#and the majority of today was spent recovering

[loudclan-clangen]

trick or treat !!

Treat!

Great job everybody!

[lanadelnegan]

Crush - Part 2

Gym Teacher Negan x Female Reader

read part one here

Summary: Coach Negan finds you smoking and decides to punish you.

Warnings: smut, 18+, nsfw, extreme sexual tension, smoking, choking, rough face-fucking, negan degrading you, praising you and calling you "good girl"

final part coming soon!

The majority of your final week of high school has been spent replaying the imagine of your teacher fisting his cock in his hand while moaning your name.

Your feelings are still slightly hurt from the comment he made before you hurried out of his office that day, but you've had a few days to recover from it. You've found that smoking cigarettes helps calm you down, so you find a way to sneak off a couple times during your school day to light one up.

You lean your head against the brick wall outside of the gym as you blow a trail of smoke from your mouth, daydreaming of your new favorite memory. You'll be late to P.E. again, but what's new.

You've dodged Negan as much as possible the last two days, avoiding any possibility of him bringing up the awkward moment of you walking in on him. As far as he knows, you've forgotten all about it. Although that couldn't be further from the truth.. it's all you think about actually. Especially at night in bed when you touch yourself.

You feel an ache between your legs as you stand with your back against the cold brick wall. You have to physically restrain from touching yourself right there until the sound of the gym doors swing open, grabbing your attention.

When you turn your head, Negan's eyes are on you as he saunters towards you. You secretively hold the cigarette down by your side, not wanting to draw his attention to it.

"Being late is one thing. But smoking on school property? Have you lost your damn mind?"

"You've done worse." You say, blowing the puff of smoke you were holding in your mouth directly on his face. He grins sarcastically, placing his right hand above your head on the wall.

"Such a smart ass little mouth."

Your gaze drops to his lips when he speaks, and the smell of his minty breath makes your knees weak. His grin widens knowingly at the sight of you staring at his mouth before he reaches for your cigarette, stealing it from your fingers and bringing it to his own lips. He draws in a breath, inhaling the smoke before blowing it out directly into your mouth. Your lips part slightly, accepting it without hesitation.

Somehow it feels even more intimate than kissing, as you breath in each other's air and gaze lustfully at one another. His hazel eyes drop to your mouth as his body leans closer, trapping you against the wall.

You can feel his hard bulge through his jeans and you cry on the inside, wanting to slap him for not choosing to wear basketball shorts today.

You slowly reach for the front of his pants, but he grabs your wrist gently, pushing it against the wall beside you. He brings his mouth close to your ear and the side of his neck is temptingly close to your lips. You imagine darting your tongue out and licking it, wondering what his skin tastes like.

His deep, raspy voice fills your ear, sending chills down your body to your toes. "If I catch one of these in your mouth again..." He drops the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe. "I'll replace it with something much bigger. And as pleasing as that probably sounds to you, I will not make it enjoyable."

Your body visibly shutters at his words and he backs away, leaving you shaky and desperate.

"Get it together, y/l/n." He chuckles, suddenly back in character and putting on his best Coach Negan voice while entering the gym doors.

Fuck. You gather yourself enough to follow behind him a few minutes later. When you enter the gym, your peers are lined up on the court doing their stretches and you fall into place, finding a spot in the back. You sit down, stretching your legs apart and out in front of you while leaning forward and struggling to reach your toes with your fingertips.

Negan approaches you chuckling. "Oh, darlin'.. I know you can stretch further than that." He crouches down directly in front of you. "Need some motivation? I'm right here... Reach for me, doll." He taunts, whispering the last part for only the two of you to hear.

You lock eyes with him and reach forward, finally grabbing your toes as your face comes closer to his. "That's my good fuckin' girl." He smirks proudly before standing to his feet and cockily walking off.

Your face reddens as you feel more wetness pool in your panties. You've never been so horny and desperate for a man's cock in your life and it almost brings you to tears. Knowing how big and thick he is behind his jeans just makes you crave him more and you can't help but stare. He's bigger than any boy you've been with before and you know he would obliterate you.

"Something on your mind, y/n?" He calls out, making your classmates turn their heads to look at you. Your eyes widen and he winks at you, resting his hands on his hips.

"No sir." You say back, avoiding his gaze.

"Alright, we're gonna do something fun today since tomorrow is sadly our last day together." Negan announces, looking towards you at the end of his sentence. Your heart aches a little at this words.

Since tomorrow is sadly our last day together.

"Since only a handful of you showed up today, we're gonna do a scrimmage game." He bounces the basketball lazily while he goes over the rules, and your heart races with nervous excitement.

He chooses a team captain to play against him as they both take turns choosing their players. You wait patiently for Negan to say your name, but find yourself disappointed when moments pass and the others have been picked while you and the only other girl in class stand alone.

To even more surprise, Negan says the other girl's name while simultaneously grinning at you and you scrunch your brows at him angrily.

Okay. If that's how he wants to be.

"Man to man." Negan says, not taking his eyes off of you, claiming you as his.

Negan disappears into the locker room to change and you practically drool when he comes back out in basketball shorts and a white t-shirt.

Your team has the ball as you stand close by the goal next to Negan, who casually guards you. Neither one of you are that into the game, but more focused on teasing each other.

Negan stands directly behind you, pressing his body lightly against yours and you let yourself sink into him. His mouth leans next to your ear like before and all you want is to reach your hands behind you and feel him.

"Pay attention, doll. You seem distracted."

You don't have time to respond before your teammate passes you the ball and you turn, trying to shoot. Negan keeps his hands by his sides as he lets you attempt your shot.

Surprisingly you make it and you look to Negan, expecting him to talk trash, but instead he grins proudly.

"That's my fuckin' girl."

He says, running past you to the other side of the court. You follow him closely and his player passes him the ball quickly. Negan steps back, bouncing the ball and giving you the chance to get in front of him.

He bites his lip, loving your enthusiasm as you're determined not to let him score. When he attempts to go past you, you step in front of him and push your body into his roughly but it only causes you to lose your balance and stumble. You grab onto the front of his shirt, bringing him down with you as he falls on top of you, catching himself with his hand before crushing you.

His mouth is right above yours as he smirks. He goes to stand up, not wanting to make a scene in front of everyone, and subtly thrusts his hips into you before standing to his feet and lifting you up with him.

"Well obviously that's a foul, guess I get a free throw." He stands at the line to shoot, but misses the first shot, shocking all of you since he never misses unless it's on purpose.

"Something on your mind, coach? You seem distracted." You tease and he shoots you a warning glare.

He makes the next shot, looking to you. "Not at all. Takes a lot to get my attention." He smiles, running past you.

The game comes to an end when he makes the winning shot.

"And that? is how it's fucking done." He laughs, dismissing you all for the day.

Your classmates head to the lockers to collect their things and you follow behind them before Negan stops you, grabbing your wrist.

Your pulse races at the two of you being the only ones left standing in the gym.

"Don't be a sore fuckin' loser, baby." He teases, looking down at you.

"Maybe I let you win."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just fuckin' better than you." His head tilts as you look into his flirty eyes before pushing past him and joining the other girl in the locker room.

"He wants you bad." The girl says, changing into her clothes.

"What?" You ask, sitting on the bench next to her.

"Coach Negan.. It's so obvious, don't play dumb." She laughs annoyed before grabbing her bag and leaving.

You watch her leave, wondering if you two were really that obvious. Does everyone else see it too?

You decide to undress, turning on one of the showers and taking advantage of the empty locker room while you can. Most of your friends can't wait for school to be out, but the thought of never coming back here makes you depressed.

You light a cigarette to make yourself feel better, taking a few puffs while you lean against the side of the shower and wait for the water to heat up.

You press your cigarette into the counter, laying it there for later as you step into the hot shower. You lean against the wall, letting the water run over you as your favorite image floods your mind. Your hand drops to your pussy, finding your clit and rubbing slowly, imagining Negan between your legs.

"Negan.." You moan out, opening your eyes and quickly jerking your hand away when you lock eyes with Negan, who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed disappointedly.

"Wanna explain?" He asks and you blush as you try to cover yourself unsuccessfully.

"I was - I just.." You stutter, looking down at yourself.

"Not that. Hell, I was even gonna let you finish." He explains before holding up your cigarette. "This.. remember what I said?"

You nod, gulping noticeably as your heart beats hard with anticipation of your punishment. He flicks the cigarette in the trash before stepping in the shower with you and you back away slightly, giving him room.

"What are you waiting for then? On your fuckin' knees."

You stare at him wide-eyed, watching the water soak through his white shirt as it clings to him, revealing his toned body and dark chest hair. You slowly drop to your knees, trying to get comfortable in the small shower as your ass rests against the back of your legs.

"Take it out, sweetheart." He says, staring down at you as you obey him and pull his pants down to his ankles and off his feet, not taking your eyes off his hard length in front of your face. You eagerly lean forward to take him in your mouth, but his hand grips the back of your hair, urging you to look up at him.

"Not so fast, remember this is a fuckin' punishment, doll." You try looking up at him but the water sprays against his stomach and onto your face.

He grips the base of his cock, guiding it to your mouth and tapping the tip against your lips until you open for him. He pushes past your lips as your mouth stretches around him and you moan, closing your eyes as the water runs down your face.

His hands rest behind you on the shower wall as he leans over you, thrusting his hips and pushing himself deeper down your throat each time. You gag around him and try to pull your head back but his hand falls to your head, holding you in place.

"You're gonna take all of me, baby." He breathes out heavily, holding your head down until your nose is pressed into his soft dark curls. You struggle, unable to breathe as his length completely obstructs your airway.

You push on his thighs, panicking as your eyes water. He finally pulls back, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him as he bends down, hovering his face over yours.

You inhale a deep breath, taking in all the air you can get while you have the opportunity. Water drips off his wet hair, running down his face as he stares at you through dark, wet lashes.

He's so fucking pretty. You think to yourself as he grins, squeezing your face tighter.

"You are so fuckin' pretty like this." He says, echoing your own thoughts. "I am no where near down with that mouth, doll. I've waited so long so see you take my cock. Gonna fuck your face until I goddamn ruin you." He whispers aggressively before spitting directly into your mouth.

You swallow his saliva, secretly loving his roughness. He notices your slight grin and his face turns cold and serious.

"You enjoying this, sweetheart?"

You nod desperately, eager for him to use you.

"Can't have that, baby. Guess I'll have to try harder, huh?"

Fear washes over you, not knowing what's to come as he suddenly leans back up into his original position.

Without warning, he slams your head back against his cock completely, making you choke around him. His other hand is back against the wall behind you as guides you using your hair and roughly fucks your face. He angles your head back slightly, letting the shower waterboard you and you struggle.

He thrusts into your mouth relentlessly, until your jaw aches and you turn almost blue from lack of oxygen.

“Fuck” He grunts, pulling his dick out of your mouth quickly at the sight of you almost passing out, before squeezing his large hand around your throat and pulling you up off your knees.

You feel dizzy and disoriented, but he presses his body against yours, pinning you to the wall to hold you up. "Hey, breathe, baby. Breathe." He lightly slaps your face as you slowly regain consciousness.

Once he knows you're okay, he wipes the mascara running down your cheeks with his thumbs and grins proudly at you.

"You gonna touch another fuckin' cigarette?"

You shake your head no, trying to slow your breathing and calm down.

"Good girl." He praises you. "Finish up and get dressed, doll. Don't want your parents wonderin' where the hell you are."

You hear him chuckle as he exits the locker room with a towel wrapped around him, leaving you with panting and aching painfully between your legs.

And you realize.. that’s the real punishment.

Final part :)

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Felix Catton Headcanons

Meaning how your relationship with Felix gestated overtime & what he is like.

Summary: Farleigh looks over in your and Felix's direction and rolls his eyes over, "You guys are positively nauseating."

WC: 2.7k

Warnings: language, sexual allusions

————————————

-he had first seen you in a bar, in the beginning of the first year, guffawing with the group of your friends and doing shots. He instantly thought you extremely adorable, a small little smile making its way on his face as he watched your for the protracted moment, but he dismissed these thoughts — he knew a lot of pretty girls, he could get over it somehow;

-the second time he caught a glimpse of you, a longer one this time, was during the classes which you both happened to share. It so turned out that your were also majoring in English literature and sitting in the front row, showing off your stellar knowledge which didn’t fail to stun him every time you raised your hand. Felix didn’t consider himself a layman in the field of literature, heck, he even spent far too much sitting in the Saltburn library, rifling through the literary classics for literal hours (Farleigh and Venetia would even tease him about that for being a ‘nerd,’ but that’s beside the point). When you spoke up, however, it was somehow some pundit knowledge that your were offering, like the [sic] notion or the free indirect speech digression, which was just a wowie in his eyes. So you were adorable and smart. And that impressed Felix which didn’t happen with the other adorable girls that he had met. He felt intrigued;

-a few weeks elapsed, your reputation never waning in Felix’s eyes, and he spotted you seated with your clique again some random Friday night. Before he knew it, he was already making his way to your table and inviting you over to sit with his group of friends which appeared to have thrown you off a little for a moment. But then you quickly recovered from a momentary daze and you recognized him as the guy from your class; you agreed, obviously. During that night, Felix managed to learn a lot about you: your hobbies, a bit of your familial background which proved to be very similar to his own, your scrabbles to chalk up a scholarship, morsels on your opinion of Manchester United’s last game, etc. Should he be intimidated by your over-ambitions? Probably. Was he going to care? Nah, he is Felix Catton, the heck;

-overtime, the both of you started hanging out a lot with one another. You would often stumble upon each other in the pub, then devote literal hours to talking to one another and getting to know each other better, but at last you would start arranging some meet-ups on your own. For example, both of you just loved studying together, with you nestled in between Felix's legs (friends do that, right?) while you both read some coursebook or what. Felix would frequently ask you to explain something to him pertaining to English literature, not because he didn't know or didn't understand, but because he just loved watching you so vivacious, so passionate about the subject; the way your eyes would lit up, smart words rolling out of your perfect little mouth, and how you would seem genuinely happy that you could freely speak about your literary fixations;

-from time to time, Felix would also try to flirt with you, not in the conspicuous way, but he would surely make a point of complimenting you on a daily basis, like how much he loved your barnet today, how cute he though your outfit was, or how much he loved your smile or your dimples when you did. You would then get so flustered, every damn time, with a blush covering your cheeks. It was the favorite sight of Felix's;

-as much as this thought made him nervous, Felix finally decided to ask you on a date after some excruciating weeks of pretending to be just friendly (he loved spending time with you in a friendly way too, don’t get me wrong, but let’s be honest here queen — he wanted to kiss your lips so badly already; he was obsessed with you and your Cupid’s bow, it drove him mad. Mad!);

-he needed to find some idiosyncratic way to ask you out though, Felix would never settle for some plain “go out with me?” flowers. He mused on it for a long time and then finally figured — he will get you the Penguine Classics edition of your favorite book, the one you had been telling him about for the past few weeks now; you had never seemed to get a hold of the book though, with the limited supply of inventory in the bookstores around the Oxford campus. Oh well, Felix will find his way around the problem, be sure of that;

-he got the aforementioned book within two days and… let’s just leave the man up to his own devices but, boy!, was it a slog to get it. Once all set, he promptly scampered to your dorm, not even being able to contain himself for the next day or so, then bought a bouquet of sunflowers seeing as you have told him that these were your favorite flowers, and went searching for you all over. He eventually found you seated in the library, hunched over "Gone with the Wind," and so deeply lost in a brown study that you didn't even notice Felix approaching until he finally grunted as he stood in front of your table. You first smiled at him, ready to greet him, but then noticed a bunch of items in his hands and your countenance momentarily twisted in astonishment. "Is that for me?" you asked at which he nodded. With a perfect smile making its way on your lips again, you took the items from him and, at discerning your favorite book which you had been blabbing so long about, you literally squeaked. With way too much ebullience, you opened the book and your gaze landed on the little loopy inscription within;

-you read the inscription in the book (“date?”) and your face contorted in confusion at which Felix’s heart fell — were you going to refuse him now? This sinking feeling continued for a couple of seconds until finally alleviated by your beam with the cute little blush and the coy “yes” uttered from your mouth. He lifted you up and spun in the air, grinning maniacally, while you giggled at him softly;

-after a date, both of you started dating. Officially. Once the news was spread around the campus, it was accompanied by a myriad of different reactions to it — some applauded the relationship, calling you the perfect match; some girls, smitten with Felix, only threw you envious looks, yet nothing beyond, etc. Farleigh, on the other hand, merely shrugged and produced “fucking knew it,” then promptly returned to his drink and carried on with a conversation he had had with someone before (he’d always been catty, don’t take it personally);

-believe it or not, but Felix was in fact a perfect human being, hence a perfect boyfriend — he literally showered you with gifts (eg books, jewelry, flowers), for it was probably his way of indicating how much you mean to him and although you had told him that it was alright, that you loved him and didn’t need to be constantly won over or whatever, he shrugged it off and kept doing it anyway;

-the man was very PDA-ish; he would make sure and surely find his way to touch you somehow, somewhere, anywhere, should it be fidgeting with your fingers (he just LOVED playing with the rings on your hand), brushing your hair, holding his hand on your lower back or around the waist, just for others to know that you were his, only his, and that no one should even dare looking in your direction — get a hint, he’s extremely possessive, especially when it comes to you which you found very sweet. And securing in a way — he was always there to protect you;

-dating Felix also entangled spending with him 24/7, especially since you also shared classes together; Felix would go above and beyond to orchestrate your time together: study dates, going around Oxford shopping, pub get-togethers with your friends, park strolls, or movie nights. While at first it came off as a little surprising to everyone that the two of you would go around literally everywhere, especially seeing that you had been pretty self-sufficient in the past, but overtime it became customary that inviting you over also equated to inviting Felix over and vice versa. You were in a relationship now, thus a unity I guess;

-you mostly spent time in his dorm and despite having your own, you still slept in his room. Hear me out, hear me out -- it was due to a number of reasons: the softness of Felix's (100% cotton from Harrods and omg you could just lay in his bed for another century or so), the lingering scent of Felix's cologne on his bedding, or even the simple fact that Felix's room reminded you of your shared time and how much you loved spending every second with him -- especially with the polaroids of you and him strewn about the room. Also, should I mention that Felix was such a cuddler during the night, totally crossing the margin of personal space, not that you minded of course; he particularly loved being a big spoon because he then felt like he protected you from the rest of the world which was probably his masculine achievement of some kind lmao. Nonetheless, he also wouldn't mind being held by you from time to time, he found it extremely adorable and that provided him with a better access to smelling your heady perfume which he was in as much love in as with you;

-sweet little habits and gestures that you had in your relationship? Too effing many: slipping each other notes during the classes and complimenting on one another (Felix: "You ass awful sexy in that skirt;" You: "Shut up, I love you"), wearing Felix's clothes, making each other breakfast, reading poetry to one another, taking an occasional road trip as a date (you especially loved the one when he took you near the lake and you went skinny dipping; why? it was a blistering day, let's go with that), cooking together (not that's any successful heh), art classes together, etc. Since you were much shorter than Felix, you sometimes had a problem of keeping up with his long strides and so he would make a point of piggybacking you while you meantime brushed his hair or hugged him closely. Other times, Felix would hold you by your waist or snake an arm around your shoulder, anything to make you feel secure. Felix just loved the though of being your safety resort;

-attention attention: Felix did not only look like some literal Greek god but he also acted like one. One day, no specific occasion just... Felix I guess, he surprised you with a picnic under your favorite oak tree sequestered from the prying eyes of the students and with a perfect vantage view on the sunset. He fetched a blanket and packed the picnic basket with the romcom cliche items like wine, grapes, strawberries in chocolate, poetry, etc. However, he also took a guitar which initially confused you but he then went on explaining that he wanted to teach you how to play (in parenthesis, you hadn't even known he played but whatever). Hence you squandered a couple of hours learning how to play and let's just say you could strum "Riptide" at the end of the night, or at least partially;

-despite Felix’s sweet nature, he also knew how to take his time with you in the bedroom. He was such a tease. He adored watching you squirm underneath him, pleading him, whining, bawling his name when he didn't give you what you wanted until he finally finally(!) did; you would then emit a lewd moan which would both excite and galvanize Felix, seeing the effects he had on you. Depending on the mood, he could be either slow and sedulous, or he could be quick and passionate but it really pivoted on how you felt (he would do anything for you, more then he would care to admit). Felix especially loved doing it in his bedroom, for no one would dare to interrupt you there and he would relish watching you strip to your little black lacy lingerie and... oh boy, he would make you come countless times; he didn't mind doing it in the other places though as well, like a pub loo or even against the wall in some discrete alley but again it depended of you and your mood;

-matching tattoos! Call it irrational or whatever, but the thought of having the same tattoo as Felix (two little stars on your wrists) was too appealing of an idea to resist. Everyone seemed to love this idea, barring Farleigh who only rolled his eyes at that, but as I've said -- let's just ignore him, he loved the two of you [you and Felix] anyways and was just too proud to admit it;

-Felix literally pestered you to come over to Saltburn during the summer holidays which you questioned at first — what was his family going to think, were they going to like you, would you fit in...? But Felix dismissed your questions, only uttering something that "you don't have to worry about anything." Finally coaxed, you made your way to the English suburbs where Saltburn resided and soon enough you were facing a big-ass castle which Felix called "home." You had been hearing about the grandioseness of Saltburn beforehand but the reality surpassed your expectations far off and, all of the sudden, you could feel the heat creeping in your chest at the thought of entering the threshold of the mansion. Before you had time to plan your decamping, however, Felix was already snatching you from the entrance while constantly kissing you and reassuring that everything was okay and that should you need anything, he would be always there for you;

-Felix's mom, Elspeth, instantly fell in love with you. She walked over before you even had the time to properly introduced yourself, and muttered, "Oh, aren't you just gorgeous? No wonder why Felix talks about you so much" (at which Felix groaned "Mom!," making you giggle). You then shook hands with James, Felix's father, who gave you merely a nod of acknowledgment with a stiff smile, but you didn't expect much more if being honest. Venetia, on the other hand, turned out to be as lovely as her mom and she promptly embraced you as a family member while you chatted carelessly for the rest of the evening;

-Saltburn moments: spending loads of time in Felix's bed (again, you had your own room but let's be frank here -- what for?), drunken tennis, reading "Harry Potter" naked in the middle of the field, hours and hours spent at the pool since it was scorching, fancy family soirees and dinners...;

-one time when you were stargazing during one of those summer nights in Saltburn, Felix’s head on your stomach as you both laid, Felix stated matter-of-factly: “You know, I’m going to marry you one day.”

You grinned, lifting your head off the grass, but still not ceasing to brush his hair with your fingers. “Oh, yeah?”

“Don’t laugh, I’m being perfectly serious.” And he was. You looked at him now and your amused grin dissipated upon seeing the solemnity of his expression.

“And what makes you think that I would have agreed?”

Instead of answering immediately, he took your hand and drew it to his mouth, kissing each of your fingers separately, slowly, showing that he cares. That it matters. “Because I love you,” he said in between the kisses. “And you love me, hopefully.” He eyed your now-amazed face and a small smile began dancing on his lips. “So I couldn’t imagine it otherwise. It has been always you and me. It will always be you and me.”

“You and me,” you repeated blindly, hypnotized, a blush creeping on your visage now while eyes cavorting with merriment.

And he didn’t lie. He proposed at the end of the summer.

[python333]

task force 141 getting gaslighted by [reader] — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says, tf141 gets gaslighted by [reader]... nothing serious, dw!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings gaslighting, but used in extremely stupid and unnecessary ways, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], probably ooc but i'm a little more confident in this one than the last one!

note i'm so sorry that this is so long... it's like 3k+ words :{ and the soap and gaz sections are a majority of those words LMAO also tysm to the people who reblogged my last post?? thats so sweet?? im crying?? it was my first post too so i was just hdjsfhjdhsfjf tysm tysm!!

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ price is basically your dad atp.

➥ so it’s safe to say he knows about pretty much all of your weird little antics and shenanigans.

➥ this includes your tendency to gaslight people about the stupidest shit possible.

➥ trust him, he was a victim of this.

➥ the first time it happened, it was just too perfect of an opportunity for you to pass up.

➥ price was trying to eat his food in the mess hall, when you had sidled up right next to him at the small table he was eating at, and commented on his food choice.

➥ “Oh, nice. We got the same thing.” you’d said, setting down your tray of chicken, rice, and potatoes right next to price’s bowl of soup.

➥ at first, he thought you were just joking, and gave you an amused look and commented something along the lines of you being blind because you absolutely did not get the same thing as him.

➥ you take your gaslighting very seriously. this is not a joke.

➥ so you insist that you did in fact get the same thing, and you shoot a very confused look at him for good measure. your definitely-serious tone throws price off, because there’s no way you could possibly think you both actually got the same thing…

➥ … right?

➥ cue the rest of your lunch being spent alternating between eating your food and arguing that, “But we did get the same thing!” while price can only counter with, “No we did not!”

➥ now you may think that this is the point where you give up.

➥ it absolutely is not.

➥ see, price’s first mistake was giving you leeway to argue with him over this. his second mistake was suggesting that you ask someone to come over to the table and settle this by telling you both if you did get the same thing for lunch.

➥ naturally, you chose soap, because who else would encourage your bullshit with the same enthusiasm he does?

➥ long story short, he agrees to come over and settle the very weird argument you’ve started with price, and takes a very close look at both you and price’s chosen food items for the day and after you shoot him a glance that tells him everything he needs to know he confidently says, “Aye, these’re the same.”

➥ price has never recovered from the crisis he had after that entire interaction.

➥ so, the next time you do it, he knows exactly what to do.

—

When you sat down next to Price during lunch, he immediately got a sense of deja vu. Which is weird, because you sit next to him everyday, so what could possibly be different about today?

“Oh, nice. We got the same thing,” you’d commented offhandedly, setting down your tray of food, of which was just about the direct opposite of Price’s meal. Oh, so that’s why I feel like this has happened before. Price stared at your tray for a moment, flashbacks running through his mind, recalling his trauma from the last time this happened.

Then finally, cautiously, he agreed, “... Yeah. Whatta coincidence.”

You didn’t know if you should feel disappointed, happy, or shocked by him agreeing with you this time. You were fully prepared to pull Soap and Gaz aside to take a look at both of your trays of food and agree that they were the exact same meal, down to the portion sizes and everything. After a quick moment of thinking, you smile at him with the most innocent smile you can muster and eat your food, ignoring the sigh of relief Price lets out when you don’t begin to argue with him.

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ actively enjoys being gaslighted.

➥ in the sense of like, how many ways can he defend himself in ways you can’t argue with?

➥ he’s like the gaslighting victim version of markiplier with the whole ‘i’m not a masochist, i just wanna see how much pain i can handle’.

➥ so safe to say he very much encourages your gaslighting.

➥ the first time and only time you ever gaslighted him was when you were both hanging out in his room, both of you on your phones, soap watching ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’ after you told him you thought he’d enjoy watching it, and you scrolling through social media to pass the time.

➥ then, you got an idea.

➥ “Soap?” soap perks up at the sound of his name and hums in acknowledgement of you talking to him, “Have you finished that show I recommended to you yet?”

➥ “Nah, I’ve still got a few episodes left.” he’d responded.

➥ “Really? What season are you on?”

➥ “The last season, season two.”

➥ “... What do you mean the last season?”

➥ you two go back and forth, with you insisting that no, you told him to watch ‘the vampire diaries’, not ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’.

➥ the entire thing goes on for at least thirty minutes before soap sighs and insists that you’d told him to watch ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’ one last time, and you finally break.

➥ you break out into a small fit of laughter, and stop yourself to take a deep breath and admit, “Yeah, I did.”

➥ honestly, soap is very impressed by your determination to manipulate him. 10/10 would encourage you to do it again. in fact, will help you gaslight anyone you so please.

—

You and Soap were sitting in his room, him on the bed and you on the floor sitting down on one of his pillows. You’d just been scrolling through any and all apps you had, even going through your photos app, bored out of your mind, when you suddenly got an idea. You turned off your phone and looked over at Soap.

“Soap?” He tapped on his phone screen to pause the show he was watching and hummed, looking over at you. “Have you finished that show I recommended to you yet?”

“Nah, I’ve still got a few episodes left,” he’d answered, sitting up and cracking his knuckles.

“Really?” you’d asked, feigning confusion, “What season are you on?”

“The last one, season two,” he replied, showing you his phone screen. You looked at it for a moment before drawing your eyebrows together in pseudo-confusion.

“... What do you mean the last season?” you’d asked, “There’s eight seasons.”

“Uhh…” Soap looked back at his phone screen, confused, and tapped his screen a few times before he shook his head, “Nay, there’re two seasons, c/n.”

“Are you watching the right show?” you’d asked, watching as Soap nods confidently, and yes. You had set down your phone, ready for this new form of entertainment.

“Yeah. My Babysitter’s a Vampire, right?” he said, hoping for confirmation that he’s watching the correct show. You slowly shake your head negatively.

“No, I told you that you should watch Vampire Diaries,” you’d clarified, watching as Soap started to disagree.

“Nay, ye told me tae watch the Babysitter one,” Soap argued, quickly pulling up his text messages with you, “I reckon I’d ken if ye told me tae watch Vampire Diaries.”

“Well, I did,” you argued back, “I told you, verbatim, ‘hey you should watch Vampire Diaries, I think you’d really like it, since you like making fun of old 2000s shows with me’. I texted you yesterday about it.”

Soap raised an eyebrow before he’d turned his phone to you, showing you your text messages from yesterday, where you definitely did not tell him to watch Vampire Diaries. You took a good look at the text messages, before looking up at Soap, concerned, “Are you okay? That clearly says what I said it says.”

Soap looked baffled, and it took everything in you not to laugh, “Nay, ye messaged me tae watch the Babysitter one, so I’m watchin’ the Babysitter one!”

You two went back and forth, arguing over what the text actually said. You’d constantly deny everything Soap saw and he’d argue back in the most flabbergasted tone that ‘Nay, it’s richt there, I ken I’m no’ goin’ daft!’ and you argued back that he’s definitely seeing things because how could he possibly be reading the text but see completely different words than what it actually says?

Eventually, you both stopped arguing, taking time to catch your breaths. You had taken one look at Soap’s miserable facial expression before breaking out into a small fit of laughter, giggles spilling from your lips as you tried to muffle them by putting your hand over your mouth.

“Ye ‘nd I baith ken that the text says you want me to watch My Babysitter’s a Vampire,” Soap breathed out, watching you try and muffle your laughter.

After you’d taken a moment to catch your breath, you admit, “Yeah, I know.”

Soap’s eyes widened and he immediately said, “So ye admit it?”

You nodded affirmatively and he groaned, flopping back down onto the bed, the action having made you giggle even more. “Ye’re a bampot,” he’d grumbled, though there was no serious anger or irritation behind his words.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ now why would you even try this, huh?

➥ have you MET the dude?

➥ he absolutely will not fall for it.

➥ he won’t encourage it, won’t argue with you, in fact he’ll shut you down with a simple “No.”

➥ you’re too scared to even try again after the first time you tried it.

➥ the first time you tried to gaslight him, you were both just walking down the hall together.

➥ you tried convincing him that gaz was off on a mission when you had just passed by him.

➥ the look he gave you… my god.

➥ “No he isn’t.” i’m so sorry please let me jump off a cliff i’m sorry i made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgment and i don’t expect to be forgiven i’m simply here to apologize mr. simon ghost riley lieutenant sir.

➥ you never try to gaslight him ever again.

—

You thought it was a good idea at the time. You don’t know what drugs you were on or what meds you were off, but you decided that, yeah, I can totally gaslight Ghost with no repercussions, that’s definitely possible. So here you are, walking right beside him, the both of you going to completely different locations but he doesn’t need to know that.

When you first sidled up to him, walking by his side down the hall, he looked over at you for a moment and was just a bit confused but didn’t say anything otherwise. The two of you passed by Gaz, who was minding his business just walking past the two of you. He gave you both a quick nod and you made a point to nod back, not only out of respect but because you thought it would make your gaslighting session just that much better.

Just a minute after passing Gaz, you sighed and commented, “Can’t believe Gaz is on that super long mission right now. Two weeks is crazy.”

Ghost had slowly turned his head towards you, a sight that made your stomach drop because oh God I definitely fucked up, and simply said, “No he isn’t. We just saw him.”

I think I just shit my pants. “Y- yeah, right, right, definitely, no clue what I was thinking,” you blurted out, stumbling over your sentences because oh my GOD I’m gonna piss myself why is he so scary lord have mercy on my soul. Ghost raised an eyebrow at you, before huffing out a small laugh and continuing his walk, amused by your sputtering. You let out a sigh of relief as he simply walked away, and you headed in the correct way of where you're supposed to go, completely chickening out of your original plan.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ oh that poor poor boy.

➥ probably gives into it and just lets you gaslight him tbh.

➥ like maybe if your argument/gaslighting isn’t too strong he’ll argue with you, and sure he still won’t win but it was worth a try, but if you’re gaslighting-gaslighting him? he’s just gonna agree with you.

➥ like at that point anything you say is law and he is a law-abiding citizen.

➥ if your argument is strong enough and he’s tired enough he will genuinely believe you, too.

➥#savegazfromreader

➥ the first time you tried to gaslight him, it was pretty easy. you two had just finished sparring, with you coming out on top, much to your own surprise. gaz had given you a lighthearted pat on the shoulder and went off to shower, when you had the best idea you’ve ever had.

➥ you had groaned and playfully complained, “I can’t believe you won that.”

➥ gaz turned around, confused, and was like, “Won what?”

➥ cue the next 5 minutes being spent by you saying that gaz had won and arguing with him that he did win.

➥ “Honestly, you don’t have to lie and say I won. I appreciate that you don’t want me to feel bad, but I can take a loss.”

➥ hes so confused omg.

➥ starts gaslighting himself into thinking he won, then he’s like ‘wait no i didn’t’.

➥ but he still goes along with it because… what else is he supposed to do?

➥ ever since then he’s been your main gaslighting victim, and your favorite.

—

You hated the feeling of being sweaty, but you hated the feeling of someone else’s sweat even more. Maybe that’s what tripped you up that day, letting Gaz swipe his leg underneath yours and force you to fall down onto the mat beneath you, where he then started counting to ten, as per usual with sparring. But luckily for you, you were able to grab his ankle and yank it towards you, making Gaz fall on his ass and letting you straddle his chest and begin to count to ten just as he was doing earlier.

Of course, you dramatized your counting, because who would you be if you didn’t? You emphasized every number and your lips twitched into a small smile as you watched Gaz scoff and look away from you, clearly fed up with your theatrics. Once you were done counting, you got up and held out a hand for Gaz, who took it and got up, letting out a huff and patting you on the shoulder.

“Good job,” He’d said, smiling down at you, stepping off the mat and walking over to the bag of stuff he’d brought with him. After that small interaction, you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gaslight him. It’s not your fault! Who else would pass up an opportunity like this?

You groaned and stepped off the mat, muttering, “I can’t believe you won that. I really though I had you.”

“Won what?” Gaz questioned, looking back at you, confused.

“The spar?” You answered, though you made your answer sound more questioning, as if confused on why he’d even question your words. As if it was obvious that you hadn’t won. Gaz simply looked at you, very confused, trying to figure out if you’re joking or not. By the serious look on your face—a poker face you’ve worked on for the longest time—he figured that you weren’t not kidding, which worries him a bit.

”... No, you won that spar,” Gaz insisted, before nervously joking, “Remember? Thirty seconds ago, when you kicked my arse after I thought I had you down?”

“Honestly, you don’t have to lie and say I won,” You laughed, walking over to Gaz and patting him on the back, “It’s not like I’m a sore loser or anything like that. I can take a loss.”

He was so confused, and continued to insist that you had won the small sparring match, and got more and more confused the more you fought with him on this. He was so sure that you had won—you did, didn’t you?

He eventually just sighed, and ‘admitted’ that you were right, he did win. Satisfied, you smiled up at him and reminded him that you can take a loss, and you went on with your day. And if you heard him asking Price if he could go through the security cameras for a moment, requesting to go back to that specific time the two of you had sparred, no you didn’t.

[wordsbyrian]

Comeback Day - Alexia x Reader

Summary: This is the fic that I said I would write instead of the angst because Alexia made her return to the field.

A/N: Honestly, I'm just glad I finished this.

Today is the day.

10 months ago, 303 days to be exact, your girlfriend tore her ACL and was forced to stop playing football while she recovered. And today, she would be making her return to the pitch.

Even though she isn’t starting, everyone knows it will come eventually. And there’s no better day for it to come than today.

The day when your team could clinch the league title for the 4th straight year. At home in front of a sold-out Johan.

It will be perfect.

The only thing that would make it more perfect is if you were able to be on the field with her. And while you would technically be available off the bench, you and Jonatan had agreed that after being on the wrong end of a few hard tackles during the Chelsea game, it was better if you were only used in case of an emergency today.

So it’s the bench at El Johan for you, alongside your other teammates who would be sitting the majority of this one out.

Unfortunately for them, this means that they have to sit and deal with all the energy rolling off you in huge waves.

And Aitana in particular isn’t handling it very well.

“For the love of god,” she practically shouts, using her hand to stop your shaking leg, “Will you cut it out?”

“I can’t help it,” you whine, your right leg immediately picking up where the left one left off.

“How do you even have so much energy,” Irene asks, sending the midfielder a glare. “And even though Aitana was being mean, I really need you to stop with the leg.”

“I almost always have this much energy on the bench,” you tell them, “Besides I didn’t really warm up today because Coach told me not to bother.”

“It’s true,” Asisat says from in front of you all, “You guys just never notice because all 3 of you are rarely on the bench at the same time. Normally, I’d tell you that she’ll calm down eventually but she probably won’t.”

Asisat’s words catch the attention of your girlfriend who had been having her own conversation with Mapi.

“Estas bien cariño,” she asks, turning to face you, eyes softening slightly from the focus she always gets when near the pitch.

“Si, Ale, estoy bien.”

You can tell she doesn’t believe you but there isn’t time for her to question you on your half-truth because El Cant begins to play as the starting lineups make their way onto the pitch.

Luckily, your extra nerves all but disappear once the game gets underway. You’re left with your normal ones though, the ones you have from being a control freak in a way that has to be genetic.

That being said, you spend most of the game on the edge of your seat.

In the 10th minute, when Bruna collides with Huelva’s goalkeeper, Mersnik, clutching her head, you’re the first to your feet, wringing your hands when the ref doesn’t immediately stop play. You only start breathing again when your young teammate is back on her feet.

You laugh at the look on Jana’s face when she gets her yellow in the 33rd.

Then when Laia smashes one into the net in the 39th, you spring to your feet so fast you almost launch yourself into Mapi, who took a moment to realize that the ball had even crossed the line.

By the time halftime comes you’re mostly calmed down, although now all your energy is being put into ruffling Laia’s hair as you make your way back to the locker room.

“Lia,” you tell her, not releasing the headlock you have her in, “If you keep that up Jona is gonna make you play up front with me.”

“I don’t want that,” Laia says, trying to escape your grasp.

“I can see it now, me, you, and Caro, running up top. Of course, you’d be the CF in this scenario but I think it’d be an easy switch for you.”

“Noooooooo.”

“Siiiiiiiiii.”

The two of you continue in this manner as you make your way down the hallway, your teammates laughing as they pass by tapping Laia on the shoulder.

Inside the locker room, the first 5 minutes are spent discussing what you saw as a team and how those on the field could take advantage of Huelva's mistakes. You spend the next 5 with Salma and Bruna advising them on how they can better expose Huelva’s backline, especially Carolina and Romero.

At the 10-minute mark, Jonatan comes in and gives a tactics talk. It’s largely a repeat of what he said at the start of the game but you know it’s important for the younger players to be reminded of the game plan, lest they lose sight of the goal. 

So you hang back with Mapi, whispering jokes until both Jona and Alexia send you glares immediately shutting you up.

When the break is over, you hang back hoping to be able to speak with Alexia who has a habit of being the last one out.

It works.

“Alexia,” you say, grabbing her by the hand when she doesn’t immediately turn to face you. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Right now,” she asks, confusion obvious on her face. “We have to go back out.”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Take a deep breath,” you tell her.

“Que?”

“A deep breath, mi amor, I need you to take one before you make your head explode.”

Your girlfriend continues to stare at you skeptically but eventually, she does what you ask, taking a shaky breath, holding it, and then letting it out.

Then she does it again, surprising you when she grips your hand tightly, releasing it in time with her breath.

“Better, right,” you say, not asking her. When you get a nod in response, you lean forward pressing a kiss to her hairline, and speak again. “T’estimo, you can do this. Now, let’s go, I’m pretty sure we’ve got a trophy to win, Capitana.”

You punctuate your words with another kiss on her forehead before taking a step away from her and beginning to make your way out of the locker room.

“Hey,” she calls after you, continuing when you stop, “I love you too.”

Once the two of you make it back out to the bench you get a glare from multiple members of the training staff, and some teasing from your teammates who immediately quiet down when you both send them glares of your own.

The second half of the game is very similar to the first in that your team continues to control the pace of the game.

Then in the 63rd minute, you watch as Ingrid sends in a square pass over to Jana who takes one touch before shooting on goal. And it’s a powerful shot too, one that rockets into the upper right corner and past the keeper.

Seeing this, you shoot to your feet so fast that you nearly fall directly into Mapi again. Only this time you’re stopped because Irene manages to grab you by the back of your shirt.

The most entertaining part of the half is easily the way the crowd cheers anytime Alexia moves to warm up.

They only get louder when she begins receiving tactical instruction from a member of the staff.

Then when the time finally comes, when the fourth official holds up her sign in the 74th minute indicating that #6 Pina will leave the field so that #11 Putellas can come on. Well, it gets so loud that for a moment you think you’re in Camp Nou instead of El Johan.

It’s amazing.

The final 16 minutes of the game are some of the best you’ve ever seen while sitting on the bench, though that might be the bias from being able to see the woman you love return to doing what she loves.

The goal by Asisat in the 89th is just the icing on the cake.

When the final whistle blows, the stadium explodes with noise again, and you and the rest of your teammates rush to join the 11 on the pitch.

The thing about winning your fourth straight league title is that it feels just as good as winning the first one. In fact, it probably feels better than winning the first one.

And just like with every post-game celebration, it all seems to be a blur.

You remember Alexia carrying the trophy onto the field.

You definitely remember her singing, never thought you'd see that outside of her apartment much less in front of a sold-out Johan.

Then there was Mapi walking off with someone’s son under her arm and Pina forcing you to carry her piggyback style up and down the field in front of the fans.

It isn’t until you’re at team dinner that the adrenaline begins to wear off, for you at least.

The rest of your teammates, especially the younger ones, however, are still pretty hyped up.

It makes you feel a little bad for the wait staff since they have to deal with a bunch of rowdy footballers.

Currently, you’re sitting next to Alexia, her hand on your thigh, while you listen to Bruna and Jana tell you some very complicated story about what they did on your most recent day off.

“Then the guy tries to claim that he can get us into the VIP section, so we follow him over there, wanting to see him embarrass himself,” Bruna says, pausing so Jana can continue the story.

“Yea, so we follow him over,” Jana repeats, gesturing wildly. “And guess who we see sitting there looking like the life of the party? None other than Pina and Patri.”

“And Patri’s girlfriend and her friends.”

“Yea! So we get to the ropes and Pina looks up and starts freaking out. Meanwhile, he’s trying and failing to convince the security dude to let him in.”

“Then Pin comes rushing over,” Bruna cuts back in, “Still freaking out and she ushers us in, leaving him standing there mouth gaping.”

You’re sure the look on your face is comical as you sit there stunned.

After a few seconds, you manage to get it together enough to ask, “Did he think you two were sisters?”

Now it’s their turn to pause for a moment but eventually, both nod making you burst out in laughter.

“Why are you laughing so hard,” Bruna asks, making you laugh impossibly harder, gaining the attention of a few of those around you. “It’s not that funny!”

By the time you stop laughing the whole team is staring at you.

Alexia has taken her hand off your thigh and placid it on your back, you having hunched yourself over in the process.

Trying to catch your breath, you can hear Mapi asking who broke you from one side of the table and Paños making a smart-ass comment on the other.

“Y/N asked if a guy at the club thought Bruna and I were sisters and when we said yes, she just started laughing,” Jana says.

A couple of your teammates laugh at the explanation, mostly the older ones. The younger ones are too busy being confused. 

“Ah, pobrecitas,” your girlfriend says, “he was trying to get both of you to sleep with him.”

Hearing Alexia say it plainly like that sets you off again.

Unfortunately, Jana and Bruna don’t find it as funny as you do and they both sit there with horrified expressions that make you place your forehead back onto the table.

Your bout of laughter is cut short when you hear Ale speaking again.

“Ignore this bufona,” she says, “It’s happened to me and Alba more than a couple of times.”

“What?”

You don’t get an answer.

Later that night, after dinner, and once you and Alexia have returned to your apartment and have gotten ready for bed, you feel completely relaxed for the first time in days.

So relaxed, that when Alexia crawls into bed beside you, you immediately roll into her side and bury your face in the crook of her neck.

Just as you begin to drift off, the process being sped up by the feeling of Ale’s fingers running up and down your spine, you hear her whisper your name.

“Y/N/N, amor, are you awake?”

“Que pasa,” you ask, speaking directly into her neck.

“Thank you. For earlier. I really needed it.”

Her voice is soft like she doesn’t want to admit that she was nervous earlier, so you sit up to look her in the eyes.

“Hey,” you say, “Me and you, this is forever. So, I’m always going to do whatever I can to have your back. Besides, I might have needed that moment a little more than you did.”

“Well, you’re always a bit anxious in general.”

“I think I controlled it pretty well today.”

“You didn’t,” Alexia says, pulling you back down. “Aitana almost killed you but everything turned out fine.”

“Well, I wanted everything to go perfectly for you, mi reina, so I couldn’t help but be nervous.”

Now that your face is back to being in its preferred nighttime hiding place, you can feel the way her neck immediately heats up.

“It was perfect, best day ever,” she says, kissing your head much like you did to her earlier.

You just hum in response and a moment later you feel her fingers resume their path trailing up and down your back, lulling you to sleep.

[naamahdarling]

Today's medical update, please pardon any weirdness as I am using speech to text, and please excuse how long this is. I put an excellent picture of Fancy at the end for you. Here we go.

The shortest version is that my GP is going to try and centralize this. I have made an appointment for Monday. We are going to start over from the very beginning. New specimens, new cultures, everything.

The long version is kind of wild ride. It's going under a cut

My GP is now telling me that on two of the occasions that I went to Urgent Care or the hospital for a UTI, the records say that I did not actually have one.

This makes no sense whatsoever. I was symptomatic and I could smell it. On both of these occasions, I was told in no uncertain terms that I did have one.

I do not believe I was lied to at either facility. That means the only possibilities are that the testing was done improperly, the results were charted improperly, the records were sent over improperly, or I didn't understand what was being said to me.

At this point, with this absolute clown show that has been unfolding around me, this ridiculous circus where each act is fraught with nonsensical antics even more baffling than the ones before, I am literally unable to come to any conclusions. This is absolutely maddening.

And it's frightening, because there is something wrong, genuinely, and it might be something that they are unable to detect with the methods they are currently using. That's scary for a multitude of reasons, one of which is that they are not going to be willing or able to treat something if they do not think it exists. The other is that it opens the door to the possibility of their being further testing, which makes me violent to even contemplate. I want what is wrong with me to be simple, easy to treat, and relatively benign.

This has been frustrating, and drawn out, and I am sick of it. By itself it isn't enough to completely break me down. It's been almost unbearable when combined with the facts that I have serious concerns about the health of three of my cats, that my father seems to be worsening in his condition, that I have several other medical storylines going concurrently with this one, one of which is extremely stressful and frightening, and that all of this fuckery and running around has caused me to have to cut out most of the very, very few enjoyable and meaningful activities that are present in my life.

It has impacted my ability to be present for my partner, and for my pets, for me to sustain communication and relationships with people who are not my boyfriend or my best friend, and to simply fucking relax.

Also I can't fuck. Like, I know that this is the laugh at horny people website, but that is significant. Receiving not just physical touch but intimate touch is one of the very few ways I have of assorting ownership over my own body at this time.

I feel my identity has shifted from an internally defined "struggling person just going about their business" to an externally defined identity as a patient with a body that is sick and who must now structure their life around the demands of a system that does not care about me in the slightest, even though the providers usually do.

From the outside I know that this doesn't seem that terrible. I've spent the vast majority of this with no pain, and the times I have been in pain haven't crested a 3. If it weren't for the fact that I don't know what it is, it would be relatively trivial!

Unfortunately, because this isn't all I have going on, it's been really fucking things up. I space my appointments out so that I have time to recover between each one. I have PTSD, I have medical trauma, I have emotional reactions after stepping into a medical facility for any reason, and when things go wrong even in a very small way they can be intense. I manage this by allowing myself to have the reaction, experience all of the feelings, and come back to myself. It is a healthy way of doing things. It doesn't work, though, if I'm having to deal with one thing after another and no time in between to recover from it. This is essentially what has been happening to me for 2 months. Appointments, phone calls, messages, fixing mistakes, having to explain my history repeatedly as it gets ever more complicated. There's a lot more to it than just one appointment a week, which is already a lot for me.

I know this is something that chronically ill people deal with all the time, often for years, often for life, but the extent of it is new to me and very difficult to bear. My personality is vanishing under the weight of all of this crap. I do not feel like myself.

So yeah, sorry for rambling so much but this is just been...I don't even have the words to describe it. Nonsensical, but in an unfortunately consequential way. I've been going in circles all this time, apparently.

I don't really expect anybody to read all of this. But if you did, thank you. It means a lot to me. This place, and all of you, function as a sort of pressure relief, and a source of constant, pleasurable entertainment. I know many of you empathize with what I'm going through, and that helps me to feel less alone. That all by itself is so important.

Anyway, here's my cat.

She got to be on the puzzle table and was very smug about it.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

I have been a resident of the Pacific Northwest for almost two decades, and yet yesterday was my very first time making it to the Enchanted Forest fairy tale-themed amusement park outside Salem, OR. It's such an Oregon thing, really--unlike your major corporate theme parks which are polished and enormous and structurally supported by reams of trademarks and licensing deals, Enchanted Forest was the brainchild of one guy who managed to wrangle family and friends into helping him build an entire twenty acre theme park one bag of cement at a time.

And it's just that charming, really. You can see the love that went into making each exhibit and ride. One family member designed sculpted the buildings; another specializes in animatronics; a third focuses on the music (it's the only theme park in the U.S. that doesn't use any third-party copyrighted music!)

But I fell in love with the little details, like the brightly painted mushrooms in the Alice in Wonderland section, and the punny grave markers in the western town, and the colorful waterfalls in the Seven Dwarves' mine, and the massive, moss-covered cement "boulders" lining the pathways, and the two dozen singing blackbird animatronics popping out of a huge fake pie. It's silly and fun, and yet at the same time there's so much care that went into it. A small museum shows pictures of the Tofte family and friends working on it in the 1960s and 70s, and then you can go out and see the actual structures they were building still around today.

And, it being me, I spent some time examining the flora I found (baldhip roses! western sword ferns! inside-out flowers!), and delighting over a common house spider that had made a web inside a giant moving kaleidoscope (and which I had a heck of a time trying to get a picture of.) It's a really lovely place, and the landscape has recovered nicely from all the construction over the years.

We're definitely going to be going back; apart from the entertainment value, we also just appreciated the artistry and craftsmanship that went into this family-owned treasure.

[nasubeenwithcat]

Discotrain doodle fic

Movie directors are always under stress, and DJ Grooves and the Conductor reluctantly decided to join forces to make a better movie. What began as a obligatory thirty-second hug gradually took them in the wrong direction.

Words: about 3,900 CW: suggestiveness/mention of self-harming/discotrain/pierce/alchole/smoking/kind of codependence

A depraved and controlling discotrain fiction (DJ Grooves x The Conductor). I actually intended for this to be a longer story, but it's a doodle. So it will be over soon.

0.

Late afternoon. It was the hottest day on record. This meant that the majority of the penguins were not at work. They seemed to be having a hard time thinking straight in such hot weather, as they seemed to be struggling with the average temperature in this area. Of course, the desert-born owls are not like that at all, so they were all happy to laugh at their rival team's bad luck for the rest of the morning. The Conductor was the most excited. This was partly due to the fact that DJ Grooves didn't take a break in such hot weather. The number of owls and penguins in the lobby is usually even, but today it was many against one. Not wanting to miss out on this excellent opportunity, the Conductor made a lot of fun of his rival's unfavorable behavior and his results. He even said things that he shouldn't have said as a bird, just to humiliate the star. After enjoying the overwhelming advantage to the fullest, he started work in a good mood.

But the sun was cruelly equal.

As noon approached, the temperature rose so high that even the owls, as expected, were annoyed. The only place where they could breathe properly was inside the Owl Express and in the studio. Seeing the color drain from the owls' eyes and their movements slowing down, the Conductor finally made the decision to stop working two hours after the sun had risen directly overhead. In that light, perhaps it was the moon penguins who were really the lucky ones. They could have spent the entire day in the cool without work. In the end, most of the owls cursed the sun that was supposed to be their friend, in a car with an air conditioner and a ceiling. The reason it was not all of them was because the directors were not allowed to take breaks. The studio was air-conditioned and the curtains could be closed to keep out the sunlight. So the Conductor and the assistant director had to stay in the studio to work. (Actually, there were many other directors, but all of them did not want to work. The Conductor didn't want to scream in this hot air, so they could all take a break on the train.)

The two birds continued to work, alternately staring at the Owl Express which had lost its conductor and was unable to escape the sun, and at the computer screen. The heat had dulled both of their enthusiasm for their work. The yellow owl stubbornly insisted on continuing to work, but only because DJ Grooves was in the studio and he continued to work there. So the infernal hours continued until the Conductor's face turned blue past red. It took about three hours before he muttered a single word, "Break," while holding his head.

The problem, however, occurred at night when the sun had set.

1. There is a desert near Dead Bird Studio. It's hot enough even in the non-summer months, so ice cream sells well. Selling well means more variety and better taste. Ice cream is a bit of a specialty here. Penguins aside, all the owls loved it. The Conductor, who had been feeling ill earlier, recovered completely after finishing two ice creams. From the assistant director's seat, it was clearly visible that he was in a happy mood as he opened the third one. His fingernails, beautifully colored with magnetic gel, ripped open the wrapper to reveal a well-chilled scoop of ice cream. A large beak was opened before the ice cream melted. Then, a sparkle stubbed the assistant director's eyes.

A large tongue licking ice cream has a small pierce.

To begin with, the Conductor was somewhat different. He would never take off his uniform coat, whether he was alone in the desert in the middle of summer or working on a record-breaking hot day like today. It is no longer necessary to mention that he never loosens his tie. As one can see, that coat is thick and heavy in its own way. The poor ventilation is enough to determine that it is a fine winter coat. The assistant director thought he is a sensitive to cold, but the fact that even he is sweating and eating ice cream with relish suggests otherwise. Is there a reason he can't show his skin, or is he obliged to wear it? Either way, he was quite extreme in that he continued to neglect a problem that could all be solved by a thin summer coat.

Well, anyway, the Conductor is always dressed formally. This gives him a strong impression of 'neat and clean' even though he is a messed-up tyrant.

He started wearing a piercing shortly before this day. The swelling has gone down and he is finally able to remove his first piercing. Instead, he now has a small but strangely present gold jewelry with a star motif sparkling on his tongue. The crew was surprised when the Conductor, who appeared to be an honor student in only appearance, suddenly opened his piercing. The fact that it was not in the orthodox ear, but in the tongue, upset them terribly. Even the moon penguins snuck into the owl control area to see his change. The piercing stood out against the carefully ironed uniform and the straightened, permed, beautiful feathers. Anyone would be bothered by a caterpillar on a bright red apple. In fact, it bothered the assistant director so much that he kept his eyes on him long after the studio had grown accustomed to his change and lost interest.

With his beak closed, he looks the same as usual, but when he opens it, his eerie star appears. The discomfort is even more noticeable when he sticks out his tongue to lick ice cream. Whenever the assistant director saw it, he became somewhat restless. He felt as if he was looking at something he was not supposed to see. It was as if someone forbade him to think so, even though it was just a piercing.

"What's the matter?" The Conductor, who had been eating his ice cream in silence, suddenly started to speak. "If you have something to tell me, say it clearly. If you don't, do your job." "Sorry, I-…" the assistant director said impatiently, looking at his ice cream in his hand. He didn't realize that he had been staring at him for a long time until the man himself pointed it out. "I just… I thought you didn't like that sort of thing." "Ice cream? I always have some on the train." "…I see."

Owl vaguely responded with a phase. By “like that sort of thing,” he meant piercing, not ice cream, but he decided it was probably best not to ask too much, and ended the conversation.

It was a beautiful piercing, so beautiful that it was burned into his brain.

The assistant director stared blankly at the computer screen. He didn't have much motivation to work. He was thinking of going to Grooves' office and asking him to please go home. By the way, his piercing was quite beautiful. He really didn't like that. He didn't like all the changes that happened to the Conductor. It wasn't just this loathsome piercing that had changed him. His shaggy feathers suddenly became straight and glossy, his worn and tired coat became new, he started drinking his coffee straight, (the Conductor always put a lot of sugar in the coffee, saying that it nourishes the brain,) and so on. As far as the assistant director knows, the first is a fingernail. The owl spies the boss typing listlessly with an ice cream in his hand. The too-strong sunlight glistened off his blue fingernails.

Granted, there were a few times when a sudden change occurred in him like this, but there were also times when the change was slow and steady. The assistant director threw his gaze out the window. For example, see, had the Conductor ever left a train alone like this? It was like the boss he had been working with was slowly becoming something he wasn't. He doesn't scold anyone for lack of explanation these days, and he is starting to show a tiny bit of compassion for his crew. It's a good change, no doubt. But he couldn't help but be lonely. It seemed as if the boss he admired, who was supposed to be so easy to get, had suddenly gone very far away.

Once upon a time, his team was not this calm.

The Conductor was always furious that his aesthetics were not communicated well to his crew. The crew respected their boss, but also despised him. The assistant director well remembered the newbie, who had made mistake after mistake and was constantly being scolded by the Conductor, chuckling and sneering at him in the smoking room, "what a poor grandpa." After all, Grooves' team was probably made up of respect, love, and other beautiful things, whereas the Conductor's team was surely made up of resentment and envy toward him, and the powerful fact that he has award trophies＿＿＿＿ In the other words, He is an winner. In a capitalist society, results are everything. This means that the moment DJ Grooves win the award trophy, the Conductor's team collapse. Of course the Conductor could have known that. He had charisma, but not leadership. He absolutely could not let penguins beat him as a movie director. That is why he went out of his way to make fun of Grooves in the lobby where the whole team gathered. That way he would make sure his team is still alive. In the assistant director's opinion, it should be called a show anymore. But he understood the pressure well. Even just a normal walk on the Express or in the studio, he can hear the complaints about him. Owls have good ears, but they are often careless. He's seen it many times when the Conductor hears them from time to time, and his expression hardens. He stands there, fingertips trembling with anger, yet biting his beak. He wants his crew to take his movie seriously, and he is frustrated that he is standing in the way of that. His expression of depression is usually obscured by the fact that his gaze is downcast. And on such occasions, it was not unusual for him to blithely tell people he was going somewhere to buy coffee, and then suddenly go away. After a while, he would indeed return to the office with a cup of coffee, but his fingernails would somehow be in tatters. It was an open secret in the studio that the Conductor would chew his own nails to relieve stress. The character acted by the Conductor in his movies often wore gloves. The gloves were not meant to show the audience information about the character, but to hide it. The Conductor was always annoyed by the fact that he was damaging his movies for his own selfish reasons. Yet, instinct compelled him to do so, and he could never stop biting his nails. He is always one step away from being crushed by anxiety.

But that was not the case one day. The assistant director pictured the costume room far away in his mind. The Conductor did not wear gloves in his newest movie. His fingernails were healing. Gradually they grew longer and when they were about average size, polish was applied. When he was not shooting a movie, his nails always glowed blue. It was the same blue magnetic gel all the time.

"……Papers." "What?" "I gonna go give him the papers."

Suddenly, the Conductor stood up from his desk with a reluctant look on his face. "We're done for today. Go home."

Seeing him cross his arms in frustration next to the copier, it seemed like he couldn't just 'go give him the papers.' His fingernails clung tightly to his coat, making creases. He looked scared and lost. The owl approached the copier and him and checked the papers he was going to take with him. It was an unimportant piece of paperwork, not worth the trouble of printing on paper. Since DJ Grooves was the only other bird in the studio right now besides the two of them, it was easy to guess where he was headed now.

"Can't you just text him?" The assistant director furrowed his brow and looked into the conductor's face, who looked impatient. "Wouldn't he rather be annoyed?" "You don't get it, do you?" The Conductor snatched the documents from the copier, crumpled them up and stuffed them in his bag. "……That's what I'm doing this. Right? Yes, I am just trying to fill his boring desk with useless papers. So much so that he can't even recognize what's important papers and what's garbage…”

The muttering that grew smaller and smaller was as if he had to believe that, even though he didn't. The assistant director became concerned when he saw the look on his face, as if he were strongly telling himself. His shallow breathing became faster and faster.

"Why am I printing this nonsense? I'm just……," he breathed deeply, making a drawn-out sound. "I- I am just……!" "Boss?”

The assistant director touched the Conductor's shoulder, trying to bring him back to reality. The yellow owl yelled briefly and slapped his hand.

"Get out of here, quick!"

2. The sky was already starting to turn red and the temperature had finally settled down. Eventually, he pressed his time card at almost the same time as usual, and then, intrigued by a small curiosity, he took the trouble to ride the elevator once more, back to the room where he had been working a moment ago. As he should have expected, the Conductor was not there. He must have gone to his rival's office to give him some papers and never came back. Not only his voice, but even his footsteps could not be heard. The owl slung his bag back over his shoulder and decided to leave quickly before he was spotted. Halfway to the exit, he wondered if he should say hello to his boss before leaving. He knew where he was, and if he believed his boss, he was just there to give him some papers. Would it be so unforgivable to say 'see you tomorrow'?

The owl retraced its steps a bit back the way it had come and strode toward the penguin control area. His own footsteps were the only sound in the wide hallway with its bright blue walls and star-lined corridors. It was no longer filled with cold air, as if the temperature had never been changed since it was set at noon. He could not find a room with a light on. Relying on a long-ago memory, the owl fearfully walked through the unfamiliar darkness. No lights were visible for a long time.

"Let me see it."

Suddenly, without warning, the voice jumped into his right ear. The assistant director turned around in surprise and noticed a figure in the room he had just passed. He was simultaneously relieved that he had finally found it and wondered what it was doing there without any lights on. He decided to take advantage of the darkness to surreptitiously check the room through the window. There were two figures. It was obvious who was there without such a muddled expression. On a large writing desk was papers that the Conductor had just copied. Checking the plate, it was indeed Grooves' office. The upholstered chair let out a giggle and a pained sound. The big chair was taken by the owner of this office, and the Conductor was perched on the edge of the writing desk.

"Good. It matches you, darling." His sweet baritone voice seemed to sting his eardrums. "What shall we do next? I could open your ears or dye your feathers. I bet you'll look pretty." "Mmm……whatever……?"

They were chatting amicably with their nearly empty wine glasses. They were much closer and more relaxed than when he had seen them when the sun was shining. They had already had a fair amount to drink. Several empty blue curacao bottles were lying on the floor. The Conductor was so drunk that even in the dark he looked as if he was about to fall off the desk. Grooves seemed to think the same thing, and with a grin, he pulled him onto his lap. The yellow owl's loose head rested on his rival's broad shoulders, and his feet, relaxed to the tips of his toes, floated lazily in the air. They held each other tightly, listening to their hearts beat. Then began a slow, long kiss. The exhalations, unsure of which belonged to which, became faster and more ragged. The sounds of tongues sucking and twirling, breathing becoming more turbulent and wild, and the taste grinding against the inside of their beaks all filled the room in a raw way. He was too drunk to close his beak, and his honey-like saliva trickled down his chin and stained his glued white collar. Without time to wipe it off, the Conductor was completely at the mercy of his rival. The only resistance he could offer was a feeble scratch on his back. Taking advantage of this, Grooves responded to his kiss by unbuttoning the gold buttons of the Conductor's coat, one by one. His too-light touch indicated that this was not the first time the two of them had done so. One or two came off, easily revealing his suspenders, which are rarely exposed to public view. His happy hooting sounded muffled, caged in his beak. It was the sweetest voice the assistant director had ever heard. So sweet, in fact, that it even sounded bitter. At that rate, the clasps on his suspenders came undone and the knots on his tie were broken. The buttons on his shirt were right there. No amount of darkness could disguise the red marks dotted among the yellow feathers. There is no more fitting measure of the intensity of the emotions directed at him. Grooves finished unbuttoning all the buttons and slowly traced a circle around his completely exposed belly.

The assistant director wasn't sure if he should look away from his boss, who looked 180 degrees different from his usual self. And eventually, before he could make a decision, their long kiss ended. Several thin honey bridges connected their beaks. The Conductor rubbed cheeks with Grooves, stroking his cotton candy-like afro awkwardly. Reason had melted away into mush and was now relentlessly pushing him in the wrong direction. It was a far cry from the morning. It was obvious just by looking at him that his head must not be spinning well due to the alcohol. In the midst of all this, he was still pampering the bird in front of him, giving it everything he had. Who would have thought that the yellow owl, perched on his rival, beak sloppily open, shirt and coat all unbuttoned and pulled over his shoulders, was the same person as that talented and cruel movie director? The current Conductor was, obviously, insane.

"Cute." The gentle voice forced an outsider's brain frozen in shock back to reality. "I was right, you do look good flirting with me like this, instead of being my rival or the boss of a bunch of ungrateful owls." "So……?" The Conductor, for some reason, was still smiling dreamily and innocently. "Am I doing well?" "Very well, compared to where you used to be." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. "I have corrected your dirty way of speaking. Your taste in music and the way you sing are much more agreeable now."

He chuckled softly and took a cigarette in his beak. The yellow owl lazily raised itself up and lit the cigarette with a lighter he was holding. The venom that had been spewed out surrounded the two birds and drifted around them fluently. It was a strange, yet fantastic picture. It showed their power relationship with grotesque clarity. This office was the only one so disconnected from the everyday that it didn't feel like one of the components of Dead Bird Studio. The Conductor gave one small hoot. Then his blue fingernails tapped several times on the square buckle of the belt. With a poor hand, he opened the buckle and loosened the red belt. He flexed his body and flaunted his tongue in a desire-fueled manner. A small, planted star glittered in the moonlight that streamed in through the window. No words were needed to understand who owned him. Grooves' eyes narrowed in satisfaction, as if he liked the unusual sight of his rival, who had done nothing but glare and rant at him during the morning.

"How would you like to be made?"

The Conductor smiled quietly at the whisper. Then he traced the zipper hungrily.

"I need to be roughed up, laddie……."

His voice, full of sweetness, dissolved into smoke, and he took the zipper into his mouth. And then, he slowly lowered it down＿＿＿＿

The assistant director found himself fleeing there. He ran hurriedly until he could no longer see the stars through the walls. The wind mocking in his ears didn't bother him at all. All his senses were occupied by the shocking images he had just seen. Sweet indulgence, excessive trust. Most shocking of all was that the yellow owl and the Conductor were the same person. Whatever the movie's success, he never made a sound like that, never laughed so vulnerably. He didn't even loosen his tie! ＿＿＿＿What in the world was he afraid of by the copier!? The owl took a few nervous breaths, blinked a few times, and then quietly counted five seconds. He didn't like the fact that all of those too-big-to-fail emotions were directed at that one damned moon penguin. It was a terrible betrayal. Could it be that the Conductor was playing a trick on him, or that he was playing a trick on the Conductor? He tried to calm himself down, but nothing worked. The countless foreshadowing set up in everyday life tells the owl that their relationship is a fact. But what still prevents the owl from acknowledging the fact is, after all, the way the Conductor looked that afternoon. He was frightened and annoyed about something.　If that wasn't fear of his rival, what was it? Or was it an act that he mocked Grooves in front of all those people? He walked out into the desert on a cold night. He then approached the Owl Express, which was spilling light through the windows and making its presence felt.

He couldn't get that acted out smile out of his head. The Conductor is not good at drinking, and when he gets drunk, he suddenly becomes friendly like that, but even so, the way he was smiling was eerie. Self-destructive is a word that fits his smile well. It was beautiful and fragile. Above all, it was empty.

After stealing a glance toward the studio, the owl boarded the train. He still didn't know what face to put on to talk to him, when the Conductor came back to the team.

I didn't think about anything. I just wrote what I wanted to write…

[donationwayne]

here's my confession (I'm kind of hooked on you) CHAPTER FOUR

Pairing: Buddie || 24.7k/109k || Chapter 4/19 ||

CHAPTER FOUR OF MY FIC FOR @118bigbang ! !!!!!

THE RETURN OF DILF EDDIE

This week: buck cooks for eddie, buck and eddie gossip, buck meets up witht he 118

Summary:

Buck is forced to go on a temporary medical leave after getting crushed by a flight of stairs. In the meantime, he works at dispatch while he recovers. One evening after work, Buck hooks up with a mysterious, hot, family oriented DILF. The following morning he’s mortified and a little love sick after discovering said hook-up aka Eddie Diaz is the newest (temporary) firefighter liaison--poached from a house in El Paso, Texas. Buck navigates becoming best friends and eventually work partners with his ex-hookup. In the meantime, he desperately tries not to fall in love. He fails.

Cue: An adorable five year old, prank wars, gay offs, break room gossip, a fake dating plot, firefighting shenanigans, a packed summer of PTA responsibilities, karaoke, and copious amounts of cupcakes and thai food

OR

tldr: the hot dilf from the bar is my new work partner

_________

SNIP

Eddie joins Buck, who already has their meals on the table—potato and zucchini curry over rice. Eddie melts into the chair beside him, taking a long inhale of curry like it was a cigarette. “You’ve really got to teach me how to do this sometime.”

“Over my dead body. What use would you have for me if you learned how to cook?” Buck teases, “Besides, I doubt Chris would enjoy your learning phase of cooking. It sounds like you char even water.”

“Screw you Buckley,” Eddie replies with a light grin. “So, what’s going on out there today?”

It's a new part of his and Eddie's lunchtime routine, ever since the new dispatch trainees started, the pair has begun watching out the windows of the break room as though it were a large scale television. There was plenty of drama going on around the room between phone calls, especially on days that could be considered slow. Buck has made a flow chart of who dislikes who, who was friends, and clashing personalities that rarely interact. He and Eddie have spent the last few weeks stirring the pot in the office to Sue’s chagrin. She humored them with gentle amusement, as long as it wasn’t interrupting work or causing major issues.

“What do you think Sharon is thinking about?” Eddie asks as he spoons some curry into his mouth. He glances at Buck, who is expertly using chopsticks. “How do you use those? One time I went out with my sisters to some sushi joint when I was back in Texas, they all got chopsticks, and I was the only one who didn’t know how to use them. Our waiter rigged a pair with a rubber band and gave them to me, kid style. Chris still laughs about it to this day, I’m pretty sure that was, as that baby dispatcher over there calls it, a core memory.”

Buck nearly laughs coffee through his nose. “I love when you use terminology you don’t really understand that the baby dispatchers teach you, and it's even better when you use it correctly. You’re going to make Chris’ life a living hell when he grows up.”

“That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. There is nothing I love in life more than being the cringe dad. It's a well earned title.”

“Also, as for Sharon, she’s definitely thinking about last night's episode of the Bachelor, we talked about it for the full length of our first break.”

“Is that what you do on calls? Think about The Bachelor while you’re supposed to be saving lives?”

“That’s exactly it, Eddie. I’m confused, I thought I was hired to think about The Bachelor all day, I’m pretty sure it was in my contract.” Eddie rolls his eyes, scooping a large piece of potato. “And actually right now I’m pretty getting into this procedural show, my friend Chim rolled his eyes when I told him I hadn't seen it. I didn’t really watch television growing up, so it's all sort of new to me, and I’m playing catch-up, shoving all this pop culture into my free time.”

“I’m not a big TV buff, but I think I can quote Finding Nemo to you, if that means anything at all. I’m well versed in animated children's movies.”

“Delightful, someday I will come over and we will watch Tangled, and I will force you to sing every word because it is one of the greatest children's musical movies, in my opinion. It's also one of like five children's movies I actually saw growing up.”

“Whenever you talk about your parents, it gives me whiplash. Half the time I think you despise your parents, and the other half of the time you dote on them,” Eddie points out curiously.

Buck opens and closes his mouth a few times. “My real parents live in Pennsylvania, I have no relationship with them. I’ve lowkey been adopted by a different set of adults, and I call them my parents, even though they’re not really my parents. I realize why that’s confusing,” Buck admits sheepishly. “I’ve also never called them my parents to their faces before.” Buck blushes, “But I really do think of them as the closest thing to real parents that I have. I’m 'no contact' with my family.”

[cetaitlaverite]

Anything to Anywhere

Masters of the Air - Bucky Egan x OC

masterlist is here <3

03. Top Fighting Condition

Stella was sure she’d never been so happy to return to Thorpe Abbotts. The airfield she’d been stuck at for the night had been tiny and dingy and cold, with barely enough dinner to go around for the people billeted there, let alone an extra ATA pilot who had been grounded and couldn’t get home until the storm passed.

She had spent the night in the mess hall in the absence of a bed and some of the mechanics there had been nice enough to stay up with her, making sure no one turned the lights out on her and made her sit in the dark. It had almost been fun. She hadn’t spent an awful lot of time getting to know the mechanics at Thorpe Abbotts but if they were anything like the ones at RAF Middleton St George then she thought she should give them a chance.

Back at Thorpe Abbotts in the bright light of midday, Stella was thoroughly exhausted. She would have more chits up on the board to fly today, she knew - the American crews would be arriving soon, so the ATA was wringing all the use it could out of the ATA pilots stationed at Thorpe Abbotts before the majority of their attention became dedicated to ferrying B-17s - but for now she wanted warm food, a warm shower, and a nap if she was lucky.

Squinting through the sunshine, her arms crossed against the lingering chill from her night up north, Stella trudged across base towards the mess hall. Her feet were freezing cold in her boots. Maybe her socks were damp. Would anyone mind if she took her boots and socks off in the middle of lunch? As long as they didn’t smell bad, she reasoned, there was no reason why anyone should have a problem with it. She’d always been told she had rather pretty feet, though admittedly she had always thought that was an incredibly strange compliment to give someone.

“Finley!” shouted a male voice up ahead.

Stella raised a hand to shield her eyes as she squinted to make out the figure. As she neared the mess hall she caught sight of the grin, the moustache, the casual slump of shoulders and the indescribable size of the man.

“Major Egan!” she shouted back, offering a lazy salute.

“Where the fuck you been?” Bucky demanded as she approached.

Stella smirked. “Why? Have you been missing me?”

“Like a hole in my heart,” Bucky teased, pressing a hand to his chest.

Stella rolled her eyes. “My last assignment yesterday got me stuck in a tiny airfield up in County Durham. I was due to ferry a Bristol Blenheim back but there was no way it was going to survive the storm, so I spent the night in a freezing cold mess hall with a bunch of mechanics.”

“Sounds like a party,” Bucky mused.

Stella hummed. “D’you want to see my dance?”

Bucky’s grin turned confused, his eyebrows knitting together. “Your dance?”

“Yeah,” Stella confirmed. “Me and some of the mechanics up there made up a dance while we were waiting around for the storm to clear. You wanna see it?”

Bucky laughed, tipping his head back and letting the sunshine spill over him. When he looked back down and found her with those earnest blue eyes of hers watching him like an owl, awaiting an answer, he shook his head with a wide smile and leaned back against the wall of the mess hall, settling in for the performance. “Sure, Finley,” he agreed, “show me your dance.”

Stella grinned back at him. “Okay! So it starts like this -” With that, she set about showing him her dance, executing a poorly choreographed routine which was no less spirited for its lack of skill. She stopped suddenly after executing a turn, gasping as she said, “Wait, I forgot!” but she recovered quickly, calling out a, “Nevermind!” and picking up right where she left off.

By the time she was finished Bucky was laughing, clapping to cheer her on.

“That,” he said, pushing up off the wall to head over to her finishing position, “that sure was something.”

“Did you like it?” Stella asked, dropping the position and meeting him halfway.

“It was something,” Bucky said again.

Stella hit him on the arm. “That’s not a compliment!”

He laughed. “No, it was great. It was great, Finley. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.” She made to say something else but then her stomach rumbled and she realised she felt a bit sick and her gaze turned to the mess hall. “But I’m hungry now, so that’s the end of my performance. They didn’t have any spare food up there so I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

Bucky slung an arm around her shoulders which she quickly shrugged off, falling into step beside her as she headed around the side of the mess hall to the door.

“Finley!” called one of the other ATA pilots when she entered.

“Jessop,” Stella greeted back.

He came jogging over, a glass of water still in his hand. “This Major Egan?”

“Certainly is.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jessop said, thrusting out his hand towards Bucky. “I’m Christopher.”

“Everyone calls him Jessop,” Stella informed Bucky.

Jessop shrugged. “My last name,” he explained.

“Bucky Egan,” Bucky introduced himself back.

Jessop nodded, withdrawing his hand once Bucky had shaken it. “So you’re the guy who stole my girl.”

“No one stole anyone because I am no one’s girl,” Stella informed them both flatly.

Bucky was chuckling under his breath. “You telling me I ain’t the only guy chasing after Finley, here?”

Stella rolled her eyes. “No one’s chasing after anyone.”

“I’ve only been asking her out every day since we were first assigned together back in 1940,” Jessop answered, sharing Bucky’s grin. “She may have a pretty face but she’s a hard nut to crack, be warned.”

Stella scoffed. “If you two want to talk about me as if I’m not here then I may as well not be here. I’m getting lunch,” she declared.

The instant she was out of earshot, Bucky turned to Jessop and leaned in conspiratorially. “So what’s her first name?”

Jessop laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Now that, I can’t say. You gotta earn first name privileges.”

Bucky groaned playfully.

Jessop patted him once more on the shoulder before turning to lead him to the table full of ATA pilots. Subsequent introductions were made and, by the time Stella found her way over, Bucky had commanded both the attention and the affection of all of Stella’s friends.

“Looks like I’ve been replaced,” she remarked with a teasing frown. She set down her plate, pulled over a chair, and threw herself into it.

“Where were you last night, Finley?” Alice asked, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “I waited up for you before I got too tired.”

Stella sighed and recounted her story of her time in County Durham.

The ATA pilots grimaced. It was not the first time, nor likely the last, any of them had found themselves stranded in some remote airfield or other.

“You’ve got more chits today,” the pilot beside Jessop, Martinson, informed her once she had finished speaking. “You’ve got a B-24 Liberator to ferry from the depot to RAF Hethel, then from there a Spitfire needs taking to RAF Pembrey in Wales. Jessop’s going to Wales today, too, so he’ll wait for you there to take you back here. He’s got a Mossie to deliver back to the depot.”

Stella smiled ruefully with a shrug. “No rest for the wicked.”

“How many types of plane do you guys fly?” Bucky asked, looking between them all as he lazed back in his chair.

Jessop grinned. “All of ‘em. Bombers, fighters, night-fighters, recon. Whatever needs flying.”

“Any of you ever flown a B-17?”

“Of course,” Stella said. “Alone and with a broken rudder at that.”

“Fin often gets the big bombers,” Alice explained.

“I much prefer fighters,” she informed Bucky sidelong. “Spitfires are great, those are the ones everyone asks about, but I love flying Hurricanes. I’ll be devastated when the rest of your Yanks filter in here and the surrounding airfields and I’ll be forced to fly bombers more often than fighters.”

Jessop brushed her aside. “They’ll always have you flying the most damaged of any aircraft, Fin. The chicken ATA pilots over at Hethel can never muster up the guts to ferry their fighters when they’re too damaged.”

Stella gave a dreamy sigh. “All the things I’d give just to fly an undamaged fighter one day. If they’re that good when they’re broken imagine what they’re like when they’re in top fighting condition.”

“Why don’t you request a transfer if you love flying fighters so much?” Martinson asked. “Hethel’d gladly take you.”

Stella rolled her eyes. “I’ve asked. Knightswick won’t let me. He said he needs to have at least one good ATA pilot around here when the Yanks rock up.”

Immediately, complaints rang up into the air from every corner of the table.

Stella laughed. “I’m kidding! But not about the transfer. I think the reason he won’t let me transfer’s more likely because he can’t be arsed to fill out the paperwork, but either way he won’t let me go. I’m stuck here.”

“Aw, come on, Finley,” Bucky answered her around a wry grin, “bombers ain’t so bad. And I think you’ll like my boys fine when they get here in a few days.”

Stella’s eyebrows hopped up. “Only a few days? Time’s passing me by faster than I know it.”

“Soon enough this place will be back to life,” Alice mused, “and I, for one, think it’s a welcome change. Say, Major Egan, are any of the incoming airmen single?”

The day the rest of the 100th Bomb Group started filtering into Thorpe Abbotts in their monstrous B-17 Flying Fortresses was the day the base erupted into chaos. One of the planes had had a rough wheels-up landing which sent the medical truck and the fire engine racing across the airfield to meet them and, though no one was hurt, the chaos of that lingered a while as the men who’d been on board spoke animatedly about what, exactly, had gone wrong. All of the men, in fact, scattered about the base like ants the instant their feet were on the ground, asserting their dominance in this new territory, claiming it as their own. One of them even brought a dog with him.

Safe to say, Stella wasn’t all that impressed, but Bucky was clearly absolutely made up about having his friends here. When he saw Stella walking to the ATA hut he raced up behind her, calling out her name as he went. “Finley! Hey, Finley!”

He was drawing unwanted attention from the new Americans, so Stella turned sharply around and growled out a, “What?”

Bucky was grinning. “C’mere, got someone I want you to meet.” He slung an arm over her shoulders which she, as usual, shrugged off before he led her over to a waiting man still in his flight suit, his crusher cap on top of his head and his gloves in one hand. He looked straight out of a film with his smouldering blue eyes and plump lips, one hand blocking out the sun as he squinted, watching Bucky lead Stella over.

“You remember that guy I was telling you about?” Bucky was saying to Stella. “Blond, movie star good looks, chaste as the day he was born? Well, fresh in from Greenland is the man himself.” He was smiling so wide his cheeks must have hurt. Stella could already tell there was no shortage of affection between them. “Buck, this is Finley. And Finley, this is Buck.”

Stella nodded at him in greeting. “Hello.”

Buck nodded back at her. “Nice to meet you, Finley.” His voice was impossibly deep. Maybe he really was a film star before the war.

“You too, Buck,” Stella replied. She was looking at him curiously. “Is that your real name?”

Beside her, Bucky barked a laugh. “No, of course it’s not his real name.”

Buck smiled kindly at her. “My real name’s Gale.”

Stella’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then why do people call you Buck?”

Bucky laughed again. “I gave him that name,” he explained to her, “‘cause he reminds me of a guy from back home whose name was Buck.”

Stella turned to him, searching his face with squinted eyes and a frown on her lips. “So is Bucky your real name?” Bucky simply stared at her with raised eyebrows and an amused smile, so she huffed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like I’m silly, you cheeky bastard! If you tell me your name’s Bucky obviously I’m gonna believe your name’s Bucky!”

Bucky scoffed. “It’s a nickname!”

Stella rounded on him. “Why would you expect me to know that?!”

He rolled his eyes. “You thought my parents named me Bucky?!”

“You told me that’s your name!”

“My name is John,” Bucky informed her. “John Egan. There, that better?”

Stella stared him down before crossing her arms and turning back to Buck. “Maybe,” she ground out against her will.

Buck looked at John with a question in his eyes.

John grinned back at him with eyebrows raised. He gestured at Stella. “Ain’t she great?”

Stella scoffed and thumped him in the side.

“Finley’s a pilot,” John explained to Buck. “For the ATA. Ain’t that right, Fin?”

“Certainly is,” she confirmed. “I’m flying again in a little while, in fact. We’re surrounded by a lot of different airfields but not all of them have mechanics on site to repair damaged aircraft and still fewer have ferry pilots to transport said damaged aircraft, so the ATA operation here covers most of the bases in East Anglia. Today, a new American crew a few airfields over crashed into a tree during a practice mission, so I’ll be flying their fort over here for our mechanics to repair.”

Buck’s eyebrows were raised as he nodded along with her. Stella wouldn’t have necessarily said he looked impressed - surprised was maybe more accurate. “You like flying bombers?” he asked.

Stella shrugged. “I like flying anything. They won’t let women fly combat so ferrying is the best I can do. My real calling is flying fighters, though, so before you Americans invaded I got to fly those quite often.”

“Spitfires?” Buck asked.

Stella shared a quick smile with John, because he knew she hated how Spitfires got all the glory of being the best fighter plane when she thought Hurricanes were better.

“I think you’ll find, Buck,” John replied for her, “that the Hawker Hurricane is the best British fighter plane.”

“It’s the best fighter plane full stop,” Stella argued. “No other country has produced anything better. I know you Americans fancy your P-51 Mustang as the best but I’ve flown those plenty and they don’t come anywhere close. No competition. But we have been doing this a lot longer than you lot,” she reasoned with a smirk. “We’re glad to have you here but what took you so bloody long? We could’ve used some extra manpower during the Battle of Britain when every pilot was flying several times a day and night to prevent a German invasion and our cities were getting bombed at the same time.”

“We were still in training back then,” John protested.

Stella shrugged. “Too little too late.”

“Finley!” called a voice from behind Stella and John.

Both turned and found Jessop exiting the ATA hut.

“Knightswick wants to speak to you before you head out,” Jessop called. “He’s waiting for you.”

Stella frowned. “What’s he want to speak about?”

Jessop was clearly fighting hard to maintain a straight face but doing a poor job of it. His smug smirk was as clear as day on his face. “That plane you’re flying -” He whistled. “Have fun.”

Stella narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“What isn’t wrong with it might be the better question,” Jessop replied, chuckling to himself. “But that’s above my security clearance to confess.” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the hut. “He’s waiting for you right now.”

“And where are you going?”

His smirk only got wider. “Got a Hurricane to ferry from the depot to Mendlesham.”

Stella’s jaw fell open. “Bastard!” she shouted at his retreating back.

Jessop cackled as he headed off to get into his flight suit. “Snapped rudder,” he called over his shoulder.

“Swap you?” Stella called.

Over his shoulder, Jessop raised his middle finger at her. “Not a fucking chance,” he shouted without turning back.

[xviistrings]

I feel like fanning some flames today.... Why do you hate N_oto (a) I'm rly curious ,':^

i would like to answer this calmly and rationally. i would really like to. but i'm going to be angry (and will use they/them for naoto)

naoto is a shit character no matter what angle you view them from. a major aspect of their story is struggling with being taken seriously in their line of work because they are both a child and female; the gender aspect is especially relevant to naoto, since the child thing is kind of just a problem that solves itself........

naoto's gender is a widely debated topic among fans. some people see them as a trans man because of naoto's desire to be viewed as a man, some see them as a cis woman because that's just the conclusion they come to at the end, some see them as a trans woman because it feels like naoto is forcing themselves to go back in the closet but they can't fight their true feelings, some see them as nonbinary because they don't want to be a woman but they also show discomfort being a man....

yeah i've heard every single argument for every single kind of different gender identity naoto could have and i've concluded that no matter what angle you look at it from, naoto is still a shit character.

this isn't to invalidate anyones headcanons, idc do what you want forever, but naoto WAS meant to be written as a cis girl. but they did such a shit job at writing them as such that believing they're otherwise is so so understandable

naoto is apparently supposed to have internalized misogyny. we never even see a hint of that like we do with everyone else. we see chie be pushy about getting the mc's opinion on yukiko because of her jealousy towards her, we see yukiko being very gloomy when she's busy with the inn, etc i don't wanna list everything it's late rn

naoto's screen time is mostly spent on them just kinda. detectiving around. that's not bad and it's a very proper introduction, it's just that.......... there are scenes where naoto hangs around the entire investigation team, including the girls. if their hatred is so internalized to the point where its affected their outward appearance, is it that much of a stretch to say that they'd also project their hatred outwards?

like. yk. being rude to the girls and not accepting their input on discussions. that would've been an interesting trait to introduce to this supposedly respectable and polite smart detective guy. and later on, when we discover the source of that behaviour, it makes a lot more sense than it just suddenly being thrust on us.

plus, it would give them a flaw for them to overcome via apologizing to the girls and attempting to engage in femininity in a healthy and positive way. it doesn't have to be that long of an arc, i know there was very little time between naoto's dungeon and the namatame stuff, but it really could have been as simple as a scene or two of naoto bonding with the girls, changes to preexisting ones (COUGH COUGH BEAUTY PAGEANT), and then their social link deals with the rest.

like. dude.

i get what they were trying to go for, honestly, but i just wish they handled it better. if a lot of persona 4's jokes weren't outlandishly sexist and at the expense of the girls, maybe i could absolutely get on board with a lovely story about a girl recovering from a life of self hatred and insecurity and learning that she doesn't need to have a stick up her ass all the time, and that she has a whole group of friends that will accept her for who she is beyond gender, beyond age, beyond any other labels and the expectations placed on her because of them. that would be really really nice if we had that.

but we do not. i don't think naoto really feels like part of the friend group most of the time. it's kind of the same problem haru has where she's introduced very late and not given nearly enough time to develop before we get right into the final arc of the story. naoto helps with the investigations, sure, but otherwise naoto doesn't really get to be in too much of the team bonding moments. maybe that's an issue that gets fixed in golden? idk? i only played vanilla

the thing that really pisses me off about naoto is not just that they're underdeveloped; i love a lot of underdeveloped characters and i like exploring their potential. it's that the main element of naoto's story is handled so clumsily that it makes me wonder what the fuck they were trying to say in the first place!!!!

naoto doesn't want to pretend to be a man anymore and they want to be a woman. so here are several scenes of them being visibly uncomfortable when experiencing womanhood. naoto doesn't want to follow any gender norms and just wants to be themselves before a label. so let's have one of the flags for their romance route be a dialogue option saying you'd only like them if they were feminine. what are you doing guys

i'm rewriting naoto in my head all the time . i've seen a billion tboy naotos but i think i can do cis girl naoto justice. and i will do it because without this naoto will just piss me off forever and ever and ever. ugh

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Today in Christian History

Today is Monday, September 30th, 2024. It is the 274th day of the year in the Gregorian calendar; Because it is a leap year, 92 days remain until the end of the year.

653: Death of St. Honorius of Canterbury.

1736: Three slaves are admitted into the church by baptism on St. Thomas Island by Frederic Martin who had replaced the original Moravian missionary Leonard Dober. They are the first converts on St. Thomas. When he is unable to pay a fine, Martin will later be imprisoned for refusing to take an oath in court where he was summoned to testify against a robber.

1751: Phillip Doddridge, clergyman and author of the influential book The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul sails from Falmouth for a warmer climate in the hope of recovering from consumption. He will die a month later.

1770: Death of George Whitefield (pictured above) in Newburyport, Massachusetts. The English revivalist had preached his last sermon the evening before.

1824: James “Diego” Thomson, Scottish Presbyterian and colporteur of the British and Foreign Bible Society, arrives in Guayaquil, Ecuador, with 800 New Testaments to distribute, which will later be considered the first significant Protestant influence on this Catholic nation.

1865: Death of Francis Wayland, Baptist preacher and educator, at Providence, Rhode Island.

1882: Death of Johann Jakob Herzog, German Reformed theologian, educator, and a major contributor to The German version of the Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge.

1943: Death from a seizure of the Orthodox priest Seraphim (Nicholas Zagorovsky), considered a martyr because of the years he spent in exile and because after his release he was forced to live a life of privation and suffering in order to hold religious services in secret.

1958: Death of Elsie Singmaster, an award-winning and internationally renowned Lutheran novelist and historical writer, whose books featured Pennsylvanian Germans.

1991: Death of Moses Okesiji, a prominent Baptist pastor in Nigeria who had been associated with many efforts in behalf of his church and his people.

2011: A Muslim mob ravages the St. George Coptic Church in Edfu, Egypt. Islamic officials and local media put the blame on Christians.

[godbirdart]

Heyo, hope you're doing well and healing from surgery continues to go smooth. I'm not sure if this was asked before and hope it's an okay ask. How do you usually allocate your time between doing commissions, personal art, life, and everything in between?

let me start with: i have a very very unhealthy work life. i'm not gonna sugarcoat it, not gonna glorify The Grind™ because What I Do Is Unhealthy. It's an ongoing issue, and in recent months I've been trying to do more to fix it.

I habitually put in 12+ hour days, often five or six days of the week. I will be at my tablet from dawn until dusk. This isn't always spent drawing; it's also emails, website updates, menial administrative things and promoting my work. This is solely because I am a chronic workaholic. Even as I was recovering from this major surgery at the beginning of the month, Physically Unable to do much for the first week, my mind kept fussing over the work I needed to get done when I got back. It's Very difficult for me to relax and simply Do Nothing.

Now, this isn't to say I don't see people or talk with friends. I do, I socialize as much as my introverted self can handle. But my work has very plainly taken over my life to the point that it's eclipsed any personal alone time I could have. Tragically, it's a double-edged sword. I would love to be whisking my matcha and enjoying it in a little sunbeam but alas, bills keep knockin at my door.

That, and I genuinely Do Love working!! I love drawing for people!!

ALL THAT SAID THOUGH, I recently relocated over the summer. My new location offers a lot more opportunity to separate work and personal time with a physical barrier. It's easy to say "oh I can do little a work as a treat" when your tablet is Right There. Now that it's jailed in its own room I've found it a bit easier to say "no, I need a breather today actually" and sit down on my balcony and simply watch the world or play the video games I've been neglecting all year. I'm also making adjustments with my workload to better fit the schedule I need. If I keep chipping at this and taking the breathers I'm supposed to, I should have it all sorted by the end of the year. I have amazing people behind me kicking my ass and swatting me with a broom every time I try to overwork, and I'm grateful to have them to keep me in check while I straighten out my work-life balance. I have so many MXTX books I need to finish I want to read about my blorbos so bad ;;

TLDR: I work too much and am doing my best to get a grip on it. I want to be able to actually take a Real vacation for a month someday.

[capricorn-writer-kawaii]

Starry Night

Pairing: Shota Aizawa x female OC

Genre: Shota Aizawa X female OC fluff, angst, high school romance, friends to lovers, exes to lovers

Words: 800, one-shot

Summary: Eraser Head remembers his U.A. sweetheart

A/N: first time posting something here 🥰 This short scene came out just as a drabble of a more elaborated story I’m trying to pull together. I hope you like it :)

Another night on watch. 

Although Eraser Head had been doing that for numerous years and despite being used to spending most of the night in the company of the city, he particularly enjoyed nights like that. It was cool and quiet, even criminals decided to give him a break. Yet, what he enjoyed most about that night was not having little work, but how starry the sky was. Looking at the stars had always made him feel relaxed, accompanied, and even happy. 

Sitting on rooftops to stargaze produced a unique effect on his chest, it felt warmer. Had it always been like this? The hero wondered. No. He didn't remember enjoying starry nights when he was a child, nor during his first years of school. No… it wasn't always like that. It was for her. She was the one who taught him to love the stars, to actually love.

Years ago...

It was his last year at the hero academy, when students were allowed to sleep in the U.A.'s dorms. Thanks to the Hero Work-Studies, young students could be employed by famous hero agencies throughout the school year. As expected, some days they finished their duties at night and their homeroom teachers preferred that they not return home alone. It didn't matter if the majority of students were already adults, they were asked to spend the night at the dorms.

Aizawa had spent so many nights in his room at the U.A. that he barely remembered how it felt to sleep in any other bed but that one. And that night wasn't the exception, it was already midnight when he took off his hero costume and grabbed some joggers and a black hoodie. He was looking at his watch when someone opened his window.

"What are you doing here?" The boy asked, unable to help but smile as he opened, even more, the window for a beautiful girl. “One day you'll get caught red-handed." He warned helping her into his room.

“Not today," The girl replied winking at him.

Aizawa let out a shy giggle.

The quirk of converting energy at her whim was fabulous and she knew how to get the most out of it. Like that night, she did not have a hard time using the energy of the wind, directing it at her feet and being able to reach Aizawa's window without anyone noticing her.

“Don't tell me you were going to sleep, Shota! Not with a night like this one!"

"Actually I was about to..."

"There's no time to lose! Are you coming?" She asked offering him her hand.

Aizawa didn't think twice and almost immediately he was grabbing her hand. Thanks to her quirk and his binding cloth's control, they were soon sitting comfortably on the roof of a building. 

It was a long time knowing each other, sharing days and nights together. They had reached a point in their relationship where words were unnecessary. They loved to accompany each other, having the other by their side was all they needed to recover their energy and keep going.

After a silence, Aizawa cleared his throat, he always did it when he was nervous, and she was too good at reading him to recognize every gesture of his body language.

“I had already noticed how clear the sky was.” The boy commented with his gaze fixed on the stars. “I was sure that no matter what you were doing, you had stopped for a moment to enjoy the view."

“I didn't stop, I ran even more. I needed to get to you quickly; otherwise, we wouldn't have seen this together." She answered as she rested her head on Aizawa's shoulder, who smiled tenderly before kissing her forehead. 

Then, the young hero took the girl's chin and looked at her face with his tired but lovely eyes.

"If you had taken a minute longer, I'd have been the one to come through your window and bring you here. I was just looking at the hour, checking if it was time to look for you when you came in." He whispered with a smile and getting so close that they were already brushing their lips.

Aizawa was introverted and shy, social interactions were not his thing, especially in public. However, when he loved a person, he gave his heart and soul to that person. Besides, even if it was incredible for someone who didn't know him, the young hero was surprisingly direct, he didn't beat around the bush. Therefore, when Aizawa was aware of his true feelings, even his shyness did not silence him, he was honest, opened his heart, and got the answer he dreamed about.

Twelve years after that night, the girl opened the window of her apartment and saw the starry sky.

Was Shota watching it? Would he occasionally think of her the way she thought of him? Would he miss her as she missed him?

Of course he did... time had passed, but he kept thinking about her every single day, Aizawa kept looking for her in silence during each starry night. He continued hoping in the end, it would be the two of them again.

The girl had already taken a long time, maybe it was time for him to knock on her window...

Second part

[dimaviks]

°•°•° rhysand's son x reader

°•°•° orpheus helps his mate with their heat sm//ut

When Violet Vanserra winnowed to his front door, her cheeks flushed as red as her hair, Orpheus knew something was wrong. With what, he didn't know and he didn't exactly care. Not when he could feel the start of burning in his stomach, the agitation that made him want to throttle everyone. His rut would start within the upcoming days. He tried to find a pretty female. Had hoped that one would smell right. None had. Which, regretfully, meant he'd be spending the entire week locked away in the cool depths of Hewn City while he fisted his knot ruined cock in his hand.

Violet and Orpheus had never gotten along. She was too stubborn and would take the slightest wrong choice of words as an insult. Once that happened, nothing could be done to change her opinion of you. That distrust in her eyes, red bangs freshly trimmed to keep from falling in them, as she hesitated to tell him what she wanted at this hour had nearly sent him slamming the door in her face.

"Leave," He sneered before adding, "Do they know you've returned?"

Violet left the second she reached age of majority and never looked back. Their family had never gotten over it entirely. Had she not been mated to the now King of Vallahan, she would be right here in Velaris. There was no gentle pushing from Elain, no forceful pushing from Morrigan, who'd remembered the kind of male that Evander had been whilst she was an emissary.

She doesn't answer that. They both know what he really wants to ask. They both know that he won't. He wouldn't let Violet know he thought about his mate — and Violet had no intention of telling him anything about you.

"Y/n needs you," She speaks slowly, hoping for him to catch on. It does nothing but send heat curling in his throat. He swallows the irritation. The bond had been silent. Though, that could've been distance. It could've been lots of things. He can't help the stilling, how he curls his fingers, "What happened to her?"

Violet shifted on her feet, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no one could hear. "I think she started her heat,"

Now, Orpheus truly laughed. Cursed or blessed by the Cauldron, Orpheus still wasn't sure, you were human. Humans didn't have heats. Humans didn't feel the mating bond like fae had, either. If the news of your heat was true, it would open all sorts of questions. He wondered what it would mean for the future if more bonds had come about, if human women could experience heats.

There was nothing better than knotting a female. He'd been compatible, once, and spent it with two fae — Arden and Marcella. The fact alone was he was wallowing in his own misery. They were on the other side of the city, waiting for his anger to break. It would, one day. It just wasn't today. It wasn't today. It wouldn't be this year, either.

Not even this decade.

"She's human,"

"But you aren't. Before I came here, I stopped by Dawn. There's a Seraphim there that mated with a human during the war. He—He said that the magic would trigger it, that it would be torturous for the woman to go through. The magic can't sort it out the right way. The only way to get it to stop is by her mate helping her through it,"

Bad news for him. He tried to ignore you just as much as you ignored him. Meddling as always, his father routinely sent him to Vallahan. One of the only humans, Violet nearly kept you under lock and key. It was an arrangement neither of you seemed to mind. "The mating bond is a wonderful thing, Orpheus. She's human, why waste time? You're too foolish to see it now." Rhysand shrugged after Orpheus had snapped at him.

He figured that Rhysand was currently looking for a way to make you immortal, to fix some long forgotten mistake he had made. Maybe, he was attempting to help him find some peace. While each of the Inner Circle that had been alive during the War with Hybern had recovered, Orpheus hadn't. Things had been good between them for a while. Until the day peace was declared and Orpheus disappeared into the vicious Hewn City to establish residency and rule, taking the mountain from Kier.

That, too, was something Rhysand hadn't fought.

Orpheus spent the first nineteen years of his life under that mountain. He had been denied a loving childhood, the ability to fly if he ever attempted to form some wings, and a decent mother and father. Rhysand would be damned if he failed him again.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, did not help matters in the slightest. Not as Orpheus had been allowed to run wild. Hosting orgies after orgies, turning the throne room of Hewn City practically into a night club.

If he were human, and females could easily reproduce, he was sure that he might have a few bastards down here. Alas, he made sure they drank the tonic.

He could feel the air shift, his scent change. The full force of his rut would hit him. If only out of being difficult, he nearly said no. It would be torturous for him, too, no doubt, but he could handle it.

It was the thought of you, nearly insane from lack of touch, as your body burned and cramped so fierce that you weren't sure you'd survive it.

And then he thought of your body beneath him, fucking you as hard as he could. He'd make you keep your eyes on his, would chart down your every reaction. "Take me to her," he says. One and done. He would help you through this, would know what it's like for him to have you, and then he was going to let you go. He would go hide out in Day for a couple decades until you were dead and he would be free.

That thought alone left his heart beating angrily in his chest.

Maybe he would go to Day.

Maybe he'd take you with him. The beaches there were beautiful. So were the homes along the coastline. Perfect for a fam—

He wouldn't let himself finish that thought.

This was his rut speaking.

But, at the same time, no thought had ever been so clear, had seemed so right.

He hadn't ever put much thought into what your bedroom looked like. He tried not to think of you most days. Which, just led to it being all he thought about. Green decorated the room, on blankets and painted walls. Against his will, he felt himself soften at the way your fingers curled into the sheets, teeth digging into a pillow. Your body trembled and shook.

"Y/n," He said simply. You turned to look at him, eyes wide and shining with tears. There was a bit of fear there, too. Not at him — the only relief towards him had been hope, relief, and joy. His heart warmed in his chest — but at the uncertainty of it all. With Marcella, and other fae, the heat was enjoyable. At least after it got started. She hadn't had full clarity, hadn't even really remembered any of it. Neither had he. Just the flashes of Arden fucking her ass while he drove into her pussy until she was a mess. Then, he thought of you, sitting on Arden's face while he licked at you, your fingers tugging on his hair. As wicked as Arden could be to both Orpheus and Marcella, he was likely to have you edged for hours, his tongue, cock, and fingers keeping you on the brink for hours.

The more primal part of him had wanted you to himself.

"It hurts," You murmured, voice muffled by a pillow. Shyly, face burning a bright red, you said, "Vi said you could help me," Orpheus guessed that was as close as he would get to you saying the words.

He didn't think you would be like the others, on their knees with their mouths open. There was a level of shame and shyness on your face as you rolled onto your back, throwing the blankets off your body. The material was thin and sheer, likely put on by you to wade off some of the unnatural heat coming off your skin.

His voice doesn't sound like his own, "I can,"

There's only a nod from you, your body relaxing as he shed himself of his clothes until he was standing bare. He usually tried to drag this part out, would have them ride his clothed thigh until they came. Your thighs parted immediately, letting him rest between then. Your hands ran over his chest, through his hair, pulled you closer to him as you kissed whatever you could reach. Light kisses ghosted his ribs, chest, shoulders, arms, and neck. Orpheus shuttered. He nearly came on the outside of your pussy.

His cock was red and hard, his instincts riding him harder than ever before. His hands curl around your hips, jerking you towards him. No panties, no bra. He pulled the dress over your head, caging your body in his as he kissed you gently. He'd thought about this moment more times than he could count. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

Nothing compared to it.

His fingers found your pussy, knuckles and fingers sliding between your lips. You bucked into him, would've ground against him if his body weight wasn't keeping you pinned to the bed. What burned and ached before was gone, settled by peace down to your bones. You let him straddle you, eyes closed and a soft smile on your lips. "I didn't think you'd come," Your eyes flickered open, finding him. His hands kneaded the flesh of your stomach, right above your womb. His hands are warm and he remains silent, considering what to say. He means for it to be a snide remark, meant to tell you that this would be the last and only time this happened. Later, after he made it home and your touch is long burned into his memory, he denies ever saying it, "I'll always come for you,"

Orpheus was not the kind of male to make those promises. He was not the kind of male that kept defenseless humans safe. Sounding like his father, he thinks, That's not a human. That is your mate.

To fae, the mating bond was capable of turning humans into things they worshipped. Day by day, the bond convoluted his thoughts, had made him more sympathetic to your delicate human nature.

Orpheus gasped when you sunk your teeth into his shoulder. His spell had been broken, turned back to the present with a need to fuck you go strong he thought he might just curl over and die.

He pulled his fingers out of your pussy, lining up his cock. Prepared well, there was no resistance. Not as you tightened and clamped around him. Not as he bred you, as he knotted you. He made promises against your flesh, you made your own as he ripped orgasm after orgasm out of you. He healed and broke you, loved you and ruined you. Time ceased to move. For six days, it had gone on, Orpheus fucking his come into you for hours before bringing you food and drink. It had been fun and wonderful and then it was over.

Returning home on the seventh morning, he was met by his father. He opened his mouth several times, not quite finding the words. Never had he seen his father like that. Only, when it came to you. Orpheus interrupts him, "Could Azriel get her out?"

His eyebrow lifts. "You want to steal Y/n from Vallahan?" For Violet, Evander would go to war. Orpheus wasn't sure of what kind of friendship stood between you and the king but as her best, and closest friend, Evander wouldn't just let him take you. Part of the reason you were still thousands of miles away from him. Had it been the Night Court's choice, you would've ended up there the night the bond clicked. Part of the reason Violet wasn't around. Unless a valued member of the Inner Circle, your thoughts and feelings weren't always taken into account.

Scared of the world since the war, you were more than content to spend the rest of your life in Evander and Violet's private wing of the castle.

"Yes. She's my mate. Why shouldn't she live with me?"

Selfishness was a trait clearly inherited. Something akin to pride shone in Rhysand's eyes. "I'll give the order in the morning,"

[xreaderbooks]

The Shadows of Our Love |9|

Chapter 9 | In the Shadow of Interest

Pair: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: Y/n becomes acquainted with someone new and Poppy shares an interesting fact about a certain Slytherin.

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1.9k

Links: Wattpad - AO3 - Playlist

Chapter 8 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 10

As you read your notes in class before the Professor came, it felt useless, your notes were as if you were reading Gobbledegook. You spent the majority of your free time while you were recovering after your normally scheduled classes, studying, and writing notes that you thought would absolve you of all your stress. Walking into class early, you pulled out the books of the notes you meticulously wrote and your eyes bulged out of your head at the nonsense on the page.

You weren’t a Ravenclaw for a reason, you clutched your head as you tried to read through and memorize what you hoped would be on the exam.

You felt someone sit in the seat next to yours at the shared desk, you fully expected to see your fellow Slytherin Imelda as you lifted your head to express relief, “Oh good you’re here.”

“Is it?” The boy from The Three Broomsticks is in the seat next to you, the seat Imelda usually occupied.

You were confused at why he was there and not wherever he usually sat, “Excuse me?”

“Good that I’m here, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” He smiled sheepishly. His smile was crooked but charming with the way it made his eyes shine.

“No, I-um,” You winced. “Sorry, what are you doing here?”

He glanced around the class, “Same as you hopefully.”

You broke into a smile and a jump of your brows at his ease, you gave out a breathy laugh to calm your nerves. “Right.” You continued the revision of your notes, disregarding the new sixth year.

“Bit of a stressful subject, eh?”

“Yep,” You placed a hand under your chin to steady your reading. He inched a little toward you, you noticed through your peripheral, peering at your writing that had gone from neat to scribble in the time you had written it. You hesitated before you asked, “Are you having any trouble?”

He shook his head shortly, “Surprisingly no, though it’s not to say it’s not without its challenges.”

“Right,” You said again in defeat, your head falling. Every week it felt more and more like you got immensely lucky with the assignments and your NEWTS in your fifth year, beginner's luck for a school year.

“I’d be happy to tutor you if you need the extra help.”

You thought about his offer for a short minute and opted out of answering definitively. “I might take you up on that sometime, I fear it is a little late for me today.”

He grinned, “Unfortunately so. I’m Vaughn by the way.”

You met his soft gaze, “Y/n.”

“I know,” His grin widened at the crease in your brow, “Your reputation precedes you. You are quite the public figure in these parts, and if I may risk sounding a bit forward and saying you are even more spectacular in person.”

You were at a loss for words, something that you never experienced, well except for when a certain someone had called you ignorant… You hoped the heat that you felt in your cheeks wasn’t visible.

Students you recognized as part of the class had now entered the room, they eyed you and Vaughn, taking their usual seats until Imelda walked in and paused at the sight of you. A smirk planted on her lips as she smoothly took the seat in the desk behind you.

“I hope you don’t mind I took your spot, Imelda,” Vaughn turned to look at her. “I know Y/n is your usual partner, I was wanting to get to know her a little, I’m a bit of a fan.”

You didn’t usually like the whole ‘having fans’ thing but he flattered you too well. She waved her hand dismissively, “No, that’s quite alright, she’s all yours.”

~~~

The acquaintanceship of you and Vaughn became a popular subject amongst the gossipers and overzealous girls. Eyes scanned you now for something completely different than whether your build was one of a fighter who could take down a troll in a village, now they searched for any imperfection that would deem you unworthy of a boy as handsome as the golden boy.

It was fairly uncomfortable for you to hear the comments some of the girls made, I mean truly, they were outrageous.

“Y/n,” You heard a familiar feminine voice shout after you, though you weren’t entirely sure why and hope that it wasn’t to send you on another dive to retrieve something valuable, you didn’t think you had the strength to do anything even slightly precarious just yet.

Your roommate, Grace Pinch-Smedley had halted in front of you and pulled you to the side of the first door out of the Great Hall.

“Hello, Grace, did you need something?”

Her cheeks were tinged pink, “It’s a little embarrassing, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re friends with the new boy, everyone has actually.”

“Vaughn?” You blinked in surprise, you wouldn’t call yourself friends with him exactly, you’ve only had a conversation or two with him from the moment he made himself your new desk partner and that was two days ago. News really did travel fast amongst the students of Hogwarts. 

“I’d understand if you said no, but could you put in a good word for me? I’d very much like it if he were to court me.”

This was awkward. You couldn’t say you knew him well enough to suggest a potential love interest, but for your roommate's sake, you told her that you would do what you could. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

“Oh thank you,” She squealed, squeezing your hands before leaving you to think to yourself.

~~~

Flash after flash hit the training dummy in the dark room, spell combinations were getting easier, and with the new activeness, you were able to move more swiftly. You stretched beforehand and massaged your fingers, even meditating at times to focus your mind.

You found that what you could manage to do was the obvious spells from last year and the new vocal spells you were taught this year. Non-verbals became easier but it was a notable struggle that you felt self-conscious about, especially with the comments made by Sebastian in any class that Professor Hecat allowed you to practice.

At times it felt like your wand was burnt out, with the struggle of trying to get a simple cast right. Maybe it was a reflection of how you felt internally. You spent, at least, an hour every day in the Undercroft practicing Non-verbals and finding out methods that would make it easier for you.

Exiting the gates with a thin sheet of sweat glistening on your skin, you were too focused on cooling down that you didn’t notice someone walking in as you were walking out.

Your eyes flash open and you take a step back, the clock door was wide open, and you sound breathless as you speak. “Sebastian.”

“Taking advantage of the Undercroft are we?” He quirks a brow at you.

“Ominis gave me permission to be here, not sure you could say the same, we both know you like to sneak.” You glance at the empty space behind him that he was blocking, in a way to signal that you wanted to get out of the elevator but he didn’t move.

“Noticed you’ve been around the new 6th year.”

“For someone who is not interested in being my friend, you sure seem to notice a lot about who’s around me,” You recall the Garreth altercation and now he mentions Vaughn.

“Don’t be daft, I’m just curious to see how many of the boys at Hogwarts you ensnare with your feminine wiles before it all comes crumbling around you,” His forearm is on the frame of the clock. His new height made him tower over you more than he did last year, the way his right leg was crossed over his left and his other hand kept the door open, his casual remarks infuriating you.

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Feminine wiles? Am I not to mention all the women that flock to your attention, you have more friends with the opposite sex than with your own.”

“Now who’s interested?” He keeps his smirk to himself but he couldn’t help the twitch in his lips.

“I’m not the one being set on being the most rude person on earth,” You counter. You would have been his friend if he let you.

“From what I hear we’re one for one.” The past week ran through your mind, how often you snapped at poor Garreth who was just trying to help you during class or isolating yourself so that you wouldn't be a bitch to people who didn't deserve it. All because of the boy in front of you. Ominis sure didn't hold back from mentioning how moody you've been.

Now who could he have heard that from, “Not that it’s any of your concern but I was having a bad week.”

“You’re right, it is none of my concern, I’m simply passing through my hideout,” He pushes himself off the frame and rights himself into a normal stance.

“You mean Ominis’ hideout,” You corrected.

“Yes, his- the place you so conveniently came out of, the one I introduced you to.”

You lifted your chin, “Coming here is my business.”

“Ah, but this is still Ominis’ place as you said.”

“I thought you were aware of our arrangement,” You admitted. You assumed Ominis would have told him and that was how he was going to keep Sebastian and you from running into each other, it was simply luck that you hadn’t so far.

A flicker of an unreadable emotion passed in his eyes, he spreads his hands, “It is clear now that I was not.”

“Right, well, now that that’s settled-” You move to one side to walk around him, and he steps in the same direction. You go to the left and he repeats the action, you huff out a breath and risk touching him. You grasp his elbows and move him to the right, squaring your shoulders to walk confidently away from him.

~~~

“Can you believe Grace asked me if I could set her up with Vaughn?” You tell Poppy as you pet Caligo, the black feather Hippogriff. “I can’t be around her in fear of her asking if I ‘ve done it.”

She chuckles, “I’d imagine the request was odd, especially coming from her.”

“Only because I don’t want to be held responsible if it doesn’t go her way, what did you mean?” You pause your petting and refill the beast feeder.

“It has to be weird for you to be friendly with Sebastian's ex-girlfriend, sharing a room with her even, and for her to ask you to set her up with a guy who is clearly flirting with you.”

She left you speechless, people just kept surprising you nowadays, Sebastian used to court Grace? Vaughn flirting with you?

“I have no interest in Vaughn, firstly.” You had to get that out of the way, “Second, Sebastian and Grace?”

“I know right,” Poppy scrunched her nose as she picked up a puffskein and nuzzled her nose to the grey puffball. “They were an unusual couple, didn’t last very long though.”

Sebastian and Grace? You couldn’t get over it. Grace who comes from a well-known family that’s well off money wise and Sallow, who is- well Sebastian. Known troublemaker that he is, you doubted that Grace’s family would’ve approved any such courtship. Then again that could be the reason they’re not together now.

“Why’d they break up?”

“You’ve got a lot of questions for someone who ‘couldn’t care less about Sebastian Sallow’,” She teased.

“He never mentioned it,” You shrugged.

“I wonder why,” She said with a smile.

~~~

Chapter 10

Vaughn:

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