#come have a natter with me

[jamiesfootball]

The more I roll it around like a piece of candy, the more I think that the reason for the coaches putting ‘Jamie’ down as ‘Jamie’ was…. as simple as letting Jamie be Jamie.

They’ve had their eyes opened lately about a lot of things lately- one of which was Ted’s belated realization about Zava, and his small acknowledgment that Jamie made the right call about that guy. When he originally brought them his concerns, their dismissal of him was partly rooted in the image they had of Old Jamie.

Which again is one of those things where we, the audience, saw much more of his changing than they did. Not only do we know that he’s not Old Jamie, we also understand that Old Jamie wasn’t really Old Jamie - it’s only ever been Rough Draft Jamie, who has a lot of work left but who’s come so far, and we’re starting to see how fucking bright his future could be.

And now that’s really in front of the coaches’ faces as well. They’re starting to see how much growth there’s been, with the fall out from Zava, and they all know he’s been doing extra training with Roy.

I think they started writing down names, got to Jamie’s, and then just…. Didn’t want him to feel like he was being Zava’d again.

He’s a good kid - for fucks sake even Beard can’t help but be sentimental about him now (talented player; beautiful dumb dumb) - and in their hearts, well? Of course he’s their striker. And no, they’re not worried he’s gonna be a Precious Moments figurine anymore - not in a fragile way at least. Just in a precious and special sort of way.

So what do they do? They give him a signal, this time a note, and tell Jamie to just be Jamie. That’s it’s okay if Jamie is just Jamie. Because this may be a new strategy they’re testing out, but that fact will always be true. They just want Jamie to be Jamie. There’s no problem with that anymore. It’s a perfectly good thing to be. And they’re here to support that now.

“That’s not a mistake. We just figured you’d wanna keep doing what you do best for us. Playing striker and scoring goals, right?”

It’s an olive branch. They thought about what Jamie might want, and they’re willing to offer it to him. No questions asked. Well, one question asked:

“Right?”

Because this is Ted we’re talking about. And just like the quote about leaving room for God, Ted is always going to leave room for people to grow. He is a Coach after all. So he leaves that door cracked open for Jamie. He may not be sure what Jamie’s going to do with it, but he’s gonna leave it open all the same. He believes in Jamie Tartt.

And Jamie takes that in stride, with a sweet befuddled smile at this sudden show of acceptance, and a weird tension in his eyes because he’s beginning to wonder ‘but what if I could be more?’

And by the end, when they’re all crowded around a whiteboard, listening to this kid crack the code on the whole shebang - the strategy, the team dynamics, where every player’s strength is gonna come together and help them win - that’s the real pay off. That’s Beard finally looking at Jamie with the full force of his analytical intellect and having approval in his eyes. That’s Roy, neither surprised nor knowing, giving him the nod like ‘you’re onto something here, keep going’, completely willing to listen.

And Ted. Ted. Ted’s face kills me here. Because he is so quietly, deeply stunned that he looks like he’s wearing his entire soul on his face.

This why you leave the door cracked open. You may not know what’s going to come through if you do - and what shows itself may be beyond your wildest dreams.

You’ve outdone yourself, Coach Lasso.

Jamie Tartt is going to be your trophy one day, mark my words. And he’s already the Son Shaped Trophy of your Coach Shaped Heart.

[oh-okay-kay]

i feel like im starting to experience emotions more, might be due to a couple months ago stopping taking my anxiety/depression/ocd meds because i couldnt get more refills? but whatever reason why, its wild

ive always been 'low empathy', and never ever could feel actual excitement or sadness when i was supposed to. i remember opening the letter to find out i was accepted to an art school when i was 10, my mom was filming, all i could say was 'yay' and try to act like i felt anything about it. i knew i was happy, but nothing in me could show it or even really *feel* it. i never cried when sad things happen, only out of frustration or if something was particularly triggered. its honestly awful sometimes to live like this and just.. be incapable of attachment or emotions, or attempting to comfort someone having it be forced and practised because it feels so foreign

but now im starting to cry more, which is a start i suppose. particularly at words, its like i can finally feel the *meaning* and emotions of a speech or song, rather than there being the feeling of a squeeze in my chest or usually nothing at all. i cant tell if i like it or not lol! its so weird, youre telling me folks are supposed to be feeling this way? nuts

[thegreenleavesofspring]

.

@afaroffsong If you have time, I think you should listen to this. "Heroines together in the best kind of story"...

[phagodyke]

I should rewatch I saw the tv glow tbh. so funny to me that I've been so firmly in denial abt how much discomfort I've lived with for forever that even now I'm trying not to repress it anymore, my immediate knee jerk response to watching a film exploring that explicitly was Um No I Don't Relate To It Or Understand It At All Actually Sorry Must Be A Fault With The Film.....

[plushri]

Do you think my phone shut down and refused to come back on to stop me reading fanfiction again?

[chase-the-ladybug]

My anime-watcher fatal flaw is I will watch nearly any anime if I’m hooked by the soundtrack. No matter how much the plot sucks if the music hits I will buckle up. A good op will have me jamming in my seat even if I have to grit my teeth through the worst experience of my life afterwards.

[ase-trollplays]

I'm crazy bored and craving interaction, but none of my little bitches have ideas for an open. X_X

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Of Lions and Mice

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Reader is intended to be female

Masterlist

Leona was annoyed.

Once again, his golden goody-two-shoes older brother decided to shirk his responsibility of being a father and dump the overexcited, disgustingly bright-eyed crown prince on him for the day. And not only that, it had to be today of all days - a rare day where you were free from picking up Crowleys’ slack, where the loudmouthed, nattering extras that always followed you were otherwise preoccupied (and bribed to bugger off with a bag full of tuna), where he was certain he’ll spend the day in bed with you right next to him. 

But no. Just like with everything else in his miserable existence, his dreams were crushed and he had to spend the day playing caretaker to his nephew instead of wrapped up with you. What’s worse was that, you’d decided to carry the pint-sized load off of his back and gave your undivided attention to the cub when it should have been rightfully his. How he hated that selfless nature of yours, that sweet, caring, gentle nature that would make you look at anyone that wasn’t him with that loving gaze, that would make you brush your fingers through Cheka’s golden orange curls the same way you would Grim’s fur or the stray cats you’d find around campus or any other being instead of his mane. 

He hated just how loving you were, how your eyes could see the beauty in everything.

How, now that it’s late at night, and he’s closed his eyes and pretended to sleep in his attempt to actually get some shut eye and so that the little hairball would quit bothering him but Cheka just continues yapping.

Even in the darkness under his eyelids, he could feel you cast a worried look his way from the spot where his bed sags a little.

“Hey Cheka,” your sweet, dulcet voice (which is currently being used to please his nephew and not sooth him to sleep with the sweet nothings it usually does) pipes up, “how about I tell you a bedtime story from my world?”

“A bedtime story?!” Wow, even with his eyes closed he could see the stars coming out of his nephew's eyes, “yes please!”

Once the little cub has settled into bed, he asks you, “do you know any stories from your world with lions in them?

“Any ones with lions? Hmm, well, I suppose I could tell you about Narnia but I think you might be a bit too young for that and - wait,” you punctuated your words with a snap of your fingers, “I know a short one. There was this man called Aesop who wrote these short stories called fables.”

“What’s a fable?” Cheka asked, his words covered in that innocently curious lilt that all six year olds seemed to have during every occasion Leona wished they wouldn’t - and that was all of them.

You, however, seemed to have much more patience than him, “A story with a moral in them. Like, always be honest, or share, or work together, that sort of thing. I had a book of them when I was younger and I really enjoyed reading them.”

Figures. Of course, the shining beacon of sickeningly polite goodness grew up with such stories. He would’ve teased you for that but he had a child who he’s still trying to convince he was asleep.

“That sounds so cool, Aunty Y/N! Will you tell me more?”

“Of course, I will,” he can hear your smile, “but I’ll tell you them later, okay. Now, it’s time for you to rest.” 

“Okay, Aunty Y/N.”

“Alright so,” you clear your throat, “there was once a lion that lay asleep in his den. A shy little mouse came upon him and in her fright she ran away, only whilst doing so she accidentally ran over his head, waking him up.”

“Oh no,” Cheka gasped, “that lion is going to be so angry if he wakes up.”

Oh, so the little hairball does have a brain after all. 

“You’re right. Furious that he had been woken up, the big lion slammed a paw down on the tiny mouse and grabbed her by the tail. Holding her up, he growled at her,” here you made your voice noticeably deeper, trying to imitate a gruff growl, ““How dare you wake me up! I am the king of beasts and anyone who interrupts my slumber deserves to die! I shall kill you and eat you!””

It took everything within Leona to not burst into laughter at your adorable imitation of a ‘big scary lion’. It’s a voice you’ve used before whenever you tease him, playfully repeating the words his old self would have said to you, and it’s one that he’s rather fond of. 

He loves and respects you, Herbivore, and he’s the first to attest to your formidability and capability - even though you have the annoying tendency to not only blur the line between bravery and reckless stupidity but also play skipping rope with it - but intimidating you are not. 

“This scared the terrified mouse even more. Shaking with fear, she begged for him to let her go,” you make your voice higher at this part, squeaking in a way that oddly suited you, in Leona’s not so humble opinion, ““please, your majesty, I beg of you, please don’t eat me. It was only a mistake and if you let me go I’ll be sure to repay you. If you spare my life one day, I might even save yours.””

“The lion looked at the tiny creature and laughed, amused at how such a small mouse could ever be of use to an animal as powerful as him, “You? Save me? How absurd. You’ve made me laugh and put me in a good mood so I shall be generous and let you go.”

“Thank you, your majesty, thank you,” the mouse squeaked as she was put back on the ground, before scurrying away as fast as fast as her little legs could carry her.”

“Yay, so the mouse is free.” Cheka giggled.

“He is,” you said, “but there’s still more left. A few days later, the lion was prowling around when out of nowhere he was caught in a hunter’s net. Try as he might, he couldn’t get out of it. He tossed and turned, roaring angrily as he struggled to escape.”

“Wait, so now the lion’s in trouble. How’s he going to get out?” Cheka asked in worry. 

“You’ll see. Hearing his cries, the mouse followed the sound, recognising it from the lion he met earlier.

“I have to help him,” she squeaked as she scampered towards him.”

Upon seeing the lion in the net, she said, “hold still your majesty, I’ll get you out!”

And she quickly started to nibble on the ropes with her sharp little teeth, biting until all they broke apart. It wasn’t long until the lion was free.”

“So the mouse saved him. Was it because the lion helped him earlier?”

“It certainly was Cheka. “Thank you, little mouse,” the lion said, “I laughed at you and didn’t think you could ever help me but you saved my life.”

“It was my turn to help you.” The mouse replied, ”never forget that even a creature as small as a mouse can help a lion.”

And that’s the end,” you say.

“Thank you, Auntie Y/N, I really enjoyed that. Do you think the lion and mouse became friends after that?”

“You are very welcome, Cheka. I think they did. They did help each other, after all. Now I think it’s time to go to sleep.”

And once you were sure that the crown prince was asleep, you made your way next to your boyfriend, running your fingers through chestnut locks, “did you enjoy that little story, Leona.”

He opens his eyes to see your endeared smile. Rolling over so that he could wrap his arms around your waist he muses, “it seems awfully familiar don’t you think? A scared little herbivore wakes up a sleeping lion and ends up saving him later.”

“I’ll have you know, Your Highness, that I was never scared of you. Even when you were a rude old brute who threatened to knock out one of my teeth. And I’m certainly not little.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” 

He pulls, letting you flop down on his bed beside him so that he can spoon you.

“Sweet dreams, little mouse,” he kissed your forehead, “I hope you know that I don’t ever intend on letting you go. Not after you helped in ways you could never even imagine.”

And so the lion fell asleep, holding the prey who rescued him from the confinement of his past safely in his arms.

[asidian]

I nattered on about this a while back as an addendum to one of my other posts, but it got a little lost since it was a reblog, and the idea of it's stuck with me, so I wanted to come back to it again and expand on it a little.

One of the major themes of Dead Boy Detectives is that the good you do comes back around.

It surfaces and resurfaces throughout the series. The instances in the final episode are the most spelled out for the viewer, but there's one example that lives at the very heart of the show that isn't quite so obvious on first glance.

When Charles dies, Edwin is newly returned from hell. The show doesn't specify the timeline aside from that he escapes hell in the same year he meets Charles, 1989, but overcoming that much trauma within a year is a big ask any way you slice it. He's spent seventy years in survival mode. He's got to be a wreck, still.

At this point, he hasn't had time to develop any complicated leniency schemes to keep himself out of hell. Certainly their detective agency hasn't been formed yet. It comes later, in 1990.

For the entire rest of the series, Edwin has a least a partial ulterior motive for the good he does. He takes on cases and tries to make an impact for their clients at least in part so that he can build himself up such a shield of decency that if he ever gets dragged back to hell, he can try to plead his case. He's so ashamed of this that he doesn't admit it out loud until he's forced to by magic.

But when he meets Charles, none of that plan is in place yet. Here he hasn't taken the time to sit down and work out a plan at all. Here the agency doesn't even exist.

He sees this boy in the attic, beaten and freezing and huddling in a corner, and he comes to offer the only thing he thinks he can: light.

And when he realizes he can give more than that – when he realizes that Charles can see him, and what that means – he stays and gives more. Comfort, and kindness, and company, in the very darkest hour of all.

He takes one look at how battered Charles is, and he tells him, "I shan't hurt you."

And it is a big deal.

Arguably this one line is the very best thing he could have said to Charles in this situation, and Edwin, who struggles with people, who has spent seventy years in hell, who is still trying to sort through his own trauma, takes one look at this boy who has been beaten soon-to-be to death, and he knows that intuitively.

And to Charles? It must have meant everything. Charles has spent his entire life trying to be good enough. He smiles and struggles to please. He does the best he can for whoever he can, and for his entire life, it has never been enough. He's been hurt, over and over again, for failing to live up to his father's impossible standards or guess at his impossible rules. His so-called friends turned on him and murdered him for trying to keep them from hurting someone else.

He's on the verge of tears, alone in the dark, dying.

And then Edwin steps up carrying the metaphorical and literal light in the darkness, and one of the very first things he ever says is, "I shan't hurt you."

That's the baseline. That offer comes when Charles isn't putting on a show. He's not being brave, or strong, or charming. He's hiding in a corner, quietly freezing to death. But here comes this boy anyway, with a light in the darkness and a promise not to hurt him.

It's a moment of simple, honest kindness – of Edwin doing good because he sees someone and he wants to help.

And to Charles, it makes such an impact that he gives up his afterlife for this boy. He spends the next thirty years stepping in front of things that would do him harm. He keeps the lantern and brings it with him, when he comes to save Edwin from hell.

It's that very first moment of kindness, in the attic, that sets into motion the events that result in Edwin's rescue.

That one moment of genuine good, with no furtive selfish side intentions, comes back around to save him. He only knows Charles at all because he stopped to help. Charles only didn't pass on to his afterlife because Edwin was there for him.

And then, all those years later, Charles sets out like Orpheus down into hell to get his best mate back.

That good has come around again. That light in the darkness, literally and figuratively both, is there for him in his lowest moment because he offered it to someone else when they desperately needed it.

And that's beautiful.

[f0point5]

We will be remembered

Part 102 of the Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader social media au

A/N: And with this, the 2023 season (and this fic) comes to an end. I am going to make a little post last but I just want to say THANK YOU to everyone who has read and liked this fic, first and foremost. You guys have made this fic worth writing more than I ever thought possible and it’s been SO much fun. And thank you to everyone who has come into the inbox and let me natter on about my F1 opinions and everything in between. Just…thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this last part 🥹🧡🧡🧡🧡

Tag list

@somanyfandomsbruh @eugene-emt-roe @reidsworld @maxcuntstappen @laneyspaulding19 @elliegrey2803 @inthestars-underthesun @jayda12 @gaysontoast @baw-sixteen @wcnorris @motorsp0rt @obsessed-fan-alert @lifesuckslife @luciaexcorvus @dumb-fawkin-bitch @lickmeleclerc @goldeng1rl8 @trentwife @mynameisangeloflife @princessria127 @mcmuppet @hiraethrhapsody @toomuchdelusion @lxclerc @lpab @lordperceval-16 @larastark3107 @bangtanxberm @random-readers-world @bladestark @allenajade-ite @ironmaiden1313 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @charllleclerc @kachoooow95 @bellalilo @samywhale @satellitelh @leclercdream @jamie2305 @illicitverstappen @vellicora @honethatty12 @sociallyinepludi @raizelchrysanderoctavius @bellewintersroe @taylorslovesswifties13 @tyna-19 @jquinnmunson

[pookietv]

pub golf | arthurtv

me when i don't upload in ages and come back out of nowhere (sorry pookies ily all)

this is obviously not too accurate to chip's pub golf or anything but yeah whatever!!!

but yeah enjoy this poorly constructed and half proofread fic about close friends arthur and y/n getting all drunk and maybe a little flirty :)

as a youtuber in your friendship circle, it becomes somewhat of an initiation ritual to be involved in a pub golf video, so when chip decided on making another monopoly pub golf video, you weren't all too surprised when he decided you just had to make your pub golf debut.

so that was how you had been roped into standing in a park in london, at 3pm on a tuesday, waiting to be assigned into your pairings for this pub golf.

chip stood with a grin on his face, announcing teams of george and harry, chip and theo, steven and chris, and finally, you and arthur, who gave you a grin as you stood next to him.

"the dream team!" you laughed, and arthur nodded as he looked down at you.

"we better win, so you've gotta bring your a-game," he teased slightly and poked you gently in the ribs, "you're gonna owe me big time,"

you narrowed your eyes at him playfully, "oh yeah? and what will i owe you exactly?"

he grinned, "you've gotta sit and rewatch all the harry potter films with me if we lose," he said, causing you to groan out in mock annoyance.

"fine, fine!" you laughed slightly

arthur was easily the one you were closest to in your friendship group: it always ended up being you two paired up together, or nattering on about something no one else seemed to care too much about, and it had become somewhat of a joke to the group, you had been deemed 'future mrs. television'.

and in all honesty, though you would never admit it, you did have a tiny crush on arthur. or you insisted to yourself it was tiny because the reality was you had a big fat crush on arthur and you were embarrassed. but to you, he was just so easy to be around, he was always sweet and listened and you two were always just close.

and of course, what other embarrassment ritual would kick off pub golf like mortifying monopoly themed costumes. george and chris getting stuck as sailors, chip and theo being dogs, steven and chris being penguins, and you and arthur being stuck dressed as the 'wheelbarrows', in hi viz jackets, builders hats and a small childs wheelbarrow, which seemed more like a weapon of mass destruction.

on the walk to the first pub, the boys were already hyper, which did not bode well as their pre-drink states, with chris and george flirting and arthur almost hitting everyone with the mini wheelbarrow, finally getting there.

and the drink to start was of course a double vodka, which arthur had cockily turned to you, "i bet i can finish my drink quicker than you," he said, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"in your dreams you sad little man," you laughed, picking up your drink with a small little nod, as you both began to drink.

you beat him, only just, watching him wipe his mouth with a dejected little sigh, grinning to yourself at your victory whilst teasing arthur.

along with a shot due to the hole being a bunker hole, to which everyone called chip inane, insisting that three units on the first hole was a recipe for disaster.

and you felt they couldn't be more right, as arthur already gave you his slightly dopey grin, the one where you could tell he had maybe not eaten enough so the drink was hitting him a little too quickly.

"so, who do you think is winning this thing?" he asked you, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, and you rolled your eyes with a playful laugh.

"us, obviously," you said, and he gave you a little look as if to say 'come on, no way'.

"you really think we're beating the team of degenerate alcoholics that are harry and george?" he joked, "i mean you know i can barely handle my alcohol, and i've had to carry you home more times than i can count," he teased.

along the route, the drinks only continued, leading to what could be summed up as mass chaos - with george and chris flirting so much you had to seriously question if they were single by choice or to cover up some secret feelings for one another, and steven and chip making friends with some random guy who had the misfortune of asking for directions from them, and you and arthur, walking miles slower than everyone, yapping on whilst holding the vlog camera at your own faces.

"y/n's gonna crash after her next drink, i can feel it in my bones," he smirked to the camera, causing you to reply with a face of mock anger.

"can't be worse then the crash bicycle kick you attempted in the pitchside charity match," you quipped back, a self determined grin on your face as you leaned on him slightly for support, almost tumbling yourself over.

"whoa, there, you good?" he sniggered a little as you caught his arm, his hand gently on your back to stop you from falling.

"uh huh, 'm brilliant, was just making sure you weren't falling behind," you said sarcastically.

"yeah, right. you're the one who needs a babysitter after a couple of sambucas," he jided, leading you to grin a little more.

"well, lucky me i have the most willing babysitter ever, right?" you teased, poking him slightly in his sides.

after being forced into a duet with harry after he had made to do a forfeit for knocking chip over twice, and steven almost throwing up after being forced to chug a bloody mary after insisting that he hated tomatoes, you had wound up waiting on a bench outside one of the pubs whilst the rest of the boys went to the toilet, finished up their drinks or otherwise messed around.

you on the other hand had been dying for fresh air, so ended up drunkly watching the ground as you waited for them to finish up.

arthur approached you on the bench, giving you a small smile as he drunkenly slumped himself next to you.

"you good?" he said, and you smiled and nodded back to be reassuing.

"uh huh, 'm all good, just needed some air," you babbled out, a little breathy.

"no worries, just wanted to check," he said, before hiccupping slightly, making you grin.

"i'm glad we're on the same team," he continued, and you giggled a little, nodding.

you felt your cheeks heat up a little and silently willed it to not be too obvious, "yeah, me too. always great to have a babysitter," you joked back in response, trying your best to stay casual.

"you have this thing where you make everything better, in all honesty." arthur drunkenly admitted, looking slightly down at his shoes, slightly embarrassed himself to be admitting it. he wondered if he might regret saying any of this in the morning, but when he looked up to see the smile spread on your face and the slight pink tinge to your cheeks, he determined that anything he said that made you look so adorably happy was worth saying, at least in his mind.

"you're going to give me an ego, at this rate." you joked back sarcastically, and he rolled his eyes in response, chuckling to himself.

"anyways, whats in it for me if i keep playing babysitter?" he asked, a small smirk on his face.

"well, you get the pleasure of my company, obviously," you replied in a mocking tone

he laughed slightly to himself, shaking his head. "c'mon, i deserve more then that surely?"

your eyebrow raised slightly, "like what?" you giggled out.

"we go out for drinks? like, not in a group. i'll even babysit then, i swear," he joked.

"are you asking me out, mr television?" you asked, your heart racing slightly as you felt determined to keep your tone light and playful.

"depends, are you saying yes?" he asked, leaning slightly closer.

you looked down at the floor for a moment, in mock contemplation, "well i guess that's conditional of how good of a babysitter you are tonight." you teased, before standing up to go find the other boys.

the rest of the pub golf had ended in a twisted drunken blur: with arthur insisting he was at least a ninety-percent on the drunk scale, to harry almost stacking it on a lime bike, in the last pub everyone had become a drunken state, all calling ubers back to their home once revealing the winners of the pub golf - an unsurprising win for harry and george.

since you and arthur lived in the same apartment building, you had decided to book one uber, sitting on the curb and sipping a bottle of water each that you had bought from a nearby corner shop in a desperate attempt to sober yourselves up and stop yourself from gagging every two minutes, your head leaning on arthur's upper arm in attempt to stop your vision from spinning.

"so, put me out of my misery already. was i a good babysitter?" he asked teasingly, but you could tell by the half softened but still half serious look on his face that he was anxiously waiting.

"the best babysitter," you drunkenly babbled in response, leading to a grin spreading across his face.

"good. feel like i'm always about to lose my nerve or something around you, cause i've had a crush on you for the longest and you're so... i don't know, like effortlessly flirty with me, so i didn't know if it was intentional, or if you didn't even realise, but it was just driving me crazy 'cause i never know how to be around you without being some idiot that has an obvious big fat crush on you so... uhm, yeah. suppose i'm waffling a little now."

you let out a grin of relief as you pulled your head slightly from arthur's shoulder so you could look at him, your eyes half lidded from drunkness and a tired but deliriously happy smile across your face.

"i like you too, arthur. 'm glad i seem cool and effortless, cause i'm really just an idiot with an obvious crush too," you laughed a little to yourself.

he let out a small breath he didn't even realise he was holding, "god, that's a relief. um, so, maybe we could do the drinks we mentioned earlier?" he offered with a small grin.

"uh huh. as long as your babysitting skills are still up for grabs," you giggled in response.

"for you? always."

[catsrsupersonic]

morning runs, sleepy kisses

Person A trying to get Person B to exercise early in the morning. Bonus: Person B is not a morning person.

Luke Hughes x reader

Word count: like 700

Warnings: don’t think there’s any lol

Be kind! Constructive criticism is always welcome! Wage Peace xx

****

In the deep, comfortable slumber you found yourself in, consumed by peace and warmth, you heard a small nattering voice threatening to awake you from this bliss. “Baby...” it whispered into the landscapes of your dreams, forcing the image to slip away from you with each passing second. You heard the voice again, followed by a giggle and a large comforting hand on your shoulder as it shook you awake. Your eyes opened slowly, and an annoyed groan slipped from your lips as you rolled over in bed, very nearly falling out of it but managing to stop yourself with your hand pressed to the floor and Luke’s hands pushing you back to the safety of the mattress.

On your way back up you glanced at the clock. 5;03am. Why on Gods green earth was your boyfriend waking you up at such an awful, dark and cold hour? It was then that you took in his appearance. He was dressed in running gear with damp curls evidently from a shower and two granola bars in his hand. He wore a cheeky smile as he giggled once again at your sleepy state. It suddenly dawned on you the promise you had made him the previous night when you were feeling particularly motivated, to join Luke on his extremely unnecessarily early runs he likes to have during the off season.

You groaned again and pulled the covers over your head, momentarily hiding from the reality of the fact that you never broke one of his promises. He gently pulled the covers from your head again and lightly caressed your cheeks and admired the morning glow on your skin. “C’mon baby, I got your clothes ready so you could sleep some more and if we don’t set off in 10 minutes, we’re going to miss the sunrise.” He pouted.

You sighed dramatically as you sat up in bed and leaned forward to rest your forehead on your boyfriend’s shoulder. The soothing rub of his hand on your back was sending you back to sleep. His natural smell (which you called his “boyfriend” smell), mixed with his comforting touch was lulling you back into the dreamy landscape. But inevitably you rose from the pile of duvet gathered around you and, with a lingering kiss, left your boyfriend to get changed and freshen up quickly.

You found him again, making your bed and opening the blinds but before he could finish making the bed, you flopped onto it with your third dramatic groan of the morning. “Leave the bed, Lu,” you began, propping your head up on your hands as you watched him manoeuvre around the bed to begin putting your shoes on and tying your laces for you. “When we get back, we can get back in and go back to sleep for a bit.”

He laughed and lightly kissed the inside of your knee before rising and pulling you up to your feet by your hands. “You do know the whole purpose of a morning run is to wake you up, right?” he says, amused.

“Whatever you say, handsome. But we both know we’re going back to sleep after this.” You say back, heading to the door ahead of him. He hands you your water bottle and one of the granola bars he had and smiles at you. He leans in to give you a sweet kiss on the lips.

“Thank you for coming with me Baby, I love you.” He says as you open the door. You smile appreciatively at him. He never fails to make you feel loved.

“I love you too, Lu. Now lead the way!” and as you say the last part you lightly smack his behind earning a gasp and a flurry of giggles from the both of you.

[saphig-iawn]

Close to my Heart

Aftercare for my Dolls takes many different forms. Sometimes, after some good play time, I might spin their body in stuffing and string and let them relax and unwind like a ragdoll. Sometimes, its talking through the session while my hands hypnotically massage their body.

Today's aftercare ended up becoming something far more.

My Doll and I were chatting about all things dollification, and having a natter about the session we had just had, like we were having some afternoon tea. I showed her a piece of jewellery that resonated very hard with me, a simple necklace where the pendant was of a mannequin.

My Doll's face was priceless and so, being the weaver of magic I am, I began to paint a picture.

I asked my Doll how good it would feel to be so carefree, like that.

To be reduced.

Simplified.

Then I described cradling her face in my hands, rubbing my thumb across her lips leaving smooth brushed metal in its place. Her moans vibrating through her new facade.

Like clockwork, I watched my Doll's lips begin to seal together, her words trapped behind my caress.

Then I held her hands, shaping her fingers into smooth metallic mittens, letting them drape off the arms of her chair as I shaped her feet.

I could see her shoulders sinking, the waters of her mind beginning to calm.

I moved behind her, reaching my shaping hand between her legs. I saw her face twitch in reflex, to bite her lip, but her new form was taking hold. Her new smooth and featureless crotch was sensitive with the warmth of my hand.

I then teased her nipples and rolled them between my fingers and thumbs, every tweak making them feel heavier and fuller until I ran my hands over them and made them perky mounds of brushed metal.

Its only now do I begin the shrinking, letting her feel the warmth of my skin begin to reach through her new form.

Tying delicate chains that feel like silk to her joints, until she was held in blissful suspension on my chest.

She was in complete serenity, feeling my words vibrate through my chest and into her form.

While she was there, I wove these feelings and sense memories into a spell.

Now, whenever she feels the weight of the world on her shoulders, she can come to me and rest around on my neck.

Did you enjoy? Here's my ko-fi if you fancy leaving a tip or want to talk about being transformed yourself!~

Necklace is Skia by Elsa Tierney

[thegreenleavesofspring]

.

Growing up, I didn't have 'friends'. In hindsight I'm probably high-functioninig autistic who didn't know how to mask but I've never actually done any kind of tests so I don't know for certain. But I was 'very weird,' 'creepy,' 'painfully shy,' 'retarded,' 'not ready for social interaction' (a mix of reviews from my peers and teachers/activity leaders.) Anyway, my preferred location during socialization was underneath the tables and in the corners. I was very, very good at making myself invisible, and I used it.

As we got older, my sister - vivacious, charming, clever, witty, and very pretty - began acquiring friends. (If you're familiar with Pride & Prejudice I was the Mary to her Elizabeth even though I'm actually older.) And sometimes I would hang out around the edges of her friend groups.

Eventually as a teenager I began forming a sort of friendships online, but none of them lasted - we either drifted away or burned up in a brilliant conflagration of drama and misunderstandings. And, yes, my good intentions led to most those conflagrations.

I was so bitterly lonely.

I resigned myself to being unlikable and strange and off-putting. To people regretting their overtures and polite conversations trailing off into silence and side-eyes at my weirdness and friendships not ever lasting.

But somewhere along the way I decided to tone down my natural snark and sarcasm and think three or four times before hitting post to see if my tone came across the way I wanted it to or if I just sounded patronizing and to make more effort to get out of my self-centered bubble of a mindset and to try, to try to always be kind. To show Christ's love to all I meet.

And then people started calling me wise and I can only laugh helplessly because I'm not, I'm so not, I just overthink things and flail around in the darkness and go "Hey maybe" "What if" and if my overthinking helps someone else I'm very glad but I'm not wise, I'm so much not wise.

And people said I was kind and I went "Oh, well, that means I'm succeeding then".

And then someone called me beloved and it was like running into a brick wall. What do you mean 'beloved'. I can't be 'beloved!' I am unlikable, much less lovable. What do you mean I help you feel better what do you mean I'm not scary what do you mean you think about me during your day what do you mean I'm your friend what do you mean what do you mean what do you mean, and why am I crying?

Anyway. Now when my children ask who I'm talking to I say "my friends" and when I see the color green or the color purple or flowers in a meadow or flowers in the world around me or small creatures or pretty teapots or horses or ponies or cowboys or whimsical gardens or picturesque cottages or overgrown paths or stars or sunsets or clouds or colors, they make me think of

my friends. <3

[gravehags]

hold me now

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: couple fight, well less a fight than copia fucking up supremely, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, anxiety, secondo once again being a real one

Words: 2,587

Summary: You've never heard that tone from Copia before period let alone directed at you.

a/n: copia baby your anxiety and freeze response...

~~~

He can feel the headache coming on, throbbing right behind his eyes and the base of his skull from staring too long at spreadsheets and numbers and stupid fucking emails from his fellow clergy members. 

Sister Imperator on his ass, like always. Nihil on his ass, like always. You’re pacing back and forth in front of his desk, chattering animatedly about…he’s not even sure, all he can focus on is the static in his brain and the blood rushing in his ears and the noise of your voice and–

He barks your name once. That’s all it takes to have you stopped in your tracks, slowly turning to face him. When the next words out of his mouth come sharp like a whip crack, he sees you physically recoil.

Enough. Quiet.

Immediately he’s filled with regret as he watches you back away towards the door, fidgeting with your fingers. He knows what he needs to do - what he needs to say - but he’s paralyzed with fear and exhaustion. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

“S-sorry,” you say, your voice uncharacteristically small and high, the way it gets when you’re holding back tears, “sorry I’ll just–”

By the time he reaches out to you, still unable to speak, you’ve already got your back turned to him and he watches you leave and shut his door with a gentle snap. In an instant he forgets about his headache, about the stressors, about everything that isn’t the horror that settles in his belly like lead. He wants to get up, go after you, apologize on bended knee but he just…sits. 

Sathanas, what have I done?

—

You’re proud of yourself, you don’t cry until after you return to your office. As soon as the door shuts though, an ugly sob is wrenched from your throat and you collapse into the empty chair opposite your desk. You can’t form a coherent thought, all you can do is bawl into your hands and shake.

He’s done with you, that familiar, horrid little voice says. He’s finally had enough of your verbal diarrhea, of the silly inconsequential things that come out of you. He realized your mouth is only good for one thing and nattering isn’t it.

You know the wail that comes out of you is pathetic as snot and tears pour down your face and you slide out of the chair and onto the floor. Pressing your back against the desk, you draw your legs up as tight as you can, rocking gently back and forth. The look on his face - the anger, the annoyance - is burned into your memory. It’s wholly unlike your love but the fact that he hasn’t come after you…well. Clearly he meant what he said. You heave a shaky sigh and lean forward to fumble behind you for the box of tissues on your desk. It was a good run, you suppose. You always thought you were unlovable and here’s the proof. To think that he would tolerate you and your annoying habits for the rest of your lives was simply naive. 

You’re just a naive, stupid, annoying little girl.

Your tears slowly cease and you diligently wipe up the streaks of mascara on your cheeks.

You won’t bother him anymore.

—

Two days. Almost three. That’s how long has passed since his horrific outburst in his office and he still hasn’t apologized to you. The guilt gnaws at him, tearing him up, but in all truth he’s not sure how to make the situation right. And he’s embarrassed, Sathanas, looking and sounding like an irritable old man. It’s the longest he’s gone without seeing you in ages and fuck, he misses you desperately. Misses your smile, your laugh, how excitable you get when you’re talking about something you care about. Misses the very thing he chastised you and hurt your feelings for, fotutto idiota. He doesn’t blame you for not coming to his quarters or visiting him during work hours. He certainly wouldn’t blame you for being done with him, with this relationship. The lump in his throat gets worse and worse as he hustles down the corridor, tears blurring his vision. He’s nowhere near his office when he slams into something solid.

“Watch where you’re–oh, Cardinal.”

“Mi scusi,” he chokes out, dodging Secondo’s gaze and trying to hurry past him before his brother can see the streaks of black running down his cheeks but judging from the way one large hand wraps around his bicep, it’s too late.

“Copia, what is wrong?” Secondo’s voice is low and concerned as he steers him into an empty seminar room, shutting the door behind them. As soon as the latch clicks Copia lets out a whimper and then a sob.

“I hurt her!” he cries and Secondo starts.

“What do you mean you hurt her? Copia, I know you did not physically harm her because brother or not, if you laid a hand on her you know I’d–”

“No!” Copia gasps, astonished and sickened at the implication. “I would sooner cut off my own hand than raise it to her, you know this. No I-I…I hurt her feelings.”

Secondo seems relieved, but only slightly.

“What did you do?”

His lip trembles as he recalls the events of the other day to his brother. When he’s finished, Secondo crosses his arms.

“And you did not go after her? Che cazzo, stronzo?” he growls, shoving Copia into a chair. “What must she think now that her beloved was cruel to her and did not offer an apology? Copia you’ve always been self-sabotaging but this is a new low.”

Ouch.

“I…I don’t know what came over me after she left my office. My heart told me to chase after her, to make it right but I just…couldn’t move. It was like…like my brain was telling me that I didn’t deserve her in the first place so I shouldn’t push my luck. That she deserves someone…better.”

“What utter bullshit,” Secondo scoffs, and Copia can feel his face go red in shame, “You don’t deserve her? Well maybe you don’t after this but Copia she chose to be with you. To love you and care for you. And you insult her and her choice by trying to make the choice for her with your wretched behavior? Vergognatevi, Copia Emeritus.”

Copia knows Secondo is right but it doesn’t make the dull ache in his chest any better.

“How do I fix this?” he asks quietly.

“Go to her, firstly, you fucking idiot. Bring her something nice, that will make her smile. But wait until she’s back in her rooms tonight, I’m sure she’s had enough of crying in her office. And tell her how you truly feel and how sorry you are. And if she forgives you then don’t be this stupid again. If she doesn’t forgive you, well…perhaps I’ll treat her better.”

Copia’s head jerks up and Secondo looks down at him with a smirk.

“So you better work hard to make her forgive you, huh? Otherwise she’s getting a ride on the Italian Stallion, capisci?”

“Ugh disgusting,” Copia grunts, standing up, “I don’t know why I was always worried about Terzo stealing her when you’re even worse. Stay away from my amore.”

“Then you better work damn hard to make sure she remains your amore.”

“Any eh, tips?”

“I don’t know, flagellate yourself in front of her,” Secondo says, turning to leave, “She looks like she’s into that.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Copia grumbles as they exit the classroom. A passing elderly sister looks at him and jumps with her hand over her heart.

“Clean yourself up first, huh?” Secondo says, straightening Copia’s cassock, “You look like the nun from The Nun.”

“Grazie mille, shithead. I think I know exactly what to do.”

“Bene. Now get to work.” With a clap on his shoulder and a wink, Secondo strides away. 

Right, Copia thinks, first the bathroom, then Primo’s greenhouse.

He only hopes it’s not too late.

—

Two days. Two fucking days and he hasn’t said shit to you. Hasn’t even attempted to say shit to you. Your pain and embarrassment morphs into anger on the dawn of the second day when you check your phone and see no texts, no missed calls. The hurt is still there, that ache in your chest that doesn’t really go away, but you’re truly floored that he could be so casually cruel to you then act like you simply don’t exist. Maybe it’s over (and the notion makes tears well in your eyes and makes you choke on each breath) but don’t you deserve to hear it from his lips? That’s all it takes to have you sobbing again as you attempt to brush your teeth, dejectedly spitting out toothpaste into the sink. It’s early, ridiculously early to be in your nightgown getting ready for bed but every night without Copia has been agony and all you want is to no longer be conscious. You pad over to your nightstand and are about to check your phone simply out of habit when there’s a loud knock at the door and you freeze. Part of you - the petty, horrible part - considers ignoring it the way he’s ignored you. Letting him stew. But your heart is ultimately what pulls you towards the door and has you opening it. Your lip wobbles when you see him before you - in his clean red cassock, no biretta  - but you pride yourself on remaining tearless. He looks incredibly nervous and nauseated as he beholds you.

“Eh…may I come in?”

You say nothing but stand aside and gesture for him to enter. It’s not until he’s fully inside your apartment you see the healthy bouquet of lily of the valley behind his back and your icy demeanor melts a little. He hands them to you, eyes dodging yours like a fifth grader with a crush. It’s charming, you can’t lie. You take the flowers from him and he watches you carefully as you fill up a vase and place them in it.

“Kinda…kinda gives you déjà vu, no?” he laughs nervously, “Except–”

“Except you brought me orange roses the first time.”

His cheeks go red.

“Right, right,” another half a minute passes of you resting your weight on your hip with your arms crossed and him fidgeting with his cuffs. You’re about to ask him to get it over with if he’s breaking up with you when–

“Amore, I do not have sufficient words to describe how incredibly sorry I am for my behavior the other day. And then for abandoning you in the days since…not only have I insulted you but I have insulted this relationship. Our relationship. Something horrid came over me that day and you did not deserve to bear the brunt of my foul mood. I know it must mean little now but as soon as I said it I-I felt sick to my stomach.”

“You didn’t come after me,” you say, sniffling and staring ahead at the bejeweled grucifix on his chest, “I knew I really fucked up when you didn’t come after me–”

“Amore you…you think what I did was a reflection on you? That you…don’t tell me you believe you deserved this?”

Your vision is going blurry and you swear internally.

“I thought you were, y’know, done with me. Done with my chatter a-and annoying habits and–”

Copia crosses the floor and takes your hands in his.

“How could I be ‘done’ with everything that makes you…you? Dolcezza, I love all of your facets, even the ones you believe to be ‘annoying’. How could I deny anything that is a part of you?”

“Then why did you tell me to be quiet? Why didn’t you come after me? Why did you just let me sit all these days assuming the worst?”

Silence rings out in the small apartment after your last loud statement and Copia looks as if he wants nothing more than to tear his heart out of his chest and present it to you, still beating in his palm.

“Oh cara,” he whispers, “I was having such a-a difficult day. Everything had gone wrong and I could feel a migraine starting and…none of it matters. I should never have lashed out at you and I curse my brain and body for not allowing me to chase after you. There’s no excuse for what I did…for how I abandoned you these past few days and…I understand if you would like to end our relationship.”

Your heart plummets.

“Is that what you want?” you ask softly, voice cracking pathetically, “I just…I assumed the worst after you didn’t try to see me–”

A noise halfway between a sob and a sigh is wrenched from Copia as he falls to his knees before you.

“Amata mia, all I want in this world is you. Your love. Nothing else matters. Only death can rid you of me, I swear to Sathanas. Do…do you feel the same?”

Tears are freely pouring down your cheeks as you look upon the man you love and the way his eyes are upturned to you seeking repentance.

“You know I love you more than anything,” you whisper, “God, we really fucked this one up, huh?”

“Not you, amore mio, me. From start to finish this was my fault and for that I am so, so sorry. I hope you will somehow forgive me–”

You scoff wetly, looking down at him with a smile.

“Is this just what two people with anxiety in love are like?”

He lets out a small laugh.

“Heh…maybe. Surely we’re not the first. Or the last.”

“We should start a support group,” you say, letting go of his hands and gripping his shoulders, “and as pretty as you look in your vestments on your knees, you can get up, my love.”

“I would stay here forever should you command it.”

Hmm. That sounds nice.

“Come to bed with me, Cardinal,” you say softly and obediently he rises to his feet. “I’ve slept like shit without you.”

“And I you,” Copia says, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Abruptly, you wrap your arms around him and hold him tight.

“I love you,” you murmur into the red wool covering his chest.

“Love you too, anima mia,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, “and I am sorry for everything.”

The two of you embrace one another in the quiet for a moment before you speak.

“Hmm did we just have our first fight?”

“Eh, I don’t know if it was as much a fight as it was me being a fucking idiot and you having the infinite grace to forgive me.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that rules out make-up sex, then?”

You hide your grin in his pellegrina as he makes a noise of outrage.

“Amore, anything can be make-up sex if you try hard enough. Shall I eh, call you some filthy names and get the ball rolling?”

You giggle as you tug him towards the bedroom.

“Oh, I insist, Your Eminence.”

He growls, trying his best to undo the buttons of his cassock with one hand after you lift your nightgown over your head and let it fall to the floor.

“Think I’m getting eh, a Pavlovian reaction to you using my title, dolcezza.”

You look down at the bulge in the red fabric and smile.

“I’ll be sure to remember that on really inconvenient occasions.”

He sighs.

“I know you will.”

[plushri]

Trying to cook in my mum's kitchen is my personal hell but it does give a small bit of satisfaction to see how much worse it is now that I've moved out when she used to blame me for the state of the kitchen