#cw airplane crash

[sparkedblaze]

a military helicopter flying into an airplane and leaving no survivors is a diversity issue, somehow?

[meruz]

how it feels to be at the airport during the holidays

[fictionkinfessions]

the yellowjackets have disappeared, did the plane crash again???? :(

📦

[coulsonlives]

I'm on a Mentour Pilot binge and some of these videos are just heartbreaking

[darlingshane]

Professor Castle II

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank takes you to Curtis' wedding in Florida as his date.

CW: 18+. Explicit, Smut, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Mutual Masturbation, Kissing, Feelings, Age Gap, Professor/Student relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

— Links: First Part // AO3.

A/N: I wasn't planning on adding another part to this, but this idea came to me as I was finishing the first one and I had to write it. There are a lot of mixed feelings and romance and smut. And we also get to know how reader and Frank got together in the first place. Billy and Dinah have a significant appearance here, and Billy is kind of a bitch. I can never bring myself to see him in a better light, even in an au like this.

It's Friday afternoon, after a hectic day of work and classes, that you get on a flight to Florida to accompany Frank to one of his best friends’ wedding.

It feels like a pretty surreal experience that he wanted you to come along, and that you also said yes. The last time you were invited to a wedding you were probably eleven or twelve and were seated at the kids’ table. Going to an affair like this as an adult with your very grown-up, secretive boyfriend feels like skydiving with no parachute.

It's already dark by the time the plane lands in the evening. The knot in your stomach tightens as you get off the plane. You were already nervous before taking off. Once your feet touch ground in Florida you wish you had a longer flight. It all happened so fast you didn't have time to prepare yourself for the idea of meeting Frank's friends. It's basically like meeting his family. Whenever you've heard stories about Billy or Curtis, he always talked about them as if they were blood brothers. So the whole thing becomes more scary the closer you get to the hotel.

There's a sudden shift during that half an hour ride to your destination. Internally, you feel like you still should hide your relationship with Frank, but he's been holding your hand the entire way there. You can't bring yourself to process how good it feels not having to care about if someone might see you or not. For months, being constantly alert is all you've done. It was exciting at first, but not as much as having his big paw holding your hand out in the open while the shuttle driver asks if you're here on vacation.

The building you arrive in sits so close to the ocean you can hear the waves crashing on shore and smell the fresh saltwater lingering in the air before you get out of the vehicle.

Once you've checked in, you get to a lovely room on the third floor with a view to the pool where a group of people enjoy an evening dive. You open the door to the balcony to let the air in, while Frank checks the rest of the room.

“Are you okay, baby?” Asks Frank as you lean on the railing outside.

“Yeah, just a little tired.”

“Well, there's a bed right here.” He points out before opening his suitcase on the mattress to take out his suit.

“It looks like a nice bed.” Glancing over your shoulder, you watch Frank straightening the fabric before hanging it in the closet.

When he's done, he joins you on the balcony, linking his arms around your waist.

“Should we go out to dinner or stay and order room service?” He softly kisses your nape.

“Hm, I'm fine with either. What do you wanna do?”

“Well, It'd be nice to go out since we never get to do that. But on the other hand, we haven't been really alone for a couple of weeks, and I was really looking forward to having you all for myself tonight.”

“It's still early, my king. We can do both.” You tuck your arm back to caress his jaw.

“Yeah? I thought you were tired.”

“I'm also hungry. Let me change and get rid of the airplane smell, and we'll go exploring.”

You unpack your suitcase and hang the outfits you picked for the next couple of days next to Frank's, which is such a bizarre thing to do. It's going to be an interesting weekend without having to put much thought into the secrecy of your relationship. Something as simple as just holding hands or letting your clothes live next to his, even if it's just temporary, makes you feel that normalcy most couples have. You wonder if this is what the future holds for you and Frank. It begs to question if this is the future you want with Frank.

Both of you freshen up and change into clean clothes. You slip into a long skirt with a halter top in your favorite color and a pair of sandals while Frank dons a pair of black chinos and a brown polo shirt.

Heading downstairs you go straight to the restaurant, sit at the bar and order some drinks first while you wait for a table.

“What?” you're chewing on the end of a straw when you notice Frank stare weirdly fixed on you. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, you’re perfect.” His gaze beams full of wonder. “I just… Look at you. You're so beautiful. I can't believe you're here with me. I thought we'd never get to be out like this.”

“It’s kinda weird, isn’t it? But in a good way.”

“Yeah. C’mere,” his hand slides along your jaw and stops at your nape. A flick of his tongue swipes his lips before planting a wet one on your mouth. It lingers for a moment before diving for a deeper taste. It takes you off guard, and you almost want to pull back as soon as the tip of his tongue escapes past your teeth. It’s when it tries to meet with yours that you awkwardly pull your head back. His palm massages the back of your neck as you press your forehead against his, feeling a pang of sadness thrum in your chest.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Your head slightly shakes, as you look down at your hands holding his forearm on your lap.

“I just… I feel like everyone is staring at us.”

“Let’em.”

“Frank.”

“Baby, I’m serious. Nobody is watching us. Look around,” his hold loosens around your neck and your head swivels to see that in fact no one is interested in whatever you and Frank do. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with an old man like me?”

“You’re not that old.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you, Frank. I… I wish we could do this all the time like normal people do. It feels like after this weekend, we’ll never get to do this ever again. I know we just got here, and I’m just being dramatic, you don’t have to say it. But uh… it makes me sad we can’t go out like this at home.”

“Baby, I get it. I wish I could have you like all the damn time. It breaks my heart to see you every day and have to remind myself not to look at you or touch you or kiss you.”

“Sorry for bringing you down with me. It's been a long day. And being here with you is a little overwhelming. It's brought a lot of stuff to the surface I never even considered before. I see it comes out so natural for you to do something like holding my hand or kissing me, and I feel bad that there’s this weird thing blocking me from enjoying that.”

“Hey, don't apologize.” Frank sighs before gently pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I'm the one who's sorry for not realizing sooner that this was a bigger deal for you than I thought. I just wanted you here so badly, I didn't think what this meant for you– for us. How about we go back to the room, order something, put on a movie and take it slow.”

“No, it's okay. I'll be fine. I wanna get used to this. I wanna be here with you, Frank.”

“Yeah?”

Drawing a smile, you simply nod and squeeze his hand a little harder.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“A couple of times. It doesn’t hurt to hear it again.”

Your lips pull up a little higher, as you lean forward to attempt to resume the kiss he started.

“Mr. Castle.” The restaurant’s hostess interrupts you just as you press your lips against his. “Your table is ready.”

She guides you to a table by the window with a view to the beach.

“Your waiter will be right over,” she politely says before going to fetch more people to place at the empty tables.

Despite being still a little nervous about the whole thing, you’re so over the moon with Frank, that it's easy to relax more and more in his presence. He knows how to smooth things over with just a few sweet words or an adoring glance framed by those glasses that really show the beauty of his eyes. You never thought he'd be this casual and forward when it came to showing public displays of affection. You're both overly cautious, but here, it's like he's flipped a switch in his head and all his problems are gone. Despite his impromptu decision the other day when he tried to break up with you, it feels like he's been dying to be able to show the world that you're his, and he is yours. You adore that about him and try to ease your mind into being more present right here and let go of all those worries that sadden your heart. Even if it's just for two days, you should be able to enjoy what you got.

By the end of your meal, you’re halfway through your dessert when a couple approaches the table.

“Hey, Frankie!” Billy, who you recognized from one of Frank’s pictures, makes him stand from his seat to give him a hug.

“Bill,” he addresses him before looking at the woman by his side. “Hey, Dinah. Good to see you again.”

“Yeah, good to see you, too.”

“And you must be the mystery woman Frank never told us about until a couple of days ago,” Billy directs his attention to you as you extend your hand in his direction.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“Oh, she’s funny.”

“You have no idea.”

They both shake your hand as Frank sits back down.

“Thought you were going to turn in early like the rest of the party.”

“That was the plan, but we decided at the last minute to come down. You guys wanna join us?”

“No, we’re going to this swing by this bar down the street. You should come.”

“We've already had a couple of drinks,” Frank says. “We were about to call it a night.”

“C’mon, just a nightcap. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you. And you just can’t bring a date to Curt’s wedding and not properly introduce her like she deserves.”

Frank glances at you and shrugs, “you wanna go?”

“Just one drink?”

“Just one drink,” Billy repeats. “I mean if you’re old enough to drink.”

He says so casually it throws you off, but you’re quick to reply when you’re nervous.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that but yes, I’m old enough to drink.” You prove it by lifting the almost empty cocktail glass from the table and bring it to your mouth to finish it.

He mimes his fingers zipping his mouth as Dinah gives him a look and Frank hangs his head down.

Once the momentary awkwardness has passed you choose to follow them down the boardwalk to a crowded bar at the end of the street. You take a table outside and order some drinks. You go for another cocktail, the guys have a couple of beers and Dinah settles for scotch on the rocks.

“So, Frankie here has strictly forbidden us to ask you questions. What is he trying to hide?” Billy stares at you from the other couch with his elbows leaned on his knees.

“I didn't say that. I only asked you to not give her the third degree.” He scoffs.

“It's okay.” You laugh, placing a palm at the small of Frank's back. “What do you wanna know?”

While Billy questions you about your life, where you come from, what you’re majoring in, what your hobbies are… Frank tries to remain not too bothered but often chimes in to say – you don’t have to answer that, when Billy pokes into something way too personal.

Almost through with your cocktail you stand up and head to the bathroom and Dinah stalks behind you.

“Didn’t realize you were coming too,” you say when you notice her holding the door after you step into the room.

“Yeah, I needed a break from hearing Billy talk. Don’t mind him, he always had a big mouth. It’s pathological, but he’s harmless… for the most part.”

“He’s… intense,” you say for the lack of a better word. “How long have you two been together?”

“Oh, we’re not together together. We just hang out sometimes.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” You lean on one of the sinks while Dinah fixes her makeup.

“How long have you been dating Frank?”

“Hm, almost a year.”

“You know, I dated a teacher once at the academy, but it was nothing like you and Frank.”

“How so?”

“He didn’t take me as a plus-one to a wedding for starters. It was just sex. I can see that it’s more for you and Frank. Is it?”

“I uhh… I think it is. It’s crazy that he invited me here.”

“Yeah, he’s been moping around for a couple of years since his last girlfriend. It’s good that he has you now. How did that happen?”

You can see that Dinah and Billy have more in common than she lets on. They definitely share the same hunger to gather information from anyone. You don’t mind them poking around to know more about you. It’s actually refreshing being able to talk about you and Frank for the first time, and if Frank has told them about you, it means that he trusts them.

“Well, it’s not an interesting story. We didn’t fall in love at first sight, or shared longing glances across hallways, or pass secret notes, and shit. He uh… we used to go to the same café outside campus that has the best coffee. One day I saw him trying to pay with his phone cause he forgot his wallet, and it wasn’t working cause he’s technologically inept to handle any app. So I paid for his coffee. The next day he paid for mine and I helped him manage his digital wallet. We started taking more and more outside class. We would walk together back to campus. Over time, it took us longer and longer to make it back. We would stop at this park to look at the ducks in the lake. Sometimes we fed them to stall. Though neither of us gave a shit about the ducks-”

“Of course,” Dinah softly smiles at your remark.

“Then I’d tell him I’d be at this art show, or go to this movie, whatever shit I was doing, hoping he’d show up, and he did. It was like that for months, one day we looked at the other, and we knew… I guess we fell in love. And at the same time we realized that we couldn’t see each other like that anymore. So we stopped hanging out. That lasted like three weeks tops. We were both miserable.”

“And then what happened?”

“I… it was the end of the semester, before finals, I had my first play, and he came to see it.”

“He came to see you.” She accurately points out.

“Right. Once it was over, he went backstage to say hi to everyone. I… before he left I said to him to wait for me in his car and he did. After everyone left, I headed out to the parking lot, got in the passenger seat and told him to drive. We talked for hours, trying to convince ourselves once more that we couldn't be together, that I'd never work, but it didn't matter. We made a choice and now here we are. We’ve been hiding for months and it…”

“It finally feels right to say it out loud.”

“I think so… I can’t tell anyone else in my life right now. It’s hard to trust anyone with a secret like that. But if Frank told you I guess I can trust you.”

“You can. I get it. Sometimes you can't choose who you fall in love with.”

“How come something that’s supposed to be wrong feels so right at the same time?” You’ve been wondering for months.

“That’s a complicated question, sweetie. But it’s usually the things that are supposed to be wrong that feel the best, unfortunately.”

Meanwhile, outside, Billy grills Frank a little more about you on a totally different approach than Dinah’s.

“C’mon, Frankie. You can’t be serious. You know you could lose your tenure if they find out.”

“They’re not going to find out.”

“If it was just sex I’d get it. I’ve had my fair share of coeds. The difference is that I’m not their teacher, well, sometimes they like to pretend that I am, if you know what I mean. But you’re bringing her to Curt’s wedding, as your date. That’s nuts.”

“Why is it so hard to believe that I love her?”

“Cause you haven’t been with anyone since Maria and the first person you date is one of your students. Does it sound sane to you? Are you having a midlife crisis or something?”

“You know, out of everyone, I thought you'd be the last one to judge, Bill.”

“I'm not judging you, Frankie. I'm just checking that you haven't completely lost your mind. Someone has to. You look like you're willing to risk it all out for her. Is she worth all that, your job, your reputation, your precious principles? I thought you had a code.”

“She's absolutely worth all that. Can you say the same about Dinah? When are you going to stop playing with her?”

“Me? She's the one who calls the shots. She's the one playing with me.”

“Yeah, sure.” Frank scoffs before taking a swallow of his beer.

“Okay, let's just say it's a game we both love playing. I use her, she uses me, it's a win-win situation.”

“Until someone gets hurt.”

“Well, some people like that. How are you keeping up with her?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean bed wise. I know from experience that twenty-year-olds are like feral cats. Can you handle something like that?”

“Jesus, Bill. You're fucking disgusting sometimes. Don't talk about her like that.”

“What? Have you forgotten how you were at her age? You were either fucking or thinking about fucking.”

“Not everything is about sex.”

“Right, so you're not having sex.”

“That's none of your business.”

“Well, if you're so willing to put your ass in the line, I hope you're getting at least something out of it.”

“That's all that is for you, huh? You never do anything unless you're getting something in return. Everyone and everything is trading businesses for you. Even love.”

“Love is for children, Frankie. Never did anything good for anyone. Look at you… Every woman that ever touched you left a deeper mark than the last one. I’d rather be shot a hundred times than having to carry imaginary scars. What do you think is gonna happen when she's done with you? You think a girl like that is ready to commit forever?”

“You're so full of shit, Bill. You talk big game, but you never made it past the side lines. If that's where you wanna stay there, fine, but don't pretend you know how it feels to put yourself out there and offer yourself without expecting anyone to hand everything to you right away.”

“You used to be more fun.”

“Well, your idea of fun is different from mine.”

“Hey, what did we miss?”

Dinah and you return to the table that seems to have gathered a visible dark cloud over them.

“Nothing, get your stuff. We're going back to the hotel.” Frank barks, promptly rising from his chair.

“Are you ready to tell me what happened between you and Billy?” you straddle Frank's lap on the bed. He's taken off his glasses and most of his clothes and the only thing left is his boxer briefs. You tried to pry on the way back here, but he was clearly still upset about something. Now that he's more relaxed you try again while you comb his hair with your fingers. “Was he mean to you? Do you want me to kick his bony ass?”

“I'd like to see that,” he chuckles as his palms smooth the bare skin of your thighs. “There's nothing to tell, sweetheart. He's just an asshole sometimes. I'll get over it. C'mere.”

He tucks a finger under your chin and pulls your face closer so he can seize your lips. You can tell he's trying to distract you from asking further questions but if he's not ready to talk about it then there's nothing you can't do right now. You happily accept his affection and quickly melt in the slow undoing of his tongue as it finds yours. It's easy to forget and forgive when he has you like this. All rational thought abandons you and suddenly your hips are grinding against him, following the same rhythm as his tongue as it becomes more eager to please you. His hands hold tight to your hips, coaxing you to feel him growing hard between those layers of underwear keeping your flesh from coming to close contact.

“God, I've been dying to have you like this, sweetheart,” his breathing falters between sloppy kisses.

“I know.” You break from his mouth and press your forehead against his, gazing down at the spot where your centers rub together to see his cock bulging up like mad.

Frank gets a hold of your top and swiftly pulls it over your head so he can kiss your tits. He buries his face in your chest while your arm curls around his nape. He's all tongue, teeth, and lips inciting your skin to come alive into tiny pimples. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, hums around it, and bites hard as you let out a breathless gasp when his teeth sink into your flesh. Before it starts hurting he releases it to see a faint mark around the circumference.

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Biting his bottom lip, he draws the shape of your jaw with a finger before shifting positions with you to have you on your back. That same finger traces the length of your torso all the way down to your underwear. He takes a full sight of you for a beat before yanking your panties off you and pushing his boxers down.

His feet shimmy out of the fabric, as he lowers himself on top of you, letting you meet his full erection that throbs over your tender, slicked flesh. His warm breath heats up your face when he presses his parted mouth at the corner of your lips. He viciously rubs himself against you, collecting your juices all around his cock. Then he buries himself inside you as your whole body trembles as usual. Every time he penetrates you like this, the most thrilling chill takes over your body before you can even come. It settles at the back of your head, as all your senses are taken by that powerful lust force that you can’t control. Each thrust of his hips, each kiss, and lick, and word whispered in your ear takes you closer to heaven. He fucks you with mind, body and soul, like real men do, making you come with ease each fucking time.

“Tell me you love me,” you moan against his jaw, while you dig your nails on his back.

“I love you. I fucking love you, sweetheart.” He desperately pants as the pace of his hips becomes more urgent.

“Tell me you need me.”

“Of course I need you. All the damn time.”

You both gradually lose your ability to breathe the closer you get to orgasm. His sweat sticks with yours as your bodies melt together in that haze of love and lust bubbling all over the room.

“Tell me you’re never going to leave me again.” It sounds needy as you say it, but you need to hear it over and over, especially now.

“I promise…fuck. I promise I’m never gonna leave you again, baby.”

One of his hands clutches to your hips to keep you still while he fucks the light of you with unbridled passion. You can feel every inch of your body vibrating to the sound of his skin slapping on yours. Your breath comes out forced in short breaths as he makes that final effort that tips you over the edge. Your walls flutter and contract around his cock for a moment as you reach the top of your climax.

“I’m gonna… fuck,“ you’re squeezing him so hard, he just spills all of himself inside you while you ride that tide that makes your vision blur and ears ring for a moment while he tries to tame his own orgasm.

When you come to your senses, he’s dead weight on top of you, limp and hot, kissing your neck softly while he regains his breath. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears still as one of our hands blindly glides up his back.

“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” his voice comes out hoarse.

“I know.”

“What you asked me to say… you know I mean it, right?”

“I think so.”

“Are you still scared that I’m gonna leave you?”

“A little, yeah. I… it was just seven days ago when you told me that you didn’t want to see me again. I know you didn’t mean it and that you only wanted to keep us safe, but it was a hard week, Frank. I’m not mad at you. It’s just been a roller coaster of emotions, and now we're here together, playing like a normal couple and I can't help but feeling a little insecure about all of it. Not just you.”

“I'm sorry,” he shifts on top of you, lifting his head so he can capture your eyes. “I really am. I hate to make you feel that way. I know it's confusing but you gotta know something. You… You're all that matters to me. I’d die without you, sweetheart.”

“Now, who’s the dramatic one?”

“I only learned from the best.”

The next day, the wedding ceremony is set at noon.

Half an hour before the event, everyone starts gathering at the lobby to walk together to the beach. Frank holds a palm at the small of your back while he introduces you to Curtis finally and a handful of friends. He manages to avoid stumbling onto Billy altogether.

When you get to the beach, Dinah beckons you to take a seat next to her on the fourth row. Meanwhile, Frank stands next to Curt in the makeshift altar framed by swaying palm trees and a spectacular backdrop of vibrant blue skies adorned with wispy clouds and a blinding sun. Right by the groom’s side also stand Curt’s brother and Billy, who seems to be feeling the icy chill of Frank’s cold shoulder. You’ve never seen him this mad at anyone before and by the way Billy occasionally glances at you and Dinah, you start to wonder you're the cause of their rift.

Frank has traded his glasses for aviators and shines so handsome in a navy blue suit with a white dress shirt and no tie. Everyone is dressed in light fabrics and bold colors. You’ve chosen a floral romper and wedges.

Waiting for the affair to start, as you produce a pair of shades to shield your eyes from the sun, Dinah lightly touches your arm.

“You know I don’t agree with Billy at all,” she says coolly as if you had any idea what's going on. “I told you he was harmless, but he can be a real asshole sometimes.”

“I…” You glance at her, trying to gather some thoughts cause you’re really lost right now.

“Oh, Frank didn’t tell you?” She realizes by your expression. “I'm so sorry. I thought you knew.”

“No, he didn't tell me. I asked him. He said that it was just Billy being Billy. But I could tell it was more than that.” You're afraid of asking but if it's something about you, you have the right to know. “Bill doesn't like me, does he?”

“It's not that. He believes Frank isn't thinking clearly when it comes to you. Said you're just an infatuation that's going to get him in trouble. I'm sorry that you had to hear it from me. Frank should've told you.”

“It's okay. It's nothing that he and I hadn't thought of before. It's hard to hear it from someone else's mouth though. I guess that's why he didn't want to tell me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it'll be fine. I don't know Billy enough to care about what he thinks. It's me and Frank that matters.”

“You have more class than me. I'd definitely get back at him if he tried to alienate anyone in my life like that.”

“It's not really my style. He can think whatever he wants. It's a free country.”

“I shouldn't tell you this but… just so you know he didn't get any of this last night. After you and Frank left he kept whining like a bitch and I just had it with him.”

“Oh God, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's not your fault.”

When the music starts playing, everyone rises from their seats to watch the bride walk down the aisle. They exchange bows under the most stunning setting you’ve ever seen. Though you don't know Curtis and Delia besides Frank’s stories, it's straight up lovely to see two people in love celebrating their joy with family and friends.

Once they’ve sealed the ceremony with a kiss, they cross the aisle together as husband and wife between joyful cheering and applause.

Then, the party moves to the reception in a locale nearby. It's held outside under a canopy of flowers and fairy lights illuminating the array of tables framing the dance floor. The food is served buffet style and your plate is 90% filled with shrimp when you take a seat next to Frank.

“Did you leave some shrimp for the rest?”

You simply shrug, amused, “you snooze, you lose. That's the rule of the buffet. Are you nervous about your speech?”

“A little.”

“Just pretend you're in class giving a lecture.”

“Yeah, I'll try that.” He gazes at you as he brings a piece of salmon to his mouth.

“And if that doesn't work, you know what they say… picture everyone naked.” You start stuffing yours with pieces of shrimp.

“I don't see how that'd be better. I don't wanna see any of these people in their birthday suits.”

“Then focus on me and my birthday suit.”

“I'll try that.”

Frank, of course, despite having some jitters about that best man speech he just has the right words to say about Curtis and Delia. He even makes everyone laugh with a couple of heartfelt jokes about his friendship with Curt. It's really endearing to see him among his people. You can tell that he's made a tight-knit group of loyal friends that'd be there for him for the rest of his life.

As the day progresses, and the alcohol starts taking effect a few people step into the dance floor. You spot Dinah dancing with Curtis’ brother and Billy sweet-talking to one of the bridesmaids by the buffet.

“You having a good time, baby?” Frank's arms circle your waist while you pick a glass of wine from the bar.

“I'm having the best time. Everyone is really nice.” You take a sip of your glass.

“I told you that there was nothing to worry about. Everyone loves you.”

“Well, not everyone.” You tilt your head to the side to point at Billy. “You should've told me what happened.”

“I didn't want to upset you.”

“I'm not upset, Frank. Like I told Dinah, I don't know him enough to care about what he thinks. I know you were trying to protect me, but you don't have to.”

“It's not that, sweetheart. I'm just tired of having the same conversation. We know what we're up against. Figure I could save you the headache of going through all our faults again. There was no point in telling you all the bullshit that came out of his mouth.”

“Well, that's good to know, but I don't want to hear it from other people either. If he said anything about me, I have the right to know, don't you think?”

“He didn't say anything specifically about you, baby. It was mostly about me choosing to bring you here.”

“But it really upset you. You should've told me.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” he kisses your jaw. “How can I make it up to you?”

“Hm… let me think,” you sway your hips, making him move with you. “I think a dance will suffice.”

“Sweetheart, I love you, but I can’t dance to this.”

“I can wait for a slow one.”

“Alright, but just one song.”

“Got it.”

As much fun as you had with Frank dancing without a care in the world, there's nothing like being back in the hotel room to rest for the night. Mingling with that many people can be exhausting and though you had a great time, you revel in the quietness and comfort of these four walls. To wash out the day of your skin, you take a shower together. Then you lay naked on the bed, face down with our arms tucked under your head while Frank's hands massage your back. His fingers knead all the right spots until you’ve completely relaxed before feeling his lips pressing soft kisses all over your spine. One of his hands slips between your thighs. You separate your knees further apart to make room for it as he softly massages your sex. His palm gently rubs back and forth while he presses his mouth to your ear.

“How does that feel, baby?”

“Good. So fucking good,” you hum. “Don’t stop, please.”

“You gonna make a mess for me, huh?” you notice one of his fingers slipping between your folds to feel those early drops of arousal. “Yeah, you always do.”

You laugh to yourself as he presses a little harder, drawing mind-numbing circles around your clit.

“God, I love you so much.” You lightly wave your ass at his touch, aching for more fiction.

Frank takes the hint and uses his index and middle fingers to rub harder around your hardened nub as he presses his semi-hard against your hip.

“Look what you do to me,” his breathing echoes in your ear, while he rubs himself on your skin. “You proud of yourself?”

“Not quite. You should be harder already,” you turn your head to look at him and move your closest hand to grab his length.

He laughs against your mouth before sending his tongue to taste your kiss.

Mutually serving the other, his cock grows harder in your fist, as you melt around his fingers when they invite themselves into your opening.

“Open your legs a little more, sweetheart,” you heed his command. “Attagirl.”

His thick fingers quickly are wrapped in a sheen layer of your juices as he pushes them in and out repeatedly, letting your arousal drip on the sheets. At the same time, you massage his raging erection that barely fits in the curl of your palm anymore when it's fully swollen.

“I wanna feel you, Frank,” you purr on his lips as he drives you out of your mind.

“Yeah? Want me to come inside you?” He makes a point to press his fingertips hard on your g-spot to earn a good moan out of you.

“You need me to beg?”

“A little. Yeah.”

“Please, I need you to fuck me.”

“Say what you whisper in my ear when you wake me up in the middle of the night just to fuck.”

“I'd die if you don't wake up right now and fuck me,” you sigh. “Please. I need you, king.”

“That's my girl. C'mere.” He takes his fingers away and handles your body so you're laying on your side. He pulls your back flush against his chest and drives the blunt tip of his cock smoothly between your legs.

“God, you're always so fucking wet.”

“Just for you.”

As you adjust your leg to be more comfortable, he tucks his arms around you. His bottom arm slips under your armpit to hold your chest, while his opposite hand rubs its fingers on your clit. Frank thrusts come long and dragged. His mouth opens at the crook of your neck to devour your flesh. You take the hand holding your tit and bring it up to your mouth so you can take his fingers between your lips.

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come, baby,” he rumbles in your ear when you blow his fingers as if it was his cock.

You can tell he's ready to burst by the way his length twitches inside you every time his fingertips touch the back of your throat.

Wrapped in an ethereal veil made out of love and lust, your bodies sync up and lace in an intricate knot, moving together like one. You expel the same shallow breaths. Pulses follow the same pattern. Arch your bodies at the same angle. He keeps a steady rhythm on your folds, you keep your mouth tight around his knuckles. When your legs start trembling, he trembles with you. You beg him again, to go harder. Your core fuses with his as the flame between burns brighter and hotter the closer you get to the top. Overwhelmed by the intoxicating haze, at the very last second, his body gives up and falls out of cadence. Frank comes with the force of a waterfall before you do. A deep grunt echoes in the room as his hips erratically keep pushing for a couple of seconds until he’s spilled every last drop into you.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby,” his breathing falters.

“It’s okay. Just don’t stop. Please.” You pull your mouth away from his hand.

“Sh, sh, I won’t. Come for me, baby.” His fingers stay glued to your clit, his cock remains hard, and deep buried inside your walls while he keeps viciously rubbing on it to grant you your release.

You're so close, you can feel your body about to meet that same force. You clutch your hand around his wrist as your body locks for a beat before being overcome by that whirlwind of pleasure that takes you to a higher ground.

Frank holds you tight as your body goes limp in his embrace. You’d die here if you could, in his arms wrapped around you, in the comfort of his kisses and his voice in your ear telling you how much he loves you.

[hanjicores]

quit playing games with my heart

synopsis: gojo’s a gamer and so are you. in fact, you’re both so good at it, you reach top rankings in international competitions, and that’s how you notice each other. but romance is more than just a game — or is it?

cw: fem reader, rivals

author's note: welcome to the first chapter of my first story! i’m nervous but excited for you all to read and i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it! comments and any criticism is welcomed, thank you ♡

wc: 719 (seven hundred nineteen)

the long hours, the many restless days, if you didn’t know any better you’d think that it was utterly useless to be doing this for so many months.

although, fate would have it that your determination and dedication had in fact gotten you into another international gaming competition.

you arise from your mesh, pink chair to stretch your legs. sitting for hours on end numbed every part of your lower body and always leaving your hands glued to a keyboard and mouse threatened your joints with arthritis.

when you had the time you’d usually go for a short jog while fumbling with a fidget toy. you were only in your mid 20s and felt the consequences of gaming all day and all night.

except that this was your job. you in fact earned money from streaming video games you played and entering gaming competitions, so it was inevitable that you’d feel all these effects. it would be no different from having a normal job now, would it?

this year though, this year had to be different. you had to win this competition to prove to yourself that you are fit to do this for the rest of your life. placing second is not going to happen this year.

you were going to place first and beat gojo satoru. you were going to show him what it felt like to come in second every. damn. time.

the next few days were absolute hell. you put yourself in training mode to prepare you for the competition. minimal sleep, maximum hours on game, getting just enough hydration and nutrition to get you through to the next day.

relief crashed over you as you plopped down into your first class seat aboard the airplane. you fumbled with your seatbelt to get it fastened because you were already feeling the consequences of gaming day in and day out.

your eyelids had start to slowly close shut as you finally got some hours of rest before landing in tokyo, japan.

in the early morning of the day, your plane had finally landed at the airport. you sat up in your seat and stretched your arms straight up into the air. you let out a soft sigh as you brought your arms back down in front of you to unbuckle your seatbelt.

you were never one to rush off the plane so you patiently waited in your seat as most of the passengers had deplaned, then followed suit.

the only thing on your mind at the moment was finding the nearest place for food. you approached a small coffee cart in the terminal hallways and got yourself a small mocha latte with a matcha muffin. you scarfed down the muffin and slowly sipped away at your latte.

japan was like a second home to you since you were here whenever you got the chance to be in a gaming competition, and to tell the truth, it was almost every chance they held a gaming tournament. you knew you were one of the best top players in the world so securing a spot for yourself was child’s play.

you hailed a taxi to your hotel which was nearby since the competition was being held about an hour and a half from your place of stay. the convenience this time around was such a blessing to you so that you could leave just at the last minute.

the taxi pulled into the entrance of the hotel and you thanked the driver before exiting the vehicle. you dug through your carry on to grab your id out of your wallet.

as you sauntered for the front doors of the hotel, a tall figure had bumped into you and knocked you down to the floor.

"my bad. are you alright?"

that voice. you recognized that voice. before even looking up, you glanced at the large palm reached out towards you and disregarded it, managing to stand up on your own.

"oh, how nice it is that i'm staying at the same hotel as you, satoru." your words full of acidity, but your face showcasing a wide smile stretching ear to ear.

gojo snickered as he retracted his hand to his glasses to lower them on his button nose, exposing his azure eyes that glistened like the ocean when the sun shines down on it.

"it is, isn't it? i think this'll be very, very fun."

[hanmaitani]

Maybe Sundays Aren't So Bad

PAIRING - Miya Osamu x Reader WC - 1.4K GENRE - fluff A/N - this series is... everything to me. pls don't block me for it <3 CW - light mentions of religion, god and faith ( i do mean only a few lines ), reader and osamu are in their last year of high school in this part

MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

The first time that you really caught his eye was on a Sunday. Around noon to be precise. The first time that he looked at you for longer than a second. The moment that would change his life.

Osamu had been sitting outside of a cafe, nursing a warm coffee - no longer a hot coffee after the time he'd spent ignoring it - and still trying to shake himself out of his half-away haze. The cafe was one he had commonly visited, but never on a Sunday before.

It was busier on a Sunday morning than he'd expected and nearly all of the tables had been taken by the time he had gotten there. He had, however, been lucky enough to snatch a table that was much too big for him to sit at on his own. He felt a small pang of guilt through his chest now, but it was quickly dulled by his intense need to sit and not speak to people.

It was, of course, why he was here after all. Why he'd left his house so early in the morning on his own. He wanted to not be spoken to yet.

He wasn't exactly fond of Sunday mornings, if he was being completely honest. Sundays were meant to rest. Nothing to do on them. The one day he could sleep in. It was a day without the need to be responsible the entire time.

Which is why it was almost noon and he was still trying to wake himself up. Why he was at a cafe instead of at home, avoiding the pestering of his twin brother who wanted to turn the resting day into an active day.

Osamu was observing the people at the cafe, it was why his coffee had gone from hot to only just warm. Watching the couples who held hands across the table and chatted, the families feeding airplanes to their babies, children running between the tables. And now? Watching those who had just recently exited the church across the street from where he sat.

He hadn't quite worked up enough energy to open and read the book he'd brought for himself yet, coffee not yet empty enough for him to pursue that tedious endeavor. So he just watched.

It was then, as the street flooded with more people exited the church service, that for the first time in his life he would be grateful that he was just a bit oblivious at times. Because if he hadn't been oblivious, if he had instead noticed you walking up to his table, he definitely would have left before you reached it.

Osamu, even years later, would swear up and down to the fact that you came into his line of sight like a ray of sunshine bleeding through a dreary day. A cheerful contrast to his dull morning demeanor.

"Do you mind if I sit here? All the tables around are full." Your voice was soft on his ears, trying to make yourself seem as quiet as you could. There was a smile on your face, head tilting to the side as you asked the question.

He never would have said yes. Not to someone invading his Sunday.

Usually that is.

But something about you made him hesitate in saying no. You seemed to beam in front of him. It felt like you were suddenly filling him up with a light feeling, waking him up just a little bit more. Better than caffeine.

"You're not much of a morning person, are you Osamu?" You covered your small smile with a hand and Osamu scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.

The confusion didn't last long, however, you turned your head to look around the cafe as you grabbed the chair. It quickly crashed down on him who exactly was sitting down in the seat in front of him.

You were the same girl that had sat in front of him in class for the last two years. The same one who sat in front of him in class this year as well. He hadn't recognized you ar first, you looked different today. It wasn't just the lack of school uniform, but something else, your whole demeanor was brighter.

A million thoughts of realization crashed down on him through his brain fog but he settled for a simple answer. "Not a mornin' person on Sundays."

You immediately laughed at his response, a sound that echoed in his ears and made him question if he would be able to make you do it again. And then immediately question why he wanted to so badly.

"Oh but mornings are the best on Sundays." Osamu let out a scoff as he took another sip of his coffee, wincing lightly at the fact that it was getting colder. "They are!" You exclaimed, bringing your own cup to your lips.

"Mornings of faith." Osamu eyed you suspiciously over the rim of his cup, but you seemed unbothered by it as you kept speaking. "I always get up early on Sundays to get ready for church."

That's what it was, he realized finally. It was your hair. It wasn't just that you were out of your uniform, but your hair. Styled up to perfection and not the usual style that you wore to school. He studied you more for a moment before his tired brain caught up with your expectation you had for him to respond in some sort of way.

He hummed to make it seem like he'd been thinking about your words more carefully than he truthfully had been. "I don' 'xactly go t'church. I'm not really sure if I believe in God." The words floated out of his mouth before he thought and he immediately was mentally hitting himself.

Why in the world would he say that to you?

He was expecting you to get upset, but you didn't. Instead, you laughed again, more of a giggle this time. "That's okay." You took another sip from your cup as a pause to your thought. "Sometimes I'm not sure if I do either. But that's okay. Religion doesn't always equal faith. You can have faith in a lot of things."

He looked at you quietly in confusion, you thought it was kinda cute, the tired way his eyebrows cinched and his eyes squinted. You wanted to keep that look of confusion on his face for your own amusement a little longer. You kept talking though, wanted to explain yourself.

"You can have faith in an unknown out there, something to believe in that's bigger than you. Like," you hummed in thought for a moment before exclaiming happily with a clap of your hands, "like soulmates!"

"Y'mean jus' roman'ic love." He felt amusement course through him at the dreamy look that had entered your eyes and as it quickly turned into faux betrayal at his response.

"No. Soulmates." You said it in a 'matter-of-fact' tone that you had trouble pushing out without a smile creeping onto your lips.

He wasn't sure what it was and neither did you, but neither of you could bring yourself to move from the other. So you both sat there, together, in the middle of a busy cafe with quickly cooling cups of coffee, discussing the concept of faith and soulmates and fate until the lunch rush started to calm down.

When time came for you to leave, he tried to say goodbye, mouth opening for the farewell. He didn't even get the first syllable out before you quickly stopped him.

"I hate goodbyes!" You laughed as you held your hands up in protest. "They feel so final. I'll see you in class tomorrow!" You threw him one last smile as you both turned separate ways to leave.

He couldn't help but throw a glance over his shoulder to see you one last time.

You weren't that far yet. Barely even six feet away from him. But as you walked further away it felt like you pulled something in his chest along with you.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you. It felt like if he looked away, if he even blinked, then he'd realize this had all been a dream.

He realized, as he watched you walk away, that even though his coffee was only half empty, he'd never felt so away this early in the day on a Sunday. He decided then, that maybe Sundays aren't so bad.

TAGLIST - OPEN @tsukiran @awkwardaardvarkforever @ryomance

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 5: Scared Enough

Authors Note (CW: substance abuse)

Previous chapters linked in my Masterlist

Word count: 4.6k

 The chauffeur observes you all too closely, pacing outside Dami’s dressing room. You're both waiting for him to do a final line of coke before leaving for the airport. Then he flushes everything down the toilet and scrubs out the pill case.

“Are you gonna be okay for another four hours?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be lucky if this high lasts half an hour.”

“So what do you do on airplanes?”

“Drink and suffer.” He laughs at the face you make. “I deserve it, I did this to myself.” Dami keeps that smile plastered on, but it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks downward to hide it, awkwardly scuffing the end of his boot against the carpet. You sigh heavily, yearning for the right words, but being unable to find them.

“We have to leave now if we want a chance of making our flight.”

“Yeah.” Damiano essentially chain smokes all the way to the airport and refuses to eat, so you end up consuming half the pizza. He insists on carrying your bag while the valet checks his. On the walk to the gate, you trail behind Dami and tuck your hair under a beanie. Unfortunately sunglasses at night draw more attention, not less.

You make it with negative five minutes to spare; they’re already boarding business class. To avoid a disgruntled traveler filming the entitled rich couple cutting in line, you stand at the very back. The stewardess panics over the fact that first class passengers were the last to board. Damiano uses a bit of his magic to calm her and stop attracting curious glances.

“No complaints here, I promise.” He leans forward enough to just barely breach her personal space and lets his husky baritone take over. Dami has this ambiguous closed lip smile that's totally up to the eye of the beholder. Their interpretation reveals the victim’s motivations. This girl wants to fuck Dami, and you don’t blame her. In fact, she’s so taken that she can only manage a nod. 

Once out of earshot you murmur, “that poor girl.”

“What?” Damiano says under his breath.

“You know what.” He smirks and steps on to the plane. “Let's hope she doesn't fuck up some poor family’s travel itinerary while dickmatized.” Dami scoffs as he shoves your bag into the overhead compartment. 

“It’ll be fine,” he dismisses.

“Says the one without the screaming toddler and 15 hour layover.” This earns a chuckle and he gestures for you to take the window seat.

“Proximity to the bathroom is probably the best plan of action.”

“Stomach still upset?”

“I’m hoping that now it's the kind of upset that can be made better by food that way I can drink.’

“Charming. Maybe wait a bit?”

“Ah, but there's a method to this. You’ve got to start drinking preemptively, that way you’re already drunk when the time for alcohol consumption arrives.” You can tell by Dami’s delivery that he’s used this line at parties and it always landed well. When he sees your face, his confidence drifts away.

“While you're…away I’ll stop drinking, too. That way you have a sobriety buddy.”

“Mm, ‘buddy,’” he winces.

“Yes, ‘buddy.’ Until I’m confident you’re not gonna put your ass in a coma, again. And then some.” 

“Fair, that’s fair.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Damiano leans his head back against the seat and exhales heavily. The sound of the pilot's voice on the intercom makes him startle.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Out of habit you rub his leg, then realize that rubbing his arm is much more platonic, albeit awkward. You decide that the middle ground is petting his hair. The buzzcut is surprisingly soft under your fingers.

“Will you grow it out while you’re there?”

“Do you want me to?” He turns his head to look at you, eyebrow raised. Suddenly, making requests about his appearance has much more significance than it did a moment ago.

“Yes,” you answer timidly.

“Then I’ll grow it out.” It's the most tense airplane ride of your life. You’re trying to monitor how hard Damiano’s crashing, while realizing you have no actual experience with cocaine or withdrawals. What do you look for and how do you look for it without him noticing? One fact is abundantly clear, whether you catch his symptoms or not, there isn’t jack shit you can do about them. 

Soon after the plane has leveled out, he gets jumpy. A cough or the ding of the seatbelt light spook Dami so severely that he has to catch his breath. He starts craning  his neck, looking around at the rest of the plane. Eventually he leans all the way out into the aisle then snaps upright, gluing his back to the seat like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

“What is it?” you whisper.

“I feel like people are filming me.”

“Lets trade seats.” While switching places, you scan the plane for phones. Everyone in first class is laying down except for one woman reading an article on her computer. There's an opaque, closed curtain between first class and business class. The pattern is gaudy, mustard yellow and cobalt blue. Realistically, the only people that could film Dami were those walking up the currently empty aisle or fatigued stewardesses who would be fired for the transgression.

“No one's filming, you’re good. They’re mostly sleeping.” A bored flight attendant infers your concern and hangs a temporary privacy curtain on two small hooks. Damiano orders a mini charcuterie board and two shots of whiskey.

“They’re still filming me,” he hisses, slouching down in his chair. The plane is dark, so you search for the bright light of a camera flash and see nothing.

“Dam, I’m positive no one is filming. If they were, they couldn’t catch anything.” The flight attendant returns with his order and a payment terminal.

“Oh, and two bottles of water please.” You reach down for your purse, but Dami bats your hands away.

“I –”

“No. Do you want anything else?”

“I’m good.” He gives you a dirty look. “I ate your dinner on the drive to the airport.” Dami lets this slide and passes her his debit card. Already knowing that the beep is gonna make him jump, you take your hand in his and whisper, “gonna be a noise. Deep breath.” Dami keeps hold of your hand, even as the stewardess passes his card back, even as he puts it back in his wallet, even as he shoves his wallet into the pocket of his hoodie. Then he leans over and presses his forehead to your temple and all you can think is thank god he’ll be in a secure facility. Because nothing short of that could keep you from throwing your morals to the wind and rechristening your once shared bed.

“It was Aimee, the girl who’s roommate I started – I first did H with.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“But I broke my promise,” his voice wavers, barely audible. “At first it was celebrating the new contract, but then I couldn’t stop. I thought I wouldn’t need any of it, once SME let up. Like I’d forced their hand and the drugs had just been a tool to get my way. I wasn’t an addict.” You push the armrest up, undo your seatbelt, and turn to hug him. “My quality of life is better, but I still needed all this shit to alter my perception so I could exist. In my mind it was strictly a causal relationship. That was fucking delusional.”

“No it wasn’t.” Damiano cries against the shoulder of your sweater and you rub his back.

“I’m so fucking scared,’ he confesses. “I thought I had control so it was like the floor disappearing out from under me. Months of rationalizations built on a lie and I was just falling and it still feels like I’m falling.”

“I’ve got you.”

“That fucking feeling is the reason I don’t go on rollercoasters and now I get to feel it all the time, how painfully ironic is that?”

“Fate has a really twisted sense of irony.”

“The world is punishing me and I deserve it.” You pull back and cup Dami’s colorless face in your hands.

“No you don’t,” you emphasize, brushing tears away with your thumbs. “Thinking you deserve pain, that's the reason it's so hard for you to quit, because you can’t bear to be alone with yourself. I love being alone with you. Dami, you are a beautiful person.” He kisses you, and really you shouldn’t have expected anything else. The responsible thing would be to pull away and gently reestablish a boundary, but you’ve been craving this so hard. Five seconds, that’s the amount of time you allow.

In those five seconds, you kiss back with equal vigor. The hands cupping Damiano’s face end up extended behind his head. With elbows out of the way, you can press your torso against his while Dami pulls you close, then closer still. His tongue has just found yours when times up. Unfortunately, you don’t have the discipline to wrench yourself away and instead pull back slowly. Damiano responds by trying to haul you into his lap, but you make a noise of dissent. There's a chaste goodbye kiss and a sexually-charged disentangling of bodies. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it's uh…” Not out of my system by any measurement.

“It’s just that, um –”

“Mhm”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, no sorry I didn’t –”

“No, you go first.”

“Saying anything.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything, sorry.”

“Oh..okay.”

“What were you saying?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a second ago, you were saying something before I interrupted you.”

“Oh, I was just gonna say that…five months – well, it's almost been five months – is a lot of time.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Yeah…since the breakup.”

“Since we last made lo – the breakup. Since we made the break up.”

“Also since we last made love,” you smirk. You hold eye contact, just like you’ve been all day, but this time there's heat behind it. Damiano’s eyes fall to your lips and he leans in again. You hold up a hand to stop him while grimacing. 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault. I’ve been giving you mixed signals, acting like we’re still in a relationship physicality-wise while saying we have to keep our distance for now. I’m just so used to comforting you through touch and I have no idea where the line is to be honest.”

“Sometimes touch is the only thing that is comforting, especially yours.”

“I’m just a physically affectionate person, like I need human contact to feel grounded.”

“I know,” he empathizes emotionally.

“So I’m not good at this,” you admit. “But I wanna be, it’s just…” you sigh while staring at the 80s patterned carpet.

“What?”

“I think if we’re physical my body will forget that we’re broken up. My mind will know, but I think I’ll still feel heartbroken if you aren’t there.”

“Baby, no,” he coos.

“I can’t go through it again and still be the support you need me to be and that I want to be. The affection…for lack of a better word, withdrawals were…rough. But I don’t want to act like strangers either. Like this,” you lace your fingers together, “should be fine, right?”

“Yeah,” Damiano murmurs, but his eyes say so much more.

“So I just have to do my best to keep it at this.” You squeeze down simultaneously, all too easily falling into rhythm with each other. “And ignore the part of my brain that tells me to crawl into your lap, take off all my clothes, and give you a bath with my tongue.” Damiano’s eyes go wide and he blinks a couple times in quick succession. 

“Sorry, that was a little graphic.”

“Actually I’m mentally bookmarking that image for tomorrow afternoon.”

“That's when things will get ugly?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve never detoxed from H before, but they have medication to help with that.” He’s visibly nervous and sweating. Damiano opens the shot with one hand and his teeth, then knocks it back. You set a bottle of water on his tray in response. He drinks a quarter of that, which you're feeling good about until he takes the second shot.

“Eat something or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“I know,” he retorts, annoyed. To be fair, Damiano does know a lot more about substances and how they combine than you do. As he’s eating, Dami looks at the row behind us through the crack between the seats. Finally, you recognize it as paranoia.

“I’ll check for phones again, you just keep eating.” The woman on her computer is now working on a spreadsheet and the person directly behind Damiano is watching Casablanca on his phone. Definitely not the Maneskin demographic. Beyond first class, even more passengers are dozing and there's not a single flash from a phone camera. 

“Still no one.” The guy behind us is watching a movie in black and white, so I seriously doubt he knows who you are.” 

“Fine,” Dami concedes, still on edge. He orders two more shots and you haven’t seen him consume alcohol like this since he was a teenager. Sure, he’d have four drinks at an egregiously long event, but shots of crappy whiskey in quick succession was a different behavior entirely. He unclasps his hand and excuses himself to the bathroom. It’s so casual that you can’t ascertain why. When Damiano returns, he doesn’t take your hand again, so you pretend to be on your phone.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all good.” If you weren’t broken up, you’d fling your legs over his lap and coax him to look at you. If you weren’t broken up, he’d stroke your hair and tuck it behind your ears. Then he’d massage the shell of your ear. If you weren’t broken up, you’d press your foreheads together and Dami would say everything he meant with his expression. Totally vulnerable, he’d confess his thoughts in a whisper, wrapping an arm around your waist. If you weren’t broken up, you’d know details he’d never disclose to anyone else. The emotional intimacy would throb with the beat of your heart. You’d become so accustomed to having your person, and the total vulnerability which accompanied that.  

But you were broken up, so you sat in silence. By the time the place descends, Dami is visibly uncomfortable in his own skin. He has no patience, glowering at the passengers around him. At first the lights coming on is the problem, then the ding of the seatbelt warning, then the way the pilot is descending.

“I need to be off this motherfucking plane,” he hisses. He yanks down the privacy curtain then complains how exposed first class is. You just listen to him and don’t comment. Luckily, the flight attendant allows the both of you off first. This time you carry your own bag until that pisses Dami off too and he lugs it over his shoulder with a scowl.

“I’m gonna take a piss,” he announces, when you arrive at baggage claim. You grab his hand and point to the family bathroom.

“Use that.”

“Why?” he bites. “Why can’t I use a normal fucking bathroom.” You scowl right back.

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot. Because you could ask someone for drugs, or sneak away, or refuse to get in the car. I am far too tired to deal with that shit.” He rolls his eyes, sighs loudly, and heeds your request. Five years of dealing with his mood swings had prepared you for this like none other.

The chauffeur finds you, then finds Dami’s bag, all while he’s still in the bathroom. Had he somehow gotten his hands on something? You’d been with him the whole time. After ten minutes you knock on the door.

“You alive?” He undoes the lock and you slip inside. Dami is bent over the sink with his face in his hands.

“I’m not gonna survive the drive there.” He takes a shaky breath in and sobs. “And I can’t detox from both simultaneously, so don’t fucking asking me to. I want to go home!” 

 “Damiano, in five months you have been hospitalized four times for your substance abuse. You’ve been in a coma. You’ve started taking two of the hardest drugs known to man. You’ve been one modicum of self-control away from doing crack. You’ve poisoned your body to the point that it can’t retain food or liquids. You are going to die.” He looks up in shock. “You are going to die unless you get sober and if I take you home with me, you are gonna do it in our apartment.” There's a long silence where Damiano opens and closes his mouth a couple times, then swallows hard.

“I’ve never experienced physical withdrawal symptoms like I’m about to. I’m…I’m not – I mean, I can’t.”

“You only have to do it once and this is the easiest it's ever gonna be. I know you’re brave enough.”

“You know fuck all!” he lashes out. “It’s not about bravery or some positive affirmation bullshit.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand and I know you hate me right now.”

“I don’t hate you,” he grumbles, standing upright. 

“What you’re feeling is a result of withdrawals. That doesn’t invalidate your emotions, it just means that this particular brand of shitty is very temporary.” Damiano nods and washes his face, beginning to regulate. “That also means that your perception is skewed. The world isn’t nearly as horrible as your brain chemistry is fooling you into believing.

“Okay,” he sniffs. Then he repeats himself with certainty. “Okay. I’m gonna do this. I’ll be okay.” On the walk to the car you trail behind him again, prepared to catch Damiano if he makes a run for it. Once everything is in the Sudan you relax, but Dami has his hands balled into fists as you turn out of the airport.

“Just 40 minutes” you remind him. “Less since there's no traffic right now.” 

“Partition, please,” Dami requests, creating privacy behind the tinted windows. Barely perceptible is the sound of a small motor as the driver rolls up the partition between himself and the backseat.

“You wanna lay down with your head on my lap?” He nods and undoes the seatbelt, curling his body to fit in the small space. As soon as your hand makes contact, Dami begins crying. For the first time in a long time, he allows himself to be exposed, to be truly seen. It's the part of him that used to ask for French braids. He’d never actually wear them in public, but loved the sensation. It was the part of him  that got genuinely nervous about you enjoying a family recipe. The part that could relax and receive when you fingered him with two digits.The part that lay with Princess on his bare chest because he liked the way her fur felt.

“I don’t want to be alone with myself,” Dami confesses. “I can’t remember the last time I liked that person. Fuck, I’m starting to hate my own stage persona.”

“Front men are supposed to be obnoxious to non-fans. If you were likable to the previous generation of rock listeners, you wouldn’t be rock and roll.” 

“Maybe I’m a shitty musician.”

“Someone could justify that statement about most rockstars.” 

“Every tour, every album, every new fucking setlist, I watch the power trio get more talented and I just say the same.”

“That’s objectively not true, but I know I can’t convince you of that today.”

“I should take vocal lessons.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Suddenly he’s abrasive.

“Because it will make you feel more productive and more confident. It could also help the longevity of your voice.”

“Oh.” He settles and allows you to stroke his head. “Why is it so quiet?” he gripes.

“Could you roll down the partition and hand me the aux, please?” Leaning over to dig your phone out of your purse also results in Dami getting a face full of your boobs. He seems to be in better spirits afterwards.

“This band is called Snowy Dunes. It’s bluesy hard rock, I think you’ll really like it.”

‘“That's not what I’ve been listening to lately, but sure.”

“Crotchety old man.” Damiano does, in fact, keep his head on your lap the whole way there. There’s two fences, the first with an attendant and the second with an intercom. The security level seems to pacify Dami.

“Just stay in the car, please. I’ll get it,” he says to the valet. You hop out as he pulls his suitcase from the trunk. It’s the very beginning of dawn, when the world is painted in a deep blue light and the birds start to chirp. The facility is just as beautiful as you expected, well manicured trees barely visible and a grand entrance with double doors. The care idles, red taillights ominously hitting the octagon cement tiles. You take Dami’s hand and walk him inside.

“And I thought the other places I’ve been to were nice,” he murmurs.

“Remember that you put yourself on the waiting list three months ago.” He chuckles, before speaking on another intercom.Theres a clicking sound and the left door opens automatically.

“Hey there, we only keep this entrance locked at night,” is the first thing a staff member says. “Are you Damiano?”

“Uh, yeah.” He looks at you, almost overwhelmed with the urge to run.

“I’m y/n, I spoke with you earlier.” You drag him inside and use your free hand to greet someone in a white uniform.

“A little apprehension is normal. Or a lot.”

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asks curtly. 

“Right through here,” responds who you now assume to be an orderly. He leads Dami around a corner and follows him inside.

“Hi there, would you mind if I ask you a couple questions?” A newly appeared nurse seats herself behind a counter on the other side of the hall. The lights were almost as low inside as they were outside.

“Oh, uh yeah! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. And uh, he doesn’t have anything on him. We just traveled through two of the biggest airports in Europe. His stomach has just been upset from y’know…”

“Right, of course,” she responds with genuine sympathy. Now you feel better about leaving him here. “I’ll say goodbye and get out of your hair as soon as he’s back.”

“What's your relationship to Damiano?”

“Well, I was his girlfriend for five and a half years.”

“Woah, five years is a lot in your early twenties.”

“Yeah…but we broke up, because of the…addiction issues. Plus the fame makes things…it makes them complicated.” What you really meant is that global popularity is so intrusive that vital aspects of a relationship go unattended because there's simply no room. She nods like this is something they see daily.

“Do you know what he’s taken in the past 24 hours?”

“Cocaine, uh alcohol, and maybe heroin, I don’t know. He smokes weed and rolled tobacco, plus normal cigarettes.” There's not an ounce of surprise or judgment. She enters the information into the computer like it's the weather report.

“Crack cocaine?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The clicks of the laptop seem loud, but maybe that's because the world around you is so silent.

“He only started using heroin regularly three weeks ago. I don’t know if that matters.” You feel defensive of Dami, then like an dumbass because you were standing in rehab for fuck’s sake. Anxious, you look over your shoulder.

“Do you know when the last time he used heroin was?”

“No.”

“Do you know how he’s ingesting it?”

“No.”

“And do you know what type of heroin he’s using?”

“Um, no. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” she reassures. “We’re just happy to have a little extra information if you’re able to provide it. Do you know when he last ingested cocaine?”

“Four hours ago.”

“Alright. Do you have payment information? It looks like his intake fee has already been paid.”

“Yeah, that was me.” While you were dating, Damiano paid rent and you paid utilities. It was far from equatable, but you made a lot less and he insisted. Post breakup, you found out that a spacious apartment in Rome with private parking was even more exorbitantly priced than he’d led you to believe. So you’d called your landlord to clarify a move out date and were informed that in addition to taking himself off the lease as agreed, he’d paid out the two year contract in its entirety. If you were to move out, the remainder of the money would be yours. 

Subsequently, you decided to stay in that absolutely gorgeous apartment, right up until you needed the money for something. After thoroughly guilt tripping your landlord, he gave you half of the remaining lease payment, which you used for application fees and to eventually secure a spot at rehab for Dami. It was, after all, a totally ridiculous amount for him to essentially give you, with no way of rejecting or returning it.

“I’m not sure if his label is gonna pay directly or reimburse him or what.”

“Alright, so I’ll just collect that information later.” She looks up from her computer screen. “The important thing is that you got him here.” You bite the inside of your lip to suppress the urge to cry. No doubt you were gonna end up lying in a pool of your own tears and snot later today, but if you started now saying goodbye would be very ugly.

“How much pain is he gonna be in?” Before she can answer, there's two sets of footsteps behind you.

“No windows?”

“Not ones that I could reach.”

“If you were the proper height for a basketball player…”

“Oh, shut up,” he jokes (mostly). “So which one of you is gonna tear apart all my belongings like a racoon in a dumpster?”

“Damiano!” You’re laughing too hard to reprimand him, as are the two staff members.

“They’re gonna throw out my 70€ shampoo!”

“You don’t have hair!”

“That’s true,” he smiles, rubbing his buzz cut. This was so like him, rallying at the end so you could leave in good spirits. He was trying to spare you some anguish. It also meant he’d decided to commit.

“We actually have storage lockers for this very reason. Once we feel confident, you can have your shampoo back,” reassures the nurse. “Do you have a form of ID you can show me?”

“Uh, yeah.” His voice wavers ever so slightly. Next he signs a release to provide treatment.

“Looks like you’re all checked in,” she announces in a cheery voice. It's your cue to leave. Both staff members find a reason to look away so you have a moment of semi-privacy. It becomes apparent that your tears won’t wait for a more convenient moment. So you hug him to give yourself a tiny bit of grace to wrangle your emotions. 

“Are you crying?”

“Yes.” The hug isn’t platonic at all, with your arms thrown around his neck and his dangerously low on your back. Body to body, standing with your feet between Dami’s, any closeness that can be acceptably achieved in public has been.

“I’m so angry with the world that you have to deal with this and I’m –” You take a steadying deep breath. “I’m so fucking proud of you and for facing it an – and grateful.”

“Even though it scares me shitless?”

“Especially because it scares you shitless.”

“I love you.” He whispers it right in your ear and kisses your temple

“I love you, too,” you hiccup.

“Give Princess a kiss for me.” He pulls away, takes a step back, then another, and he’s gone without ever meeting your eyes. Seeing as they have actual patients to care for, you drag yourself back to the SUV. Then you cry so hard that the chauffeur stops at his brother’s gelato shop on the way home. 

Notes: Well if it isn't some more nice, light reading from your gal FilthforFriends!

@surelyfreedombound @shinshans @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog @hauntedpostpersona @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @harryssshouseee @slavicgoddess13 @persona1read1ng @katyldamusic @whore4damia @the-chaotic-cow @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @elvirabelle @bright-shiningstar @maneslut @stardustingold @little-moonbeam-666 @que--sera--sera @ami--gami

[rjthirsty]

Mouthwashing, an Allegory for Armed Forces (pt 2)

Yeah, so, I wrapped the other one up because I didn't want 3k words all in one place, but I do have more to say. You can check out how I came to the conclusion of this game being an allegory in this post. Basically, I drew the similarities there, and there are more, I just didn't list them all.

Now, I want to talk about the story if we were going with this being a story about mental breaks due to being part of the military rather than *hand waves* what happened in the game.

Once again, I'll be talking about it under the cut due to the nature of the topics in the game. I probably should have posted some cw on my other post. I'll have to fix that.

Now that I've stated several reasons why I think this is an allegory, it's time to tackle the story itself.

If we go in chronological order rather than the back and forth, we would come to the point that Jimmy raped Anya as the first thing, I suppose. This was constantly swept away due to Jimmy being our narrator and him not wanting to accept his responsibility for his action. Eventually, at the end of the game he admits that he made a mistake and that that had caused all of this. But his admission is hollow and unfulfilling. What does it matter if he sees it now? Everyone is dead. Then he proceeds to take his own life with a firearm. He doesn't even acknowledge that he attempted to crash the ship. He doesn't apologize for causing the deaths of everyone in the crew. He just says "I made a mistake" and tries to make it right by giving up his life for a man that helped enable him.

And that's a huge kicker, here. Curly enabled Jimmy. Curly attempted to keep the peace and handle Jimmy, while Anya had to live every day afraid that Jimmy would assault her or worse, kill her. She hid the gun. She was only ever with someone else at all times or in one of the two rooms that had locks after the crash. You never find her alone where Jimmy can be alone with her (save for the medical bay, but is she really alone there?).

There is no doubt that Jimmy raped Anya. That is never questioned. No one doubts Anya. But no one does anything about it, either. Maybe they're just trying to make it through, and maybe there's nothing that can be done now that her violator is in charge - a very real, and very helpless position to be in, especially in the military. HR also says all will be punished for complaints, so if they can just keep it quiet, they'll get off better until they're not all part of it anymore. 1 in 3 women have been sexually assaulted in the armed forces. Most by someone they know. Most by someone higher ranking. Only 1 in 10 get reported.

The note we find when Jimmy goes looking for some mouthwash to clean Daisuke's wounds after Anya over doses on drugs at five months pregnant-- that's a fucking sentence. The note talks about the beast being aimless and blind. This beast is clearly not real, but could be a parallel to the casualties of war from mortar fire on innocent civilians. I'd like to point out how the ground rumbles any time the beast comes near (like tanks shaking the ground, like the sound of airplanes overhead ready to drop bombs). I'd like to point out that being quiet was how people kept hidden from being attacked by military members (any noise can be seen as a threat to someone afraid you're an enemy). I'd like to point out that this happens after Daisuke - an innocent - becomes a casualty, and Jimmy has to try to "fix" this problem, taking him too long and coming back with too little to help.

Swansea performed a mercy killing, Daisuke wasn't going to survive his wounds. Swansea wanted the young kid, the kid that had no reason to be there, to go home and live a long and healthy life. That was his plan all along. He had given up on his own. He knew Jimmy didn't deserve to survive. But Daisuke was thrown into this mess, and not just because he was a rich kid. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed recruits find the horrors of military life to be too much, and many of them don't survive, or turn into Swansea.

Swansea gives a long speech about his life, his plans to save Daisuke, and how much contempt he has for Jimmy while tied to a chair and executed. We do get the unfortunate experience of being hunted by Swansea as Jimmy, fearing for our life from someone attempting retribution. Surrounded by crypts and graves, like, say, the graves of civilians who once lived their life peacefully before the military came through. Before Daisuke died.

The fact that Jimmy sees his unborn creation (the fetus Anya carried from him forcing himself on her) as some sort of monstrous horror only adds to my thoughts that this is the results of war. It bursts from a grotesque womb, then forces a chase scene, where eventually you are cornered by the violence you have created, and then Jimmy begins to understand his wrong-doings.

He walked through a cave of eyes, everyone (Curly) watching him, feeling like he had sinned under the man he looked up to. His violence caught up to him. We get that wonderful scene of him trying to keep Curly alive by cannibalizing him. "Look at what I've become! Aren't you so proud how I'm keeping you alive? You will appreciate my humanity!" But even he knows he doesn't deserve it.

This is why the ending was so unfulfilling. It wasn't meant to be a happy ending. The perpetrator was never meant to get his. Justice was never meant to be served. Jimmy takes his own life, on his own terms, believing he did a good thing by putting Curly into that pod.

He made a mistake. Understatement of the year, but he's not talking about the murders or the rape or anything that he feels guilt about. He's still feeling sorry for himself, for listening to Curly and joining in the first place. That's where it all started. That's where it all will end.

Curly didn't protect the people he was meant to protect. Curly got to sit by and watch Jimmy break further and further. Curly never broke. He was broken inside, but no one knew. And because he did nothing, everything fell apart.

God fucking damn. This is such a good game about how the armed forces handle literally everything. About the devastation they wrought. About the lives they fuck.

I honestly was miffed at the ending, with Jimmy still being "woe is me" and nothing was his fault. I thought at first I was supposed to think that a white cis man was being an incel and passing off blame, but now I can see why we weren't given any sort of closure. Nothing will ever be fixed because it can't be. Armies destroy. That is all they do.

[nihilight]

i haven't been remembering my dreams for about 2 years. even more rare is when i have the epic -- be it good dream or nightmare -- Whole Sleep Dream. the kind where, even hours after you wake up, you remember EVERYTHING.

last night i had both, & it went a little something like this:

CW: animal death, SA.

your usual apocalytic setting. the weather was frightening & gorgeous. the sky was a juxtaposition of sunlight & storm. snow came. falling ice shards. so much snow & sunlight; it can't possibly be so hot & cold at once, but it is.

my house is some hybrid of my house, my mom's house, and the basement of shy's grandfather's house, where we lived briefly in 1996 in a moldy, spider & ant infested room, with an even worse bathroom on the other side of the basement.

keith is keith, but keith doesn't look like keith? it's a male, same approx build, but i never see his face, either because of a face shield/ski mask/scarves, etc. the voice isn't right either.

people are frantic. the snow is piling up & the hot hot sun won't melt it. planes in the air are crashing, falling. news can't keep up, but towers that carry signals are exploding by the second, all over the word, so we're all on our own.

i'm trying to figure out how to get shy, J, & my mom back to our house. keith tells me to start reinforcing windows & get the girls food, needs, 1st aid stuff, basic food, water, & everything gathered. we decide given the pace & direction of the weather that our bedroom will be our hole up spot.

we are a solidified unit, a team. we got this.

i do this, he takes the blazer to fetch the family, chilly, ruby.

<i wake up here. i turn over, push mina a little, readjust, go back to sleep.>

4 hours later, keith returns. they only live like maybe 2 or 3 miles away, and it took 4 hours. by now, there are a few more people in our house bc i can't say no. people who i let in, had something to contribute: food, radios, flashlights, water, blankets, etc.

i go into hyperfixation mode & get everyone organized with a little spot, that still leaves room to quickly move around, etc.

it takes forever to get the door back open against the snow & ice over it, that the sun is somehow still not melting. (yet how did i get people in? idk, dream logic) vehicles are smashed & on fire here & there but it isn't melting anything either.

as we're getting everyone in, some monster truck comes flying through out of control, having hit an iceblock in the road. it smashes into our blazer. 'fucking hell,' keith says, & then magically sparrow is there, runs out frantically bc she's confused, & gets hit by another car flying through.

i lose my shit. keith says to stop being emotional because there isn't time for that. i feel my heart both shatter & flare with anger at those words. i say nothing, & help get everyone inside as 2 more planes crash in the air, & pieces fall down.

<i wake up here, cold sweat. i spend a few minutes petting mina with my face in her flank. mina rumbles, does big comfy breathing sighs. i fall back asleep>

chaos at hume home across the street. half the building is smashed from airplane parts. 'can you come cook a few meals to get us through a couple days? we'll send you home with a few huge cans of veggies, milk, cooler boxes...' (we don't have cooler boxes IRL, but sure.)

it takes me about 25 minutes to get over there (2 mins IRL), over all the ice chunks, busted cars, bodies, airplane parts. i do the cooking, they tell me cleanup doesn't matter but i do it anyway (???), and then i work on making the trek back home.

i see keith talking to the dude with the monster truck who hit our blazer. i call out for help dragging these cooler boxes full of shit, but they both just look at me. 'you've been doing kettlebells,' says monster truck driver, looking me up and down, creepy. 'you can handle it. it'll keep you warmed up.'

'for what?' i ask. i need to know what's coming. i need order. i need... something, here, bc so far i've been doing a damn good job at not losing my shit, especially with sparrows body getting covered up by ice that the sun won't melt, 15 feet away in the street.

they don't answer. when i get to our driveway, keith grabs the boxes, says thanks, kisses my forehead and adjusts my hat and scarf, then gets inside. confused, i go to follow him, but monster truck guy grabs my arm.

'just be quick,' keith says to monster truck guy, then goes inside and shuts the door.

s*x traded for the truck.

'it was you or your kid, i mean... it's a monster fucking TRUCK!'

so, that happens. on a jagged pile of snow & ice that the sun won't seem to melt.

when i get all my layers put back on, wipe my nose, ignore all the cold/hot cuts on my back, & get inside, i start to cry.

"you have to stop being so emotional about this," my mom says, tiredly, from a couch in my living room that's purple now, instead of brown. part of me is frantically trying to point this out to another part of me (forcing lucid dreaming--it's a long explanation), or look for my hands, or something. 'everything's different now, we have to make sacrifices.'

shy & i's eyes meet from across the room. 'wake up,' they said.

there's a pounding at the front door, & someone yelling that i need to get back to work. the sound of collision, an inward sucking of air that pulls everything into silence, & then a crash as more airplane parts drop on the front porch section of the house.

shy's at my elbow now, their little hands curled around my bicep. 'wake up,' they said again.

i woke up, and it was 8.45a, mina was curled against me. i exhaled. i started to just sob, hard, for maybe ... idk, 20 seconds?

but i stopped, bc i was ✨ being emotional ✨ & now i'm just angry & feeling sad.

i guess the gist here is that something in me is damn sick and tired of being pegged as emotional, crazy, or bitchy, when things keep changing with no pre-amble or slight explanation, i get pushed, or etc, & even more sick & tired of having to explain why to save face. i feel like i'm being gaslit & brain-r*ped when people do it.

yeah, i see you out there, i heard what you said, with your MA in psychology. it sure does seem like i'm using my NDs as an "excuse," doesn't it? it's because i fucking have to keep explaining why.

but i'm done! :) i've cared too much about people liking me, or being the one that people DON'T have to whisper about. well, whisper away... cause i can't be myself happily when juxtaposed with having to embarrassingly explain myself too. i'm turning 40-fucking-5 tomorrow. i'm halfway to 90.

i literally don't have it in me to care about people outside my circle anymore, if they aren't even going to take 10 seconds to try to understand someone outside their norm.

& also when the world ends? i hope it's that fucking gorgeous.

[beeshivemind]

Rainy Day Sun

CW: None that I can think of, since nothing much happens.

Word count: 441

Fluff is implied, but nothing is explicitly stated in that regard.

The rains coming into the valley were always a beautiful thing to me. The fog rolled in first, fast and thick over the mountainside; like waves crashing against the rocks and spilling down into the valley itself, blanketing the roads and trees in a comforting mist just as the sun set and replaced the oranges and reds with a calmer grey-black. And shortly after comes the rain, pattering gently against the stonework of the old school building.

When the rains come in, I often find myself leaned against the windowsill with my temple on the cold glass, gazing down at the courtyard lit an orange-white by the lamps. The wind started to pick up, throwing branches and loose paper every which way. I turned back to my spell book and flicked through the pages. To find something to occupy myself with I guess. Something other than my half finished homework that was now covered in the dried rings of old tea stains from my chipped blue mug.

It took a moment, but eventually I came upon a rather simple sunlight spell. It certainly *looked* easy enough. I read through the instructions again, and again, and again to make sure I understood. This wasn't something I wanted to get wrong, even if it was just something for fun.

Sitting up, I took a deep breath and held my arm out a little ways over the table where my book was. I closed my eyes, snapped my fingers, and...

When I opened my eyes again, I held a sphere of light the size of a softball in the palm of my hand. It rippled with the same orange-white color that the lamps in the courtyard did, leaving little veins of light glowing in warm contrast to the cooler and much darker skin of my forearm. Using my free hand, I tried to touch it. To see what would happen. It flattened into a weird, sad looking oval as though it was made of clay. So then I tried to stretch it into a string, which also worked rather easily.

Really, I'm not sure how long I spent messing with it. By the time I came back to focus in the world around me, my roommate Reyna was sitting hunched over at her table just about as lost in thought as I was.

I rolled the little string of light back up, this time shaping it into a small paper airplane, which was then gently tossed at her desk and landed on the paper she was writing on. She snapped out of it and looked rather puzzled at me. I just smiled back.

"Tea?"

She smiled wearily at me. "Sure."

[fandom-hoarder]

(CW for Kendrick's accusations and rating diss tracks by famous airplane crashes👀)

[reasonsforhope]

“Airports delays are common, but especially during winter when jets need to be dowsed with thousands of gallons of deicing fluids to prevent ice formation and maintain the plane’s aerodynamics to avoid fatal accidents like the tragic Air Florida flight that fell into the Potomac River in Washington, DC directly after lift-off in a 1982 snow storm.

But as soon as any de-iced airplane takes off, most of the liquid slides from the surface of the aircraft and ends up polluting streams, lakes, and oceans.

Now, endeavoring to make a more efficient product immune to ice for such demanding industries, a team at the University of Illinois Chicago have developed a longer-lasting and eco-friendly alternative to conventional deicers.

“Glycols dissolve very fast and get washed away before the plane takes off, and it’s a serious problem that costs hundreds of millions of dollars—most of which literally ends up in the drain,” said Sushant Anand, assistant professor of mechanical engineering...

“A key point was to use materials which are bio-friendly. For example the anti-freezing gels we prepared are made of dimethyl sulfoxide (a by-product of plant industry and having miraculous medicinal properties) and gelatin (the stuff you use in making deserts and custards): so all very safe items.”

The gels are the best performing ones and have a significant edge amongst the developed formulations. They are easy to fabricate, require only two components, they can be easily cured/sprayed/painted/coated on any surface, regardless of shape. The best part is they are optically transparent even under icing/frosting conditions.

Their research published in Advanced Materials showed that, compared to commercial coatings available in today’s market, they perform better by an order of magnitude after exhaustive testing...

Of course, more exhaustive testing on actual airplanes in wind-turbines are needed to pass industrial test requirements before adopting them for real-life usage, but they do promise significant improvement over many commercial solutions available in the market presently.

“Since our anti-icing sprays are bio-friendly and anti-bacterial, we even think there is a potential to use them in agriculture to prevent crops from being ruined by severe frost,” Anand said. “But that is a pipe dream, and we need to do more studies to see if there will be any long-term adverse effect on the plants.”” -via Good News Network, 12/28/22

[selfshippingquotes]

F/O: Wouldn't if be cool if this plane got struck by lightning mid-flight, and we hurled back down to the Earth in a ball of fiery terror?

S/I, unable to hear what F/O is saying over the loud plane jets: Haha, yep.

[bereft-of-frogs]

I’m finally watching Downfall: The Case Against Boeing, and it really seems like ‘the case against McDonald-Douglas’.

Literally, one of the best dark humor aviation jokes I’ve seen was in a YouTube comment section under a video on the Concorde, “the DC-10 got so tired of killing itself, it decided to kill the Concorde” (because it was a piece of equipment coming off a DC-10 that caused the Concorde crash)

Like, who let these people make airplanes?

[realmikedirnt]

:(