after all– and to an extent agrees. 

Damn, your pride doesn’t like hearing that. And damn your self-deprecating sense of humor: the one that’s not-so-funny to the Japanese populace, apparently. 

You cross your arms, a flit of sarcasm dripping as a defense mechanism:

“Ok, Doc– I get it–”

“I’m not Doctor Mori.” Aizawa snapped, void of patience. “Or your darling Suzuki for that matter.”

Your two best friends, the latter whom you share a group chat with who will also not be happy hearing what's happened to you today. Neither would negate anything Aizawa has told you so far. In fact they'd agree, wholeheartedly.

Furthermore, they know what he means to you, too. Beyond your hero work, beyond your classroom partnership… 

They know Aizawa makes your world go ‘round. You practically set your clock to his time, so that you might be in sync and have something reliable in your life. You learn from him, you thrive by him, you're thankful for how you've grown and how you continue to feel when he looks your way. It's all genuine, and you appreciate that in a level that's perhaps become more than that of friends. 

Guilt twinges the strength left in your words, 

“I know you're not… your say matters, too.”

“Well your actions sure as hell aren't matching. You say my words have weight? Then you listen to me now.”

Aizawa flares his sights at you, rounding the last tabletop between you as he does so.

“I don’t expect half measures from you and I would never ask that of you. I do believe you are a great hero, and I believe you’re going to give your all, don’t misinterpret that. Never doubt that. But for whatever it's worth- if it even means to you what it means to me- you don’t just have a circle of people who want you and need you… who doesn’t just see you as another name on a mission roster, or just an asset to a team… But there are people who hate watching you dance with danger like it’s something only you can do, not when you have someone who will be at your side.. As we fight it together.”

Before irritated disbelief could settle across your face– Aizawa’s fight-worn hands that had laid fisted by his side flew up and cupped the base of your skull.

Aizawa’s eyes sting red with tears; wet emotion bared in your presence for the first time. 

“You are my breath,” Aizawa manages your name desperately, “My anchor, and my light, and you’re holding what little heart I have left, and I can’t lose you.. to this.”

–his words had you shocked speechless. Your heart could break itself looking back in those eyes. 

You sense the hurt bursting from the seams right in front of you– hurt that had rendered him silent for much of your journey back here. You can't imagine having been the one who scared him this much, someone you truly believed was immovable. 

Aizawa’s given you something far more important than a down-to-earth talk. It’s a beautiful confession you never saw coming.

Your hand cups his wrist back gently, its tendons tremble underneath you. He asked you to call him by name, so you would.

"Z-. Shouta..."

His eyes shut, and he falls forward, his forehead to yours. Containing tears within, Aizawa steeled his deep voice again:

"I have these nights… nights with dreams so bad, I can't wake when I want to. And then others, where I never want the good dream to stop. You're in both, and that scares me to no end."

His fingers bear down on the hastily thrown-on menthol patch you'd not get spent the minimal seconds it takes to affix straight. He feels the raising bump under the pads of those fingers, feeling evidence of your recklessness yet again. 

“I lived a life without you. It feels so long ago now...after we met, after you stood by me at city hall–I don't want anything less. Never again. I just want you to be more careful about these things."

Tears pricked yours, too. Never would you have imagined a close call would have affected him like this. Out of the hundreds of nights you’ve rounded up villains together, you’d broken the final straw of his resolve.

He cares. He cares for you. You dare to think he may love you– and found this as his way to say it. 

"I was- I really didn't-- I'm sorry, Shouta. Please..."

His eyes opened at your voice calling.

"Then promise me."

"Promise?"

"Promise me you won’t take these risks again. Not alone. Not when you have someone in your corner... Someone who can help you see past the hurt, the vengeance– whatever is going through your head that you’re thinking you need to prove. We can make something better from it. Smarter. I’ve walked that path; I know it well.”

You nod in his hold; your oath back to him, as he lays it all out. Were this a written love letter, you’d memorize every line. 

“-but promise me you'll never scare me like this. Not when it’s avoidable. Don’t ever do this again."

Aizawa’s voice fell to a choked whisper by the end. The last window of his strength crumbled like settling dust while his thumbs scroll your temples reverently.

You swallow tensely, nodding all the quicker, 

"Yes, I promise, yes.” You’ll fuck things up differently, sure, but not like tonight’s show of heroics.

Aizawa shuddered; it sank in. "Thank you."

Still, you made it your job to make him believe, so you lifted up off the desk to stand before him. Fighting the burn in your arms was a worthy cause when rising to hug him– and rewarded you instantly as he reciprocated. You relished in the feeling, the warmth from his breath on your neck, how securely his arms held you tight, the caring hand that fisted the back of your hair in an intimate gesture. 

There was nowhere else you'd rather be. Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes close in his hold. You’d tell him someday, but you’ve dreamt of him to, though not so heartbreaking in memory, as he shared with you. Many of your dreams settled on moments just like this; tame, warming fantasies that you wished you could share with him as a break from the chaos. Because he deserved softness, too.

And here he was: hugging you. You smile. Shouta Aizawa -man of a thousand sleepless nights- is fucking hugging you. Hizashi will never believe this.

You felt the change the minute your name crossed the line of Aizawa’s lips. His shoulders sagged and he pressed into you, his hands loosening and patting your hair, the fierce nature in which he'd captured you melting into a protective caress.

The man’s face still sunk inwards, weary as he met your eyes. Where was that look coming from? He seemed so worried, like he wanted to say something but was trying hard not to. His gaze darted to your lips to your cheeks- basking in every bit of this moment, like he'd never get the chance to be this close again.

Hearing his inhale at the touch, your hand smoothed over his heart, purposefully, lovingly. Eyes locked, you tipped your head to the side and lifted your chin to be clear to him- an invitation. The corners of his mouth lift. 

I feel the same, you want to cry to him. But with his emotions still sitting under the surface, you will yourself to be the strong one.. just for a moment longer. You’ll share your vulnerability once the pain meds wear off.

Aizawa met you halfway in one fell swoop. Still tender from your fight, you brought his lips to yours to seal in the promise made. 

This kiss was more than you imagined. Impossibly gentle lips, dizzying warmth, the lowest of hums leading into it. Had he been angry, it might have been a growl, but you’re sure you would've jumped on it anyway. The energy he gave into this first kiss caught even you by surprise.

After another drawn out press, you bowed your foreheads together and took in shaky breaths.

"Wow,” you sighed out a smile.

He whispered the awestruck wonder back, and drew you right back in.

Parting after several rolling kisses later, you saw him clearer, sporting that Totoro smile at your blissful face. 

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," Aizawa spoke into your ear, still holding you close, but mindful of the tender parts you winced at.

Careful of the taxed weakness in his elbow, you carefully massaged up his arm gently, “Sorry I had to piss you off to get it~”

He chuckled breathlessly, feeling soft enough to nuzzle your cheek. You laughed at the roughness of his scruff on yours. It’s so comfortable with him like this. felt up his chest slowly while you had the chance. He took a deep breath at the sensation. 

"Guess this means you’re putting in your name as ‘that someone’? Do this together then?" You gestured with your shoulder between you, working out the words, “I mean, I should hope so– you just kissed the daylights out of me."

Aizawa brushed some hair away you'd nervously let forward. He seemed cool as ever, but spoke gently with you. 

"I wasn't so sure someone like me could feel this way about someone like you. So yes. I'd like to see where this could go,” Aizawa centered back to meet you with level calm. “I think.. what we have to start with, works. Don't you?"

You smiled sweetly and nodded with confidence. How things will look for you from this point on will simply build on the foundation you have. That all can be learned. Finessed. You braved a smile and assured him, despite the nagging fear you felt you caused;

"I won’t let you down, ‘Zawa."

His eyes almost rolled shut into a breathy chuckle.

"You know, I adore you. So damn much." He captured your lips again in a couple long kisses. You hummed in between them, drowned out by his own possessive trills back as they echoed into your shared mouths.

You gave a breathy little giggle in happiness and trailed your fingers over the edge of his jaw, caressing the stubble of beard. 

“Guess I have added incentive to stick around then.”

“Oh, you are. And you’re going to have to face the music with the city task force come Monday.”

–Ah yes, this felt more normal. The king of rational thought swooping in to burst your bubble. But… you suppose you rely on this too. All part of the Eraserhead package deal.

You’ll take it; along with your consequences.

“Ugh shit.”

“Told you so.”

Planning out your next steps in Aizawa’s homeroom, as a team, went well for the remainder of your time propped up at his desk… until you got distracted again. This new dynamic between you will be sure to prove tempting, you fear, as inevitably your reputation for being a horrific flirt started getting the best of you when Aizawa stuck his hair up to get back to work.

Unfair, how good he looks when he’s angry. Even worse when he looks back at you, in love.

[gilverrwrites]

Idek if it’s cannon but I’m pretty sure the supers are like in the south but anyway the thought of Kons voice having a southern twang to it is highkey driving me up a wall like esp when he’s telling u to do smt during sex

It does it for me too, I always imagine him with a smidge of an accent even if he probably doesn't have one. I'm not American so please correct my geography if its wrong. Warnings: very brief, non-graphic mention of possible choking.

Lois is from Metropolis which is supposed to be in Delaware (Southern), but I think she has more of a fast talking mid-atlantic city accent.

Clark is mid-western; Smallville being in rural Kansas, I believe. Which isn't southern, but is “country” and so there is overlap there. As the 'serious investigative journalist'; Clark Kent, he tones the accent down a lot. As Superman he turns it on a bit, plays it up for the public. At home/with friends he just talks and whatever comes out is what comes out. He also, definitely lays it on thicker for Lois cause he knows it does something for her. (or Bruce, or whoever else you ship him with).

Accents aren't genetic, so Kon probably doesn't naturally have either, however, he's around them enough to pick up a bit of a twang and maybe some key phrases. Usually he just puts it on for shits and giggles, often around Lex because it pisses him off, but sometimes he uses it on you.

The first time it was an accident, you called his name as you approached, planning on asking him something but he was only half paying attention, busy joking around with Bart, so he answers with a distracted; “Yeah, Darlin’?” Whatever had been in your head quickly left the room and so did you.

Second time, he catches you staring at him absentmindedly. He stares right back until you catch on, and then he asks with a sly smirk; “You fixin’ for somethin’, hon?” You quickly avert you gaze.

By now he's catching on. The next time he sees you, he makes an effort to compliment you, asking if that's a new shade of lipstick or if you're doing something different with your hair as he runs his fingers over the feature in reference. “Well ain'chu as pretty as a peach.” He’s testing a theory, one that you unknowingly confirm by staring at your feet and letting out a bashful giggle.

From there he starts using it more and more, pushing your buttons with a half smile and a thick drawl (that the rest of the team will give him shit for later) until he's got you pressed into his mattress. Askin’ if you gussied up just for him as he tears off your clothes. Calls you cute names while he's talkin’ real sinful. “You see what you do to me, darlin'?” With his hand around your neck, desperately grinding his sex against yours.

“Thats it, honey, say my name. Say. My. Name.” While you try to rake your nails down his back, sputtering “K-Kon-onner.” over and over while he fucks you to the edge.

“You wanna cum? Yeah? Go on, sugar, cum for me.” As he holds your face in place, looking right into your pretty eyes as he fucks you through it.

[freyito]

ᴅᴀʟɴɪᴍꜝ ⨟ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ?

✭ pairing(s): balor, eiland, hayden, march, olric, ryis (seperate) x reader

✩ inspo: hayden and Dirt On My Boots by Jon Pardi during a very trying shift (boothill related fic incoming)

★ in which: you find out if he's any good at dancing.

✧ a/n: my people need me (my 1k tumblr followers) in these trying times (the american election) and i must provide (comfort fics that arent even in my queue)

✦ taglist: @shinysora, @garfieldb0t

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

⎯ Balor

If a charming young man like BALOR can’t dance, then he’s afraid he isn’t worth his salt. As a merchant, he needs to be relatively skilled in most, if not all fields. And dancing is one of them. Though he seldom uses anything but his pristine bargaining skills and his smooth talking, it’s good to know. At least, that’s what he tells himself. When you take over the old farm, however, he decides he needs to impress you in other ways aside from the oddities he brings back.

So, when he offers you his hand one night at the inn, who are you to say no? He’s treated you so kindly since you moved in (though, everyone has), and he’s been quite a help to you. Aside from that, you couldn’t help but feel like he was flirting with you as well. Not that you minded at all, he was quite handsome, and admittedly you fell for his charms.

When you take his hand, you can hear the kids gasp and whisper. Balor is smooth and fluid with his movements, spinning you around the little space you two had in the inn. His movement is something like a Viennese waltz, keeping you close as you two spin, making sure you don’t get too dizzy. You can’t help but feel flustered as it feels like everyone’s eyes are on you. Granted, it’s not every night they get to see Balor of all people dance.

⎯ Eiland

Being born into nobility, EILAND can dance quite well. That, paired with lessons from Elsie in the current day, help him become one of the best dancers in Mistria. The thing is, he only took an interest in dancing once more when you had taken over the old farm. He’s consistent and damn near princely, and finally, he decided to invite you to the manor to “spectate” on some of these lessons via letter. Don’t ask why his handwriting looks suspiciously like Elsie’s.

Still, you decide it’d be quite fun. Perhaps you could learn something yourself, no? It isn’t often you get invited to the Manor, especially to see such a grand display. You hope, at the very least. However, when you enter the Manor, Eiland seems very surprised to see you, only for a second. He completely masks his surprise with that friendly tone once more, welcoming you in almost hurriedly.

You take a seat and Elsie begins the session as Eiland’s partner, only for about three seconds, before she beckons you to take her place. You don’t even get to shake your head before she’s grabbed you by your hand and led you to the center of the hall. Neither of you get to protest before she’s urging you two to begin. Without a second thought, Eiland begins. To say you feel like royalty is an understatement, he spins you two around and dances with such grace that you feel as if you are in a ballroom, you can practically see yourself with him at some sort of gala. However, you can’t help but catch the deep blush dusting his cheeks. You avert your gaze for a second, simply so you don’t point it out. You yourself are already flustered enough, you’d rather not fan the flames of Eiland’s own embarrassment.

⎯ Hayden

While HAYDEN can dance, he’s not much for showing off his moves. While he’s not ashamed, his country style feels a bit out of place among people like Eiland and Ryis. That being said, not many people have seen Hayden dance. Most of the time, it’s in the morning when he’s cooking his breakfast, hyping himself up for the day. It’s nothing much, really, tapping his feet and whistling some tune to himself.

When you catch him early one morning, muttering his own song to himself, he doesn’t shy away. Why would he? He’s having fun, so why not join him? Before you can even question yourself, you’re taking his hand and he’s spinning you around to a steady beat only he understands. It involves a lot of swaying, some spinning, and little flares that make Hayden feel fancy. He likes to keep you close to his chest, which is enough to make you blush.

Regardless, it’s fun. It’s way too early in the morning for your mind to catch up with the fact, but your body moves with Hayden’s so easily. While you get a lot of time to yourself in between tending to your farm and the rest of the town’s requests, you rarely get moments as… quaint as this. It surely isn’t something you thought you’d start your day with, but it is welcomed nonetheless. There’s a sort of gentleness within his movements, the way he pulls you closer ever so subtly, that makes you swoon internally.

⎯ March

MARCH being… March, he knows how to dance. On his own. He takes it as an opportunity to be the best at yet another thing. If he wasn’t good at it, then who would he be? April? He can’t have that. He has to be the absolute best at it. Even if Eiland and Adeline grew up with proper dance lessons, even if Balor knows all the fancy stuff. March has gotta be the best. In town. So he says.

Problem is, he’s bad at dancing with a partner. He’s clumsy and miscalculated and tends to trip over your feet when he does so. He pouts and huffs and blushes, as if he’s impatient. He’s embarrassed, really. But he’s not going to tell you that. He talked himself up so much, practically told you he could dance like a king, and here he is fumbling like it’s the middle school dance. Don’t say a word, and he’ll spare you.

As awkward as he is as a dancing partner, he’s still kind of earnest about it. He’s never danced with someone else before, but he tries quite a lot to be all fancy and elegant like Eiland and Balor might be. While it started off as an attempt to impress you, it quickly turned into a mess of laughter. March let a soft chuckle slip, before quickly trying to cover it up with his tough guy facade, pouting and frowning as he acts like he’s more interested in the steps than you. Yet he continues to steal glances, which ultimately end up in him stumbling once more.

⎯ Olric

No. This man cannot dance. OLRIC cannot dance, what-so-ever. That doesn’t stop him from trying, of course. He has no need to be embarrassed if he’s having fun. Doesn’t matter if he comes off as a little goofy when Hemlock and Josephine end up in a duet on nights at the inn, he’s gonna dance and he’s gonna have fun. It’s infectious, really.

You can’t help but join. Either it’s the little bit of alcohol you had working its way to kill off your embarrassment, or simply the big ol’ smile Olric wears as he dances. Or perhaps it’s the fact that his insistent ‘c’mon, join me!’s have gotten to you. You don’t know! You don’t care! Maybe you two look like two fools on the floor, but you’re enjoying it as you try to mimic his moves. He really is horrible at dancing, even you have a hard time trying to move like him. So stiff and silly… it’s impossible to replicate.

Eventually, he pulls you into him by complete surprise. No warning, no nothing, now you're trapped between his strong arms and his chest as he sways to the beat. It’s oddly romantic, and it seems both Hemlock and Jo have shifted their tones to follow you and Olric’s dance. It feels like all eyes are on you by that time, as Olric hums slightly off-key and sways gently. You feel your cheeks heat up, either from embarrassment (which you thought you had thrown away at the start of the night), or from the fact that you’re just so very close to Olric.

⎯ Ryis

RYIS isn’t much of a dancer. At least, socially. He’s more than happy to sit and watch on rowdy nights at the Inn, despite his Uncle trying to get him to join in. He’s more of a romantic, really. Fancy balls and galas don’t stick with him as much as cozy nights do. So dancing in general isn’t something he had tried much. Even in the capital. Still, he knows how to, just not on the scale others might.

He gives it more thought when he catches you dancing along to a little bout Elsie started one night. He can’t deny that he’s a little enraptured, almost pulled to join you. But then again, he decides he can wait just a little and surprise you with something a little more intimate later on. Perhaps he’d write up a nice little invitation for you to join him by the lake, underneath the apple tree.

That letter comes in the next morning, and you are all too quick to meet him up. It’s a little embarrassing to admit that you ended up by the lake a little less than an hour earlier than when he had asked you to join him. However, when he finally joins you, a little flustered that he was ‘late’ to this date, he is quick to pull you into a somewhat grand spin. With a big smile on his face and a soft blush, he begins. It’s small, but lovely, swaying underneath the shade of the apple tree as he practically drowns you in all sorts of compliments and sweet nothings that he had kept to himself for this particular moment.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[aliaology]

SO AMERICAN (short)

SUMMARY: in which holtzy and you are dating, and you are very much in love with him

PAIRINGS: alexander holtz x fem!hughes!reader

WARNINGS: none just fluff :)

driving on the, right side road. he says im pretty, wearing his clothes. and hes got hands that, make hell seem cold. feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem i wish i wrote. i wish i wrote.

you were the prime example of ‘passenger princess’ but in your very own car. i mean— it wasn’t necessarily your fault that you weren’t the best suited to drive in the city. no no— it was jacks because all he did was drive you and luke around.

but your brother was not the one driving. no, it was your boyfriend who was. you also never understood why he loved to drive your car. but the actual reason was because it was so… you. and he loved that.

your feet were propped on the dashboard, notebook and pen in your lap and hand as you mindlessly scribbled words together. alex’s hand was on your thigh, the warmth from his hand spreading throughout your body like a wildfire.

his fingers traced lightly on your bare thighs, pinky almost sliding up and hitting your shorts with every move he made. the bumps in the road made it so his hand would lightly hit your skin.

your eyes were averted to the pen and paper as you eagerly wrote down word after word, his hand squeezing your thigh every few minutes.

as he squeezed your thigh one more time, you looked over to him. he was the epitome of a love poem and you wished you were the one to write it. with a soft smile on your face, you leaned closer to him and placed your lips onto his cheek.

and he laughs at all my jokes, and he says im so american! oh god, its just not fair of him to make me feel this much. go anywhere he goes, and he says im so american! oh god, im gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up. i might just be in la-la-la-la-love.

you two were at a restaurant, smiling at each other. you spoke, hushed and quietly, almost with embarrassment. your words caused him to burst with laughter, hand slapping over his mouth as his shoulders shook.

his reaction caused you to giggle, a bright smile on your face. the smile would quickly turn to one of embarrassment when you ask a waitress for a meal— one that you have trouble pronouncing. and he laughs as the waitress leaves.

you had a frown on your face— not one of sadness but one of ‘are you kidding me?’

alex snorted as he spoke, “you are so american.”

feigning a look of offense, your eyes narrowed slightly, giving a look of hurt. this just caused alex to chuckle more before grabbing your hand and pressing a small kiss to it.

“how about we just get out of here instead? i think i’d very much rather eat in.” he suggested.

and so you went wherever he did. you ditched the restaurant. you ditched the fancy dinner, and you went home. when you got home; you both eagerly sat on the couch and just watched a movie.

god im so boring, and im so rude! cant have a conversation if its not all about you. the way you dress and, the books you read. i really love my bed but man its hard to sleep when he’s with me. when he’s with me…!

you sat with your friends, picking at your nails as they spoke. their conversation being something about style— something about clothes. you weren’t too interested, you weren’t even talking.

“anything to add, y/n?” one asked.

you shrugged. “i don’t know— style wise i really like alex’s and maybe i’m just biased but it seems super comfy. shockingly he also has a great taste in books and—“

“girl all you do is take about your man!” your friend cut you off.

another friend piped up, “can’t say i blame her. i mean we’ve been friends for what? seven years? in that time frame shes had one boyfriend and he kinda sucked. if i had a man treat me the way hers does, i’d be plastering that everywhere.”

your last friend shrugged. “i get it— honestly i want to hear more about this guy. she talks about him but its never enough because someone interrupts her.”

“its fine— all you really need to know about him is that he treats me very well, and i love him.”

after your little get together with your friends, you made your way to your apartment. the sun was setting and you wanted to lay in bed. but as soon as you got home, locked up and went to your room and saw your boyfriend, you knew for a fact you wouldn’t be going to sleep.

i apologize if its a little too much, just a little too soon. but if the conversation ever were to come up i don’t wanna assume this stuff. but aint it rough? think im in love!

[drowninginblox]

Back Online

Pt: 1, 2, 3

You decided to take some time for yourself.

Charles could read you like an open book, and you loved and hated him for that. When he said you had paid time off, you took it—along with Scott's motorcycle.

You didn't know where you would go but you ended up in Niagrea for a few days, just watching the falls and the people. You also spent some time off Tumblr. The last thing you needed was to be reminded of that damn post again. But the thing was, you found yourself stalking Kurt's known social media in the meantime. It got to the point where you lost sleep over year-old photos of this guy's stupid face. So on the third day, you turned off your phone altogether.

You knew it wasn't smart but you also knew that no one would call you in an emergency. You weren't an X-Men, you knew that too well. So the whole week was yours.

You ate poutine, went to a spa, ordered takeout, watched trash TV, and enjoyed the American/ Canadian border. It wasn't everything you hoped for, but it was better than lingering on everything you left. No- that was for the drive back.

When you got on Scott’s motorcycle and started back on the scenic route, you got to thinking. One step at a time. From how this whole feeling towards Kurt started, to the pinning, to the post, and now… how in every instance you could have just told him at any time. But you didn’t. And now he knows about your crippling feelings through a tumblr post of all things.

The amount of times you swore at yourself outnumbered your fingers and toes. But you continued back to the school. The good part of you wanted to say it was for the students. The bad part of you wanted to say it was because you didn’t have a passport. But the realest answer was that you couldn’t run away. You know too many people who have ran away from their problems- all of the XMen have. But what seperated you from them is that even when shit got tough, and the circumstances where stupid, you always walked towards the problem. Regardless of if it was your own or someone else’s, you always took it head on. Because even the runners get exhausted, and the hiders get paranoid. You’d rather just get it done and over with.

So when you pulled up to the school to see Kurt standing out front waiting for you, you only took a breath and walked up to him. “You’re back.” He said in disbelief. You manage to shrug “I had to.” Kurt kept his eyes on you, taking you in for everything you are. “Y/n, I want to talk to you about that-“ you chuckle, albeit awkwardly “my post? Yeah… I had a feeling.”

He can’t help but avert his gaze and hold the back of his neck while you shove your hands into your coat pockets “Liebling I-“ “Kurt,-“ you manage to say simultaneously. When the two of you realize your shared mistake, you laugh. And for a moment, it doesn’t feel like what happened happened. But when the laughter settled, and the reality edged back, you say it first “You go ahead. Please.” Kurt smiles in thanks. “Y/n, I-" He pauses momentarily to calm himself, and hopefully consider his words. "I’ve thought a lot about what happened, alongside how I reacted. And there’s something that I need to be honest with you about. I just," He stops and sighs. "I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed and I just didn’t know it was you who made the post." The hand that rested behind his neck moved to his elbow, fiddling with the fabric of the loose sweatshirt he was wearing.

"I’m hoping that we can talk about it somewhere more private, that’s all to say if that’s alright with you.” You take that in and nod “But before we do, let me say what I wanted to. Please.” You countered. Kurt nodded. "Of course,"

You take a breath of your own and try to remember all the things you want to say. “Kurt, I am very sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’m not that brave when it comes to telling others my... romantic feelings because, more often than not, they’re one-sided on my end. So I just- keep to myself and hope it goes away with time." You attempt to chuckle away nerves. "Obviously, that didn’t happen… and I didn’t have anyone I felt comfortable telling. I was scared it would get back to you one way or another." You huff a dry laugh. "Ironic I know," Kurt looks at you with a soft expression but you didn't quite know what was backing it. "So I thought if I shouted into the ether- nothing would happen. Even though I knew you have a Tumblr... I thought I should risk it anyway since I just needed to get it out. So I did,... and now you know.” She hesitates but decides not to take his hand

“Kurt, regardless of what happens or how you feel, know that I still want to be your friend. I understand completely if you don’t- that you need time or that you don’t want me to talk to you at all. But I hope you know that I truly care about you, Kurt," You move only to end up holding yourself. "Whether that be romantically or platonically- I care about you. So… if you want me to buzz off for leave you alone that is completely fine. I just want you to be comfortable.” You swallow down an acidic taste that you hope is pure anxiety. Kurt looks you over for a few moments. You try to meet his eyes. Time passes in this wordless exchange until Kurt offers his hand. "I think we should continue this somewhere else." He decides. You swallow again and attempt a smile with all the hope you have in this relationship- whatever it may be. "Okay." You clasp his hand, and just seconds before you two teleport, he smiles and pulls you into a hug. You manage to close your eyes as the cloud of dark smoke overtakes you.

The lingering scent of vanilla hung in the air, signaling to you that it was okay to open your eyes. You've only been inside of Kurt's room once, maybe twice, and even then it was only for fleeting moments like telling him food is ready. So you took your time taking in all the tapestries, framed photos, overflowing bookshelves, and still burning candles. "Did you leave these burning while we were talking?" You mumbled while looking around. Kurt laughed awkwardly. "Ja… dumm." He chuckles. "The Professor told me you were approaching the campus and I just had to talk with you." You look up to him. "Well, now you can talk to me." Kurt looks down at you. The urge to pull you closer or squeeze you while he has the chance is almost overwhelming. But he overcomes it.

Instead, he lets go and puts a step between you. Both are a means to not scare you and to distance themselves. “So, I know you like me, and... I don't want to lead you astray Y/n. So I’m going to be honest with you. Up until a week ago, I never considered our relationship in that way." You look away. The tightness in your throat is starting to become unbearable. "Hey, hey, hör zu, sieh mich an, meine Schöne. Denken Sie bitte nicht das Schlimmste. Look at me Y/n." He chides, taking a step forward and holding your chin. "Please, look at me. I'm not done. Hear me out okay, liebling?" You can't help but flush when you hear him say that. God damn fanfictions haunting you. "Okay," You relent. he smiles a little and moves your face so the two of you are eye to eye. "When I realized it was you, I wanted nothing else in the world but to go back in time and slap myself. I though that I lost one of the best people in my life." He brushes a thumb over your chin. "And when you left, I was lost. I didn't deserve to know whether or not you were coming back. But when the reality set in that maybe you weren't I-" he sighs and looks away for a moment before returning to your eyes. "I realized I couldn't live without you." You felt yourself get a little lighter at his admission. "Me too." You mumbled.

Kurt swallowed. His pride or nerves, he doesn't know. "Y/n, I don't know to what extent I want our relationship to be. But I know I don't want to live a life without you by my side." He lowers his hand from your chin to your own hand and interlocks your fingers. "I don't know if this will be what you want of me-"

You shake your head and holds his cheek, making Kurt tense. You hesitate but resign yourself to not pulling away. "Kurt, all I want is your happiness. I can get over my feelings. I can move on. The last thing I want is you attempting to force feelings that aren't there." His eyes get a little wide. "Y/n-" "Kurt, you are one of the kindest, most selfless people I know. You are admirable and open, loving, and- to me- you're divine." You brush a thumb over a hot cheek as his face slowly turns violet. "Kurt, you deserve only the best that the world has to offer. Do not put your happiness aside for me. Please," You assure. "Be happy in any way you want, just don't hurt yourself in the process."

Kurt blinks a few times as he processes your words. You keep your eyes on him to gauge his reaction, but other than blinking through too many emotions to properly identify and parting his lips every few seconds, there's nothing much you can do other than question if holding his face is the right thing to do right now. Eventually, he finds himself, closing his mouth and focusing back on the current moment. "Y/n," He starts but cuts himself off. He moves his hands to hold your wrists, moving your hands away from his face. All you can do is swallow and listen to whatever he needs to say. "Y/n, I am a man of many things. You know that." He smiles a little and looks down at your hands. "I'm a man of faith in things most people don't belive in, I am both fierce and cowardly in all senses of the word, and I envy the dramatics of life." He moves his hands to yours from your wrists. His hands turn your palms upwards so the closest finger that could ever be considered as his thumbs can press into your palms.

He takes them in, soft but worn- not in the same ways his are though. You find yourself looking at your own hands as well. "When I was in the circus, a woman taught me how to read palms... she couldn't read mine that well." He chuckled softly, making you giggle in return. "But, I learned how to read others." He drops your nondominant hand and looks closely at the other. "Kurt, what does this-" "Shhhh-" He hushes, looking intently at your palm. "I know I have a flair for the dramatics, but let me do this Y/n," He says before looking up to you. Realizing the proximity and the intimacy of this situation, your face heats up. But you nod for him to keep going regardless.

He smiles and returns to his work. "Now, as much as I love the novelty of this, take it all with a grain of salt....Ah! There," he points to a line closest to your fingers but top most of your palm. "This is your heart line." He explains "Or your love line..." He smiles softly as he trails the line with a finger. The ghost of the touch makes a shiver run up your back. He chuckles. "You see how long it is?" You nod. "That means that you are most likely a good lover... romantic, considerate, caring." You look back at him. "But, I don't need your palm to tell me that." He clasps his other hand around yours, encasing it with his touch. "Y/n, when you left- I didn't know what to do with myself." You look at him slightly concerned. "I was forgetting things more often than I usually do. When meetings were, when to eat, when to sleep..." A dry chuckle escaped him. "I was so worried about you that I neglected myself." You put your spare hand on top of Kurts. "Kurtis..."

He chuckles a little "You're the only person I let call me that... other than Marie." He looks into your eyes. "I was so worried that I lost you over something that I was putting up a front for..." You cocked your head a little. "What do you mean?" Kurt removes his hands from yours and takes out his phone. He finds the screenshot that started all of this. "Y/n, I have reread this post well over a dozen times before I belittled it before you. Not because I thought it was weird or something... it was so flattering. To have someone want to hold, kiss, and love me so unabashedly. Of course, I didn't know it was you... not that that is any excuse. But... You understand why I tried to play it off as a joke right?" You nod in understanding. He could not have known it was you, you made sure of it. "I guess my reaction was enough of a tell..." He smiles at you in understanding, although it comes off as bittersweet considering the situation. He puts his phone away. "Y/n, I don't see you any differently. I hope you know that, but I also want you to understand that my feelings for you have changed and I need to sort them out." You can't help but look away from him. " I won't ask what kind as to not get my hopes up, but can I at least know wether or not you're pitying me." Kurt furrows his brows and holds your cheek. "No! No, Y/n, I do not pity you or look down on you for this. Ehrlich. I just wish you trusted someone on the team to tell rather than do this." Your throat tightened. "If I did, I knew it would get back to you. One way or another." He sighs. "And this was better?"

The only sound comes from the to-and-fro flick of Kurt's tail.

He just brushes a thumb over your cheek, watching as your inner turmoil reflects through your eyes. "Just give me some time to figure this out, okay?" You glance back at him. His golden eyes soften at the understanding between the two of you. Even though you hate how everything has turned out, it's gotten you here regardless. You sigh and turn to fully look him in the eyes. "Take as much time as you need." You assure. He smiles at you, this time it's far more genuine. "Thank you." He mumbles. You nod and back away from him. All he can do is watch as you make your way to the door. You open it and turn back to him "We're still friends?" You mumble. He smiles. "Always." You return the smile and nod before leaving the room.

Finally, he can plan.

[uss-edsall]

Band of Brothers and the Holocaust

Speaking as someone who has studied the Shoah, but her focus was on what Allied soldiers did when they discovered a concentration camp? Band of Brothers' Why We Fight is the most accurate portrayal of liberating a concentration camp in any WWII media.

It has every single element of what happened, while also conveying the human experience of the tragedy.

In the following post I am going to write out the general nature of what happened when an Allied unit found a concentration camp. Interspersed will be dialogue in indents and italics direct from Band of Brothers.

The war is coming to a close. The soldiers are looking forward to going home. The mood is fairly upbeat, morale is high. There's been rumours that some bad stuff's been happening, it's known Jews and others were being persecuted, but it's not something on the mind of the average American or British enlisted soldier. Your farmboys and streetrats want to go home. They want mom's food, dad's firm hand, to play with their kid they haven't seen in three years - six if they're British.

Then...

It sure is quiet. He is right, fellas.

They find it.

A camp situated far from anywhere else. A camp in a wholly deforested area. A camp where no birds sing, no animals make noise. Ashy smoke on the horizon. Skeletal figures in striped clothes, staring at them, averting their eyes like beaten dogs. The smoke of burning buildings, dead bodies just laying about.

Major Winters! Uh, we found something. We're out on patrol and uh, we came across this. What, what, what, what? Frank, Frank, what is it? I don't know sir. I don't know.

The reaction, of course, is sheer horror. The deaths these men have seen were almost all in combat. This is not combat. They don't have a word for it. This is genocide, but they don't know that word. Genocide as a term has not been invented yet. It will be specifically to describe what they are now bearing witness to.

Look at their arms. Like cattle. Goddamn.

These soldiers don't know what to do. They've never seen anything like this before and there are no contingencies. But they are men of action. Trained to act no matter what. After the initial shock, after the initial arrival, they spring into motion. These prisoners are starving, obviously. They need food, they need water, they need medical attention. The soldiers distribute what they've got on them, try to help where they can, how little they can.

All right, boys. These people need care. Give them water and any spare rations you might have. Grab me some blankets, quick.

They find and procure more food and bring it to the camps.

Let's go, let's pick up the pace, come on! Sergeant Martin, get whatever we can fit on the deuce and a half.

Their desire to help, to save, it kills people. Refeeding syndrome - the severely malnourished, the starving, feeding them rations meant to keep a man at the top of his physical fitness going every day, the rich bread and cheese of a regular bakery, it overwhelms the stomach. Survivors on the day of liberation do not survive it - dead from the actions of their saviours. This is something Band of Brothers does not, perhaps thankfully, depict on the big screen - instead speaking of it.

Proper medical authorities arrive. They are the men who stop the haphazard nature of the liberators' actions, creating systems. They've never seen anything like this either. They're also working off the cuff - but they do know what they're doing, much better than your average kid from Brooklyn.

We need to stop giving these men food right now. They're starving. If we give them too much to eat too quickly, they'll eat themselves to death.

These medical authorities come with the establishment of proper authority in the region. And it's quickly determined there's nowhere to take these survivors who suffered so grievously. There's no place big enough, centralised enough to keep them safe from others, to keep them in one place to be properly fed and properly treated. No place, except...

We need to keep them in the camp til we can find a place for 'em. You want us to lock these people back up?! We got no choice, Nix. Otherwise they might scatter. We need to keep them centralized so we can supervise their food intake and medical treatment. So, until we find some place better...

The soldiers who have come to the rescue must force the liberated back into the camps. Back into the sight of all their horrors that they want to leave so badly. They have to, to help them get what they need.

The initial forces have to move on. The war is still continuing. They are combat troops, the spearhead of their respective frontline. They aren't guards, they aren't doctors. Their expertise lies in killing, not saving. Yet they tried to do so, to save those they could. When confronted with that, who couldn't?

Tenth Armored are gonna supervise clean-up. What about us? We head out for, uh... Thailheim, Thalheim, tomorrow.

The morale of the men has been shattered, having become first-hand witnesses to the Holocaust. So too, however, has their resolve to see this thing through been hardened, sharpened into a blade that will cut out the heart of fascism in Germany. They react with anger, enraged at the fact that German civilians insist they did not do it.

I said shut up, you Nazi fuck! You're not a Nazi? My mistake, you fat fucking prick. How about a human being? Are you one of those? Or are you gonna tell me that you never smelled the fucking stench?

Martial law is enacted. Commanders give orders to force the populations of nearby villages, towns, cities, to come out in their Sunday best. Everybody who can walk must come - come to the camp, come to see the horrors that they had ignored. Imprint the memory in their brains and know they let this happen. Then, with their own hands, pick up the bodies and bury them. This is what Nixon sees when he returns to the camp after Easy moved on - the 10th Armored enforcing it.

People of Ludswiglust were made to bury the bodies on the palace grounds of the Archduke of Mecklenburg, for example. At Ohrdruf, Colonel Hayden Sears yelled at his soldiers herding German civilians around a makeshift crematorium. "Make them look at the hooked poles for turning over the roasted bodies. Make them stand closer and look!" This is a term used by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum as Forced Concentration. It was a policy, at first made by battlefield commanders and then moving up the ranks. No person old enough to comprehend it was allowed to live in ignorance.

Something not depicted in episode nine but is depicted in episode ten are reprisals.

Some troops reacted to the devastation with bloodlust, a vindictive need to take matters into their own hands. Historian Max Hastings wrote of a British tank commander who drove into the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, pulled out a pistol, shot several guards and drove away. At Dachau, soldiers of the 157th Infantry Regiment machinegunned between 35-50 SS camp guards in a spontaneous reprisal. Heinrich Wicker, the commandant of Dachau, was summarily executed. An official investigation concluded, "in the light of the conditions which greeted the eyes of the first combat troops, it is not believed that justice or equity demand that the difficult and perhaps impossible task of fixing individual responsibility now be undertaken."

What if this guy’s just a soldier? What if he’s an officer with no ties to the SS? What if he’s innocent? You know what? What if he’s a fucking Nazi commandant of a fucking slave camp? Which one? Which camp? You don’t have any proof. Were you at Landsberg? You know I was. You think he’s a soldier like you and me? A fucking innocent German officer? Where the hell have you been for the past three years?

Notice that I have mentioned all these things and then gave dialogue from Band of Brothers for them? How I have barely added more detail of things that were not depicted? It's because Band of Brothers is the only series, movie, or anything else I know to depict the Holocaust and then accurately depict how the liberators of the camps reacted to them - in every single way:

Discovery. The urge, the need, to help - somehow. Distributing food and water too rich for the starved. Orders to stop and herd them back into the camps. Continuing the advance. Forced concentration. Reprisals.

Band of Brothers has it all - I've never seen anybody do it better.

[rosielefay]

Hetalia Appearance Headcannons ʚɞ

America:

He's your golden boy, golden hair and golden skin; he's got a square jaw and full lips - he's a paragon of humanity. Think the Roman Goddess Nike, he embodies ambition and victory. Born bathed in gold, the sun itself shines its affections on him. Of course, a perfect metaphor for the first born son of the Empire on which the sun never sets.

It's charming at first, the appearance of a moviestar and the smile of one too. No nation can deny his beauty, his proportions, his musculature - all broad shoulders and toned arms and thick thighs.

But cold blue eyes soon betray him; blue eyes which never quite match his all-American smile. He's perfect, ideal, and he's acutely aware of it. He looks like a God and he see's himself as one too. There's an arrogance to him, a dismissal in the tilt of his jaw, mirth in his eyes as they flock to him. It's ugly sometimes, but its knowable, and familiar, and safe in its disgust for the weakness others.

Canada:

The mirror image of America, but a (duller?), (fairer?), (gentler?) version - it depends who's asking. Unlike his brother, he was born without the favour of the Gods; his features, no different from Alfred's, are less remarkable, missing the divine perfection. He's the type to hide his laughs behind his hand, to smile at the earth rather than into the eyes of another. His shyness of mannerism a reflection of his shy features, they don't shine the way Alfred do but rather curl in on themselves. From the cool tones of his hair and its light waves, to the softer blue of his eyes. Pretty in their softness, he holds his brothers beauty but without the harshness of perfection. Easier to look at, easier to talk to - he holds not the favour of the Gods but the favour of man.

Russia:

A striking appearance. He's big; tall and broad, easily 6'4, a thick wall of muscle. His hair is soft, white, or platinum. A prominent nose and big hands but the gentlest eyes, not quite blue but lilac perhaps. There's a sweetness to his eyes but a relentlessness to them, always watching, waiting.

He's angelic in his colouring and his softness. Not quite human, perhaps a God; his sheer size, he stood above mankind, a figure to be looked up at, worshiped, strived towards. But there was something not quite right about him, not a coldness or a cruelty, nor any imperfection. Rather, it was the feeling he inspired in others: when you're walking home alone at night, when you say goodbye to someone you know won't come back, when your hairs raise and your gut feels heavy with something awful.

He felt like sin, yet no sin belonging to any known faith or God. You could see it in the way he averted his eyes, the stoop of his shoulders, and the deep layers of his clothes. The shame, the sickness, the sweetness of his gaze. Unknowable and lovely and terrible, a cold parallel to the burning warmth of America.

A sun, its moon, and the dead white star far away.

[lesbianpepsi]

your face is a like a melody, it won't leave my head

pairing: jock!amber freeman x volleyball player!fem!reader

summary: amber can't stop obsessing over a certain volleyball player

words: 2.379k

warnings: amber being a stab enthusiast, swearing, bad writing

authors note: my biggest red flag is giving all my fics long ass lana del rey lyrics as titles 😕🚩

Woodsboro High was like any other basic American high school. It had its popular kids, nerds, and of course the jocks. But one thing that separated Woodsboro from all the other schools was the jocks, more specifically the star jock player; Amber Freeman.

Not a sleazy guy named Jason Jackson but a girl named Amber Freeman.

She was absolutely notorious for her massive parties, how good she was at football and how stupidly attractive and athletic she was.

Everyone was fawning over her good looks and obnoxious attitude; well almost everyone.

You were the star of the volleyball team, the one who worked the hardest to gain the title of captain and went to every single practice to come out of it sweating like a pig.

You were the one in five hundred who did not like Amber Freeman.

Her cocky behaviour and rude attitude to students and some teachers who didn't deserve it made you go red with rage.

The feeling was heavily reciprocated as Amber made it very clear she did not like you.

"Accidentally" kicking her ball in your direction at lunch every time, snarky comments whenever she saw you and mistakenly using your locker to keep her things when she needed to change into her football gear.

It was anything but fun to deal with.

After a particularly rough practice session after school, you had to stay behind to clean everything up while your teammates headed towards the changing room to get their stuff and leave. Your oh so lovely coach didn't bother to help either, she simply threw the keys to lock the gymnasium at you and told you to lock up.

With a tired sigh you began rounding up all the volleyballs into a large black bag, throwing one in after the other. As you were about halfway done the doors opened, you sighed in relief as you hoped it was maybe your best friend Rosa had decided to help you clear up.

Grabbing a ball you turned to look at the doors, smiling widely before it quickly faded away when your eyes landed on who it was.

Amber Freeman stood there with a smug smile as she headed towards your direction, she was wearing her own jersey which told you she had just finished her own practice.

The jersey was the school's colours navy and yellow with the mascot being a panther, the front of Amber's jersey showing her signature number '96'.

The colour scheme was the same as your volleyball outfit; your long sleeved navy shirt with some stripes of yellow on it accompanied with short navy shorts that matched Amber's navy jersey and tight yellow slotted waist pants.

"What are you doing here, Freeman?" You grumbled as you stuffed a ball more roughly than necessary into the large bag.

Amber chuckled as she stood in front of you. "Coach didn't like my apparent 'arrogant' behaviour in practice so she said I gotta help the volleyball team clear up." She explained with a light rasp to her tone, something that you couldn't help but find hot annoying.

You scoffed as you picked up another ball off of the ground, dropping it into the half full bag. "Amber Freeman being arrogant, how shocking." You retorted, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you glanced at Amber.

The dark haired girl still had that smug grin that you wanted to desperately wipe off of her face. "Someone's grumpy, are you annoyed that you and your girl broke up?"

Your jaw clenched as you averted her gaze, focusing your attention back on the balls on the floor, much more aggressively than necessary shoving them into the bag.

"Fuck off, Amber. That's none of your business." Amber let out a laugh as she snatched the bag from your grip, opening it wider as she smiled at you.

Sceptical, you glared at her before you picked up three balls off the floor and dropped them in, the entire process being much faster with Amber holding the bag.

After a small period of silence much to your displeasure Amber broke it.

"Is it true you broke up with Neve 'cause she said she wanted to fuck me?"

You froze as your grip on the final ball tightened as you glared at her. You honestly thought she couldn't be any more of a bitch but here she was, in all her glory being a massive bitch.

"If Neve wants to make the mistake of fucking you then that's her and yours business, not mine." You replied, rubbing your thumb against the ball. "Well don't you worry baby cakes, I wouldn't sleep with her anyway." Amber asserted with a smirk, giving you a wink as she did so.

Your ears burned at her weirdly cute stupid nickname, your grip tightening even further.

Before even thinking you threw the ball weakly at Amber's face, resulting with her letting out a pained whine as the ball swiftly dropped into the bag. You grinned - mostly satisfied at the fact the ball dropped back into the bag- as you retrieved the full bag from her clutches.

"Whoops." You apologised as you tightened the top of the bag with the string, throwing it over your shoulder.

Amber rolled her eyes at your fake apology as she frowned like a hurt child, rubbing at her forehead where the ball hit.

"You're not funny." She grumbled out, moving her arms to cross them over her chest.

You narrowed your eyes at her with a smirk of your own. "I might not be funny but at least I'm not a reddit user."

Amber eyes widened in shock for a split second at your words, that only made your smirk grow even larger. She tilted her head to the side soon after, acting confused but you knew the truth.

"What are you even talking about?" She questioned. You stifled a laugh at fake confusion, you were positive Amber Freeman would not make a good actress.

"Does stumachersknife69 ring any bells, Freeman?" The jock averted your piercing eyes with a cough, finding a new interest on the floor. "I don't know what you're talking about." She mumbled.

You snorted a laugh as you nodded your head. "Sure you don't. Maybe I'll just have to ask Tara." You quipped making your voice sound more flirty at the end knowing how Amber would react to it.

Everyone in Woodsboro knew not to try to play any games with Tara Carpenter, Amber Freemans best friend. The football player was very protective over the smaller girl.

Amber's dark eyes glanced back at yours instantly at yours words, a glare on her face as she straightened her posture.

"The fucks that's supposed to mean?" She asked in an accusative manner. You shrugged your shoulders innocently as you smiled at her. "Well, you did say I was grumpy, so maybe I should start dating again. Tara's quite pretty, beautiful even and so sweet. What's not to like?"

"Like hell I'd let you go on a date with Tara." Amber said gruffly, her jaw clenching as your fake smile widened even further, knowing it would rile her up even more.

With a dry laugh you asked her: "Are you her personal guard dog or something?" your smiling becoming real at how annoyed Amber got.

"No, I just don't want her hanging out with douchebags like yourself." She cursed back. You watched her carefully as she took a step closer to you, glaring at you the entire time.

"How am I a douchebag? I've literally had like three girlfriends in my entire life and actually treated them with respect unlike you." You retorted with cockiness that faded once you noticed how lame what you just said sounded.

Thankfully Amber paid no mind to the fact you only had three girlfriends as her anger fizzled over. "Excuse fucking me? Are you saying I don't respect the people I go out with or something?"

You snorted a laugh as you stared at her in disbelief. Amber was the literal biggest player in the school, of course she barely cared about the girls she slept with. "You fuck 'em and leave 'em on the very same day without warning, that's kinda of a douchebag thing to do."

The jock stool another step closer until the point she was in your personal space, breathing heavily as she gazed into your eyes. "Oh shut the fuck up." She growled, the air around you suddenly starting to feel much warmer.

You didn’t wait a second to think of a reply before two words appeared on the tip of your tongue, escaping before you could do anything about it.

“Make me." You challenged with a smirk.

Amber opened her mouth to say something but faltered at the last second, shutting her mouth. The dark haired girl cocked her head to the side with raised eyebrows. “What did you just say?” She asked you in a low voice.

Your eyes flickered down to her pink lips before back to her dark eyes, licking at your own lips.

“I said make me.”

The football player didn't waste another second before her lips were on yours, capturing your lips eagerly as one of her hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer.

The bag full of volleyball balls had dropped from your shoulder to the ground, the impact making it reopen as all of the balls escaped with a roll.

Amber nor you paid any attention to it.

Your own arms wrapped around her waist as you pulled her even impossibly closer as you kissed her back just as fiercely.

The dark haired girl faintly tasted like raspberry apple, a taste you had never found so addictive and delicious until now.

Your heart beating faster than it had all of practice at the feeling of Amber Freeman’s soft lips on your own. Shutting your eyes it was as if you’d gotten much more sensitive, the feeling of the butterflies in your stomach intensifying.

Amber’s tongue professionally slided along your bottom lip as she begged for entrance. You whined pathetically loud at the feeling as you quickly went to complied to her request, soon after

Amber greedily shoved her tongue inside your mouth.

Your hands gripped at her jersey; your knees started to feel weak as her tongue explored your mouth.

The jock’s other hand held your waist with firmity, her thumb gently moving up and down your waist.

You couldn't bring yourself to pull away from Amber’s addictive soft lips, no matter how much your lungs begged you for oxygen.

Unluckily you didn't get much of a choice when you’d pull away when you heard a booming voice.

“Yo! Freeman where you at?”

You recognised the voice as Chad Meeks Martin’s voice, the second most popular footballer player at Woodsboro.

Amber hurriedly pulled away from you, breathing heavily as she still held you. It took you a moment or two to open your eyes, your breathing as erratic as Amber’s.

It definitely didn't calm down when the first thing you saw was Amber’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips, her signature smirk toying at her lips.

Your eyes locked with hers as you loosened your grip on her jersey, swallowing dryly.

You could feel the jock’s fingers playing with your hair as she leaned closer, her mouth hovering over your ear.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n.” Amber whispered out in a sultry tone, kissing your cheek as she pulled away.

Before you could argue Amber's hands dropped from your body as she left without another glance, leaving you alone feeling flustered and as much of a mess you had at the end of practice.

It took you five minutes before you could move, silently repeating your previous actions as you kept the volleyball balls into the black bag. The warmth on your cheeks never leaves.

Once you actually kept everything you headed towards the locker room that was empty. You didn't bother taking a shower and as you decided taking one at home would be easier.

Throwing your backpack over your shoulder you locked the gymnasium before you kept the keys in Mrs Smith and Miss Myers small office near the gymnasium.

As you opened the door you saw Miss Myers inside writing away on her notepad, she jumped at the sudden entrance before she turned to give you a sweet smile.

“Y/n, great to see you, how was your practice?” She asked you in a honey sweet voice, very different to the deafening yells she’d give the football team when they played a game or were practising.

Without a doubt she was the scariest teacher at the school.

You grinned back at her as you nodded your head weakly. “Knackering, one of the hardest we’ve had in a while.”

She barked out a laugh as she threw her notebook to the side. “I can see you're still quite flushed.

That was more Amber's fault than Coach Smith but you didn't dare tell her that. Instead you laughed before you gave her the keys.

“Smiths made you lock up again?” You nodded your head, rolling your eyes as you grinned. “Captain duties apparently.”

She gave you a sly smirk as she took the keys from you, hanging them next to the dozen other keys they had.

“You're as dedicated as my quarterback.” Miss Myers complimented. You tilted your head to the side as you played with the strap of your backpack. “Freeman? I thought she was a hassle in today's practice?”

She laughed as she waved at you dismissively. “Amber is never a hassle in practice, that girl always tries her best and it shows.”

You blinked at her confused; Amber's earlier words replaying in your mind of her saying she had to come and help you clean up.

Had Amber lied to you to just see you?

Shaking your head weakly you smiled at Miss Myers one last time as you took a step back. “I'll see you tomorrow, Miss.”

“See you, Y/n, get home safely.” She replied with a wave of her hand, you waved back before you turned on your heel, exiting the building.

Amber Freeman’s irresistible smirk all you could think of as you headed back home.