#how many of his pencils have you broken when he’s in the middle of a test

[thwackk]

people underestimate the comedic potential of eobard’s existence and his extreme petty hatred for this one (1) dude

bonus because i just feel like barry would think he’s just hallucinating or something but came up with the WORST way to tell his mom that

[eddiesxangel]

buy me presents | Santa!Eddie x Reader

Summary: your ex seems to be popping back into your life at the most inconvenient times, and your new boyfriend isn’t so jolly about the whole thing.

words: 2.3k

CW: Eddie is mall Santa; Eddie is possessive and protective over reader. Reader has ex-boyfriend who cheated and who makes unwanted advances. Smut, breeding kink, Christmas dirty talk. Reader and Eddie are in their 20's, but Eddie is a few years older. MDNI 18+ only

December 15th

Back at the mall, unaccompanied by your nephew Christopher, you were holiday shopping for your friends and family. The mall was packed; there are only ten days left until Christmas, and it seemed like everyone and their mother were out. The one good thing about being here is that you knew your boyfriend would be working today, and you hoped to catch him on his lunch break. You'd seen many familiar faces but had no time to stop for pleasantries; you were overwhelmed by the busy mall's commotion and noise, and you wanted to get your stuff, see Eddie and get out.

You'd been on seven dates since you first met Eddie two weeks ago. He had asked you to be his girlfriend on your last date two days ago. Were you moving fast? Maybe, but you were so into him. Your previous boyfriend, Kevin, was a total jerk and hadn't done half the things Eddie had done for you in the past two weeks in the two and a half years you were together.

You'd broken up with him three months ago when you found out he had been fooling around with Katrina, his "coworker," behind your back. He thought he was hot shit because he had Daddy's credit card, and he got him a swanky office job. It's too bad he wasn't actually doing any work and spending all his time and Daddy's money on the pretty pencil skirt during working hours.

"Well, well, well, look who it is" A shiver fell down your spine as you were knocked out of your own thoughts. You were looking at a window display in the middle of the mall where the Santa display was waiting for your boyfriend Eddie.

"Oh, it's you." You deadpan seeing Kevin and his friends approach you.

"What have we got here?" Kevin reaches down to the bag labelled Vctoria's Secret and grabs it from your hands. As he reaches inside and pulls out the lingerie you had bought to surprise Eddie, your blood boils. You're eyes are threatening to fill with tears as Kiven then asks if this is what you were planning on wearing to get him back.

Eddie could see you waiting for him; he signalled to you that he had five more minutes until his break. You gave him a smile and a thumbs up and turned to the window display behind you. Eddie's focus went back to the child approaching him.

"Leave me alone Kevin!" Eddie's head snapped from the child in his lap and filled the sound of your voice.

He saw a tall blonde guy talking to you with a bunch of what he assumed to be the guy's friends surrounding you.

"Come on, baby, you know you miss me." He went to grab your arm, and you flinched away. Eddie was seeing red. Who the fuck was this guy, and why was he touching his girl?

Eddie jumped up after the last child in line left, and he beelined to you, not caring. He was still dressed as the jolly head elf.

"What do you think you're doing?" You jumped at the sound of Eddie's voice coming from behind you. You turn to see your boyfriend looking meaner than usual when he is dressed up as Santa Claus.

"Oh, good you're here," You say to Eddie, taking his hand before turning to Kevin. "I'd love to stay and chat, but we have to go."

A burst of laughter falls from Kevin and his douchebag friends. "OH, don't tell me you're banging fatso." He laughed, poking Eddi's fake belly. "Fuck, who knew you were so kinky? Why are you holding out on me, baby?"

"You wanna say that again, pretty boy?" Eddie threatened. How dare he speak to you like that. Who the fuck even is this guy.

"Eddie baby, let's just go." You pleaded, pulling his arm, not wanting to make a bigger scene.

"No, babe, who the fuck is this guy? And why does he think he can talk to you that way? " You saw the look of concern in his eyes. He truly cared for you. It was a look you never saw Kevin I've you, not once in the two and a half years you were together.

"I'm her boyfriend," Kevin puffed out his chest.

"Ex-boyfriend," You corrected right away.

"Oh come on baby, stop playing this game, I know you want me." he went to reach for you again, but Eddie stepped in front of him. Eddie towered over him even though Kevin was tall, Eddie was taller.

"You touch my girl again, and that pretty boy face of yours isn't going to look so pretty," Eddie growled through his white synthetic beard.

Eddie tried his best to look intimidating; however, his cutie rosy nose and cheeks were not helping.

"We got a problem here?" the mall security guard butted in just as Kevin was getting into Eddie's face. You sighed a breath of relief that this was finally ending.

"No problem, officer, we were just leaving," Kevin replies smugly. "See you around, baby." He smirks and your stomach churns.

" You're getting coal in your stocking, young man!" Eddie replies as he realizes all the kids are watching him, and he is still, in fact, dressed as Kris Kringle.

December 18th

You were at the local coffee shop in your regular booth waiting for Eddie to come out of the bathroom.

"Surprise, surprise, fancy seeing you here, baby." Your skin crawled as the voice of the one and only ex-boyfriend filled your ears.

"Don't call me that, I broke up with you ." you grit through your teeth.

"Come on, baby," He slid into your side of the booth, blocking you in with no way out. "I know you want me." you cringed back as Kevin's unwanted hand came tracing up your arm and across your chest, groping you before he was jerked backwards by the hood of his jacket. landing on his ass.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Eddie, your Eddie came barling out of the bathroom to see you in distress because of the fucker from the mall.

"Who the fuck are you?" Kevin scremed. His eyes went wide when he examined Eddie. He looked scary; he was all combat boots, leather and heavy metal, while Kevin was all polo shirts, country clubs and Sperry's.

You watched with wide eyes as Eddie picked up Kevin off of the floor, "I told you last time, you lay a finger on my girl one more time; I was going to fuck up that prettyboy face." Eddie growled.

"Santa?" Kevin's lip quivered before Eddie pushed him out the door.

Your coffee was long forgotten as you scrambled to get your purse and chase after Eddie. The last thing you need is Kevin pressing charges.

Just before Eddie was about to knock the shit out of your ex, you yelled out to him, breaking Eddie's trace. He had totally forgotten you were there, watching him.

"Baby, please let's just go," You gently grab his raised fist and open his hand to interlock your fingers with his. Eddie was still snarling with his other hand still wrapped up in the collar of your ex's shirt, pressing him up against the brick wall. The fear in Kevin's eyes was pathetic; you knew he had never gotten into a fistfight a day in his life.

"Please," You begged. As you turned Eddie's face from Kevin's to yours, the anger from his face slipped away once he saw your pleading eyes.

"You're lucky, pretty boy." Eddie gave him one last shove before wrapping a protective arm around you and turning you to the car.

"Thank you, baby." You kiss Eddie's cheek as he opens the car door for you.

"You don't have to thank me, Sugarplum." He brushes it off as no big deal. It was a big deal. He was your protector. Your knight in shining armour. And you knew just the thing to do to thank him.

"Baby, I have a surprise for you when we get back to mine... You can come in for a little while, yeah?" You were going to wait for Christmas but you thought he deserved his gift a little early.

Seeing Eddie so worked up and protective over you was such a big turn-on that you sprinted to your apartment because you couldn’t wait to give Eddie his gift. You told Eddie to wait outside the bedroom door and not to come in until you said so.

You pulled out the Christmas theme lingerie from your drawer. You washed it after Kevin's grubby fingers were on it. You stripped as quick as possible and stepped into the sexy little outfit. You were wrapped up like a Christmas present as a big silky red bow was tied around your chest that pushed your boobs up just right. You paired it with a matching silk thong that has a smaller bow on the back just above your ass. You had sheer red thigh-high stockings and these cute little red reindeer antlers that you clipped onto your head.

Eddie was bouncing on his heels the whole time you were in the room getting ready he had no idea what he was walking into.

"Baby, come in," You cooed, and his jaw hit the floor as he opened the door.

There you were wrapped up for him like a perfect little present.

"Fuck baby when did you get this" He reached out to examine the outfit.

"When I was at the mall, Santa needed a gift, too, you know?." You bit your lip.

You felt Eddie grope your ass as he landed in to take your mouth in his. He kissed you deep and smooth as he pushed you gently onto the bed.

"Fuck I'm so glad you dropped that douchebag." He hummed into your mouth before his kissed and sucked down your neck.

"Let's not talk about him." You hummed back. "How about we focus on you unwrapping me." You arched your back so that your breasts could graze Eddie's chest.

"Fuck, don't have to tell me twice." Eddie pulled apart the bow that was holding you together.

"You're my perfect little present, aren't you?" Eddie praised before he latched his mouth on your exposed nipple. He nipped and licked and sucked until you cried out with pleasure. He knew your body like no other man before him.

Eddie trailed a finger down your sternum right to the waistline of your panties. "What am I going to find if I fully unwrap you? Am I going to find a toy? Is that it? You're going to be my little fuck toy for the evening?" He circled a single digit around your clothed mound, teasing you.

"Yes," You sighed.

"Fuuuuuuck baby, then what am I waitin' for?" He flipped you over so you were on all fours. You arched your ass out so Eddie got the perfect view of the little bow perched right above your little hole. Eddie let out a groan of pleasure at the sight in front of him. He didn't know about the little bow on your panties, and he swore, right then and there, he would marry you. "I swear you're trying to kill me, Sugarplum." You giggled as he gripped each of our cheeks in both hands, and he spread you apart to get a better look.

"Shit baby you're already soaked through your panties." He sighed before leaning in to lap and you're clothed cunt.

"Oh god!" You cried out as Eddie's warm mouth consumed your heat. Eddie's hands massaged the thick muscle of your ass as he continued to lick at the juices leaking from your panties.

"What are you waiting for, baby? Unwrap me." You look back at him from over your shoulder, arching your back as far as you can.

Eddie peeled your panties off, pulling them down slowly. He was savouring and memorizing the sight of a string of your slick being pulled with your panties. He then turning to lay under you so your cunt was hovering over your face. "Sit on my face," Edde instructed before pulling you down directly on him. His tongue worked its magic, and you saw stars. As he hummed into your pussy your body shook.

"Oh my god I’m gunna cum!" You scream. You could feel Eddie smirk against your pussy; he was so smug he could have you coming on his face in two minutes flat. "That's it, baby girl, need you nice and wet so I can fuck this pussy right." Eddie's mouth never failed to make you wet; whether it was his words or his tongue, he always could make you soak your panties.

After your first orgasm washed over you Eddie slid from under you and propped himself up on the pillows. You followed him as you straddled his waist.

"You wanna be my little toy tonight? Gunna use this pussy like my own little fleshlight." Eddie aligned his cock with your entrance and pulled your hips down onto his cock, splitting you open.

“Fuck baby, you gunna cream my cock? That’s what you’re made for right? Designed to be my dirty little toy, hmm” he bounced you up and down in his cock. His cock hit that spot inside of you that made you feel snowflakes in your lower tummy.

“Yes-yesss, only for you” you panted as your muscles in your legs started to burn. You held yourself up by gripping Eddie’s shoulders. He kissed and panted into your mouth. It was messy, it was hot. The feeling of his cock brushing your inner walls made your eyes roll back in your head.

“Fucking me so good” you cried as your second orgasm snuck up on you.

“You love being my little fuck toy don’t you?” Your pussy clamped itself around Eddie at his words, also making him cum instantly.

“Fuck you milk this cock so good. Gunna fill you till you’re leaking me for days.”

“God you fuck me so good” you giggle resting your forehead against his.

“Best Christmas gift ever” Eddie panted before he flipped you over for another round.

Reposted 🎅🏻

[queenimmadolla]

Eddie, ass, fluff

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞

It started off innocently, a complete accident.

You’d been walking with Eddie, down the Wheeler’s driveway after a small get together with your friends while he tossed one of his dice and caught it.

He’d been distracted by your conversation about how you didn’t care for The Terminator, which he took personally, fist closing before he could actually catch the die and it bounced off of his fist to tumble along the driveway.

“I’ll get it!” You were closer to it, anyways, dashing forward to bend down and swoop it up.

You’d turned to him, tossing it back before you could take in the stupefied look on his face, “Eddie, catch it!”

He fumbled to do so, snapping out of whatever was on his mind while his face turned red.

“Uh, my bad. Thanks.”

Weirdo. 

At first, you thought maybe he was just getting clumsy because after that, he kept dropping everything.

More dice, pencils in the hallway, his rings, just about anything he could get his hands on ended up on the floor, you’d never picked up so many objects before.

You’d begun to refer to him as butterfingers.

Then you noticed it was only something that happened when you were alone. Eddie could impressively twirl a pen between his fingers with no problems during the Hellfire sessions he’d invite you to sit in on and you didn’t notice him drop any of his lunch from where you sat with your other friends, across from the Hellfire table. He remained dexterous around others, so why was he constantly dropping stuff around you? 

The idea of Eddie being nervous in your presence came about, but you couldn’t figure out why he would be. Other than dropping things, he acted pretty normal.

He invited you over for a movie after school, and since it was a Friday, you’d agreed on the basis that you got to choose the movie. There was no way you were gonna watch The Terminator, which you knew he’d pick just to spite you.

That’s how Girls Just Want to Have Fun ended up in the VCR and in the middle of his empty threats to commit bodily harm to himself, you attempted to turn on the television.

It didn’t turn on.

“Eddie,” you frowned, pressing the power button a couple of times. It was making the clicking sound but the picture wasn't coming on, “I think your TV is broken.”

“Huh,” Eddie’s eyebrows scrunched together as he joined you in front of it, nudging your hand aside to press the same button and you rolled your eyes.

“Did you think I did it wrong, Eds?”

Eddie didn’t respond, just held his other hand over your face like a face-hugger before he darted back to the couch and jumped onto it.

“Maybe it’s unplugged.”

You glared, gesturing to the tv stand, “Then plug it in.”

He smirked, lounging back with his arms folded behind his head and mocked in a high pitched voice that sounded nothing like you, “You’re closer.”

“You little shit,” You mumbled as he laughed, the sound deep and rumbling through the trailer. With a sigh, you got down on your knees and crawled to the side of the stand, peering behind it. 

Sure enough, the thick cable cord had been pulled from the wall. 

“Gotcha,” you muttered, reaching your arm between the space to fumble around for the cable. Once it was in your grasp, you spent the next couple of seconds randomly pressing it into the wall until it finally caught along the plug and you pressed it the rest of the way in.

Shimmying backwards enough to sit back on your legs, upper body turning towards Eddie, you began to ask, “Can you turn on the─”

You stopped short, having noticed Eddie’s eyes pry away too late to not be caught and you finally got the missing piece of the puzzle, realizing exactly what his sudden clumsiness was about.

Eddie wasn’t dropping things around you because he was clumsy. He wasn’t even nervous around you!

“Were you staring at my ass?”

“No.” He answered too quick, face getting red like it had done that first time in the Wheeler’s driveway. Then his gaze flickered briefly away before it was back on you, a telltale sign of guilt.

He was lying. 

Eddie had been staring at your ass, had been dropping stuff so you’d bend over and pick it up for him. All to get a good look at your ass.

“You were!” You gasped in delight, pointing your finger towards him, “You were staring at my ass! Oh my god, this whole time I thought your equilibrium was off or something, but you’re just a perv trying to get an eyeful!”

“I wasn’t looking…” He mumbled, now actively avoiding your gaze as he turned even brighter but you could see the corners of his lips twitching, the smile he was trying to hide.

“You know, I don’t think about my ass often, but it must be somewhat impressive if it caught your attention,” You baited him and like a chum he fell for it, head turning to you.

“It’s really—” His palm slapped across his mouth as he caught himself but it was too late. Eddie Munson was about to make a statement about your ass because he had been staring at it.

“Hah! You fool!” You pushed yourself up and made your way over while he groaned, grabbing one of the pillows on the couch to smother himself. Maybe death would save him from embarrassment.

“You’re definitely a pervert, but I’m kind of flattered.”

You heard him mutter something that sounded like shut up against the fabric of the cushion, and just for shits and giggles, you pushed the remote off the coffee table. It tumbled against the carpet.

It took a moment, but Eddie lowered the cushion to glance at you, eyes widening in amusement when he made eye contact, having expected you to be bent over picking it up. Looks like Pavlov's experiment worked both ways: you had unknowingly been trained to bend over and pick up anything Eddie dropped, and he had unknowingly trained himself to look in your direction anytime something dropped. 

He’d expected to see your ass again.

“I knew it!” 

Eddie couldn’t deny it any longer, laughing as you teased him mercilessly. He most definitely wouldn’t be hearing the end of this.

And if it got him out of watching Girls Just Want to Have Fun, then he could live with it. 

He hoped.

[grellestie]

Thoughts on Grelle x Ronald

and prayers

actually, here are my full thoughts, THOUGH you're going to need prayers going into it.

Oh, GrelleRon (i think thats what you crazy kids call it lol). I have so many different emotions about it. I feel like it has a LOT of interesting concepts attached to it and things that could really be developed from it! I haven't read fics in a while, but I am SURE some of these have to have been explored at least once or twice. Or I have to finally open docs. . . Scary.

Ronald already has to deal with Grelle as his mentor which is already introducing an interesting dynanic- usually in stories, it's the mentor falling for the mentored but we all know Ronald just wouldn't be her dream man. He's cute, but he's not Will and could never be Will. Maybe she would open up to him a bit after he witnesses her in the middle of a cute girl moment (read: depressive episode).

As nihilistic as it sounds, Grelle knows her end when it comes to relationships. She'll end up with William, become a star, have children, and then her soul will finally lay herself asleep. It's simple. Sure, she'll play around with other men (and women too), but it's all just for fun and to keep her excited! She's gotten herself attached before, but she's learned her lesson - especially after being out into. . . doing chores for a year. But falling for a different reaper could change her mind. It's the ONE species she could fall for and not be in trouble for being with them. . . or just judged ever more so than she already is. Which she wouldn't mind necessarily? But it'd get obnoxious getting called some uncreative name for the umpteenth time, like seriously.

Ultimately, she's keeping him at arms length but does consider him someone she trusts somewhat. But can you really trust someone if you only tell them so much about you? When that facade crumbles, how will you unravel your lies that never seemed to add up in the first place?

Now, for Ronald's perspective, I see him falling for her first. Think about it. This is the only girl that's broken up with Eric first, as well as broken the hearts of SO many other men in favor of Will- who she could do SO much better than, in Ronald's humble opinion. If he could be the one to ultimately sweep her off her feet, do you KNOW how much every guy around him would be jealous?

She's also amazing at her job! kind of! she's one of the stronger reapers in the dispatch and has probably one of the cooler scythes. She also survived a punishment from the Higher-Ups without changing in the slightest. She's also gorgeous! And the only woman to be apart of the Retrieval Division! That's SO cool!

I feel like he would fall for her in a falling for her shadow way- just completely misunderstanding her entirely and falling in love with that rather than who she actually is. He sees her for the woman she portrays herself to be; A strong actress capable of setting the world aflame with her passion alone. A gorgeous woman put against all odds, allowing herself to fall for men like Will when clearly needing a hero rather than a pencil-pusher. He entirely ignores any breakdown or outburst that ruins his image of her because it doesn't fit his version of his Grelle.

That's until her instability gets to an all-time high. He's socially smart for sure, but he's not an expert on the human mind, and Grelle is an enigma all in herself. How could someone jump from a simple mood to thinking the entire world is against you and that the person closest to you only wants you to be a distant memory? Or even just a joke, they tell everyone? That quick switch in emotions would confuse Ronald to NO end. But that just makes him build Grelle to be a needy princess in his mind. She just needs a strong man to keep her out of her own head. But is he even strong enough to handle her?

(SPOILER: Nope. Not one bit. He's witty, but he can't handle her at her worst. Will can, but only because he gets her mindgames while Ronald falls for every single one. Also, Grelle's lies would have to catch up with her at some point, and it heavily depends on what she said and how deep of a hole she's dug for herself. I can only imagine how much Ronald would be willing to let slip by him.

They would have SUCH an interesting dynamic. I just don't think they'd make it as a couple, but they'd make a GREAT case study if you're a psychologist.

[solarswonderland]

dear hanbin

pairing: gn!reader x s.hanbin

wc: 0.5k

genre: fluff, highschool au

warnings: nothing really, just hopeless kids in love

summary: writing a love letter to him

a/n: ive never written anything like this before, I'm actually pretty proud of it. please lmk if it was alright 😓😓

*y.i: your initials

you were always a pen-and-paper person.

you didn't like typing down reminders or to-do lists, you preferred writing them down. there was just something so special about writing to you. probably the way you'd have to shake your pen occasionally because you ran out of ink. or the satisfaction you gain when you scratch out a completed task.

which is probably why you're standing in front of sung hanbin's locker, holding a carefully sealed envelope, decorated with hearts and small stickers you found stuffed deep in your desk drawers.

sung hanbin was truly not real, you thought. there was no way that man was real. he was just too good to be true. the adorable smile, the way he helps everyone around him, how he never got mad, how generous, smart, and nice he is. not to mention, he is incredibly handsome as well. it's no joke, everyone was in love with him. which is one reason you were always too scared to ever confess.

but if there was one thing you were confident in, it was your writing. you figured, since you can't form proper sentences in front of him, why not pen down your thoughts in the form of a letter instead? and that's exactly what you did.

you made sure no one was watching you and slipped the envelope into his locker. you breathed a sigh of relief and made you way to your next class.

after you were gone, hanbin made his way to his locker after basketball practice. he opened it and was startled to see a blue-colored envelope fall out. he grabbed it off the floor and opened it. he thought it might have been mistakenly placed in his locker, but instead was surprised when he read the first two words.

dear hanbin,

it was addressed to him after all. although he was tired and sweaty from practice, he was curious. he continued reading the letter.

dear hanbin,

my heart is racing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, there are so many words i've been wanting to say to you for years, and i finally have the chance.

from the moment i met you in middle school, when you lent me your pencil because i forgot mine, i've liked you. who knows, maybe its love?

your smile lights up my darkest days, and you have never once failed to make me laugh. every interaction, no matter how small or big, is etched into my memory, replaying over and over again like a broken record. i've admired your kindness, your intelligence, and the way you effortlessly make everyone around you feel at ease.

i want you to know that my feelings for you have not faded with time, if anything, they've grown stronger.

i understand that this letter might come as a surprise, and let's be honest, life's unpredictable. but i couldn't hold back my feelings any longer than i already have. whether fate leads us down a path of togetherness or friendship, i just needed you to know the truth that has been in my heart for so long.

no matter what your response may be, i'll respect it. no matter where life takes us, know that you'll always hold a special place in my heart.

with love,

y.i ♡

he smiled to himself as he read it. just as he was closing the letter after re-reading it over and over again, he saw some text in the back which made him laugh.

do you like me?

□ yes □ no

no pressure, you don't have to tick anything right now :)

sorry that's kinda creepy isn't it

i should probably stop writing...

he grabbed a pen and ticked the 'yes' option, quietly giggling to himself.

© solarswonderland 2023

[kitashousewife]

something sweet

an: heehee i am suuuuuch a baking girly and i LOVE sweets and my sweet samu so i was quite excited for this hehe

pairings: timeskip!osamu x fem!reader

warnings: food mentions, husband samu!!, fluff, pet names, suggestive ending

-

Osamu walks through the kitchen, flicking lights on as he goes. He got home only a few minutes ago, changing out of his work clothes as quick as he can to get started.

He leans back, a satisfying pop rippling through his spine as the pressure from another busy day at Onigiri Miya fades away. Osamu reaches a cupboard, searching through different odds and ends of battery containers, broken flashlights, and dull pencils until his tired fingers reach the small recipe book underneath it all.

A smile appears on his face as he thinks of every childhood memory involving this book. Many moments of flour being thrown across the countertops, laughing at the crudely drawn gingerbread versions of both boys their Ma would present them, and so many more.

Rough fingertips trace the worn pages, flipping through until he reached the tried and true gingerbread recipe, handwritten by his Ma.

"Hey baby, you're home early," you greet from around the corner, rubbing your tired eyes as enter the kitchen. Osamu's heart swells. He knows you've been working so hard lately. He was quite excited for tonight, and hoped that maybe he could ease the stress a little bit.

"I decided that the snow was a good reason to close up early," he gives you a kiss on the lips, grinning when he feels you about to laugh.

"Good day to be the owner, huh?" you laugh, and Osamu can't help but laugh as well.

Only now do you realize what he's set up in the kitchen. The marble island is covered in different ingredients, measuring cups, cookie cutters, and so many decorations. In his large hands rests a rather dainty book, which you've heard all about.

"Sweetheart, could ya grab me an apron?" Osamu asks, giving you the sweetest smile. You hum, a grin of your own growing when you realize his regular black apron is in the wash.

"Here you go," you hold back a giggle, but your very focused husband doesn't mind. He hums, grabbing the fabric without looking. He slips his head through the halter, grabbing the ties to fasten them expertly around his middle.

Standing in the kitchen is a 6-foot-tall Osamu, donned in a rather frilly apron, trimmed with lace and bright green and red colors. Before he notices, you snap a photo of him holding the recipe book with focus, his other hand on his hip in one of the most festive outfits you've ever seen.

"What's so fun-oh," he stops when he realizes what apron you brought him, and shakes his head when your laugh finally breaks loose. "Ha ha ha, we'll see who's laughing when a certain someone doesn't get to try any of the cookies."

You scoff. "How cruel," you tease, hopping up onto the counter next to the large spread. He fits himself in between your legs, placing both warm palms on either thigh. He leans in, and the smell of his shampoo lingers as he gets closer. Right before he reaches your lips, he stops.

"Could ya soften two sticks of butter, please?"

You smack his arm, the playful gesture earning a giggle from your husband. But you oblige, only because you would love a gingerbread cookie.

Especially made from such a professional.

"Whenever Ma does holiday bakin', she makes a double batch of everythin'," he explains, carefully measuring out the brown sugar before adding it to the bowl. "That way, she can put a couple of each cookie on some plates to give to our friends."

Their Ma is always the most giving. She spares no expense to treat her boys, and now you any chance she gets.

"Besides gingerbread, what do we have on the menu tonight?" You turn over your shoulder, setting the oven temperature while Osamu mixes, since he always forgets.

"Well, I was thinkin' we could do some gingerbread men, some sugar cookies, and maybe some brownies. We could plate em' up and deliver em' tonight, if ya don't mind."

"That sounds lovely. Where do you need me?"

His large, strong arm pulls you in, propping you back up on the counter in your original spot.

"My pretty wife just needs to sit here, cause I got somethin' in store for ya later." he winks and gets back to mixing.

That "somethin'" he mentioned earlier was not what you expected.

"You want me to decorate every cookie?"

"You know I'm not good at it doll! Please," he whines, transferring the last cookies to their cooling racks. He's not wrong. The gingerbread house the two of you made a few days ago isn't going to win any contests.

"Look, I even made things easy for ya," he bribes, pulling out little bowls of candy, frosting filled piping bags, and decorative plates to transport your goodies on. You sigh in defeat, finally getting started.

The two of you work in tandem. You, decorating each gingerbread man with the same sugary grin and buttons, and Osamu, taking the last treats out of the oven and moving the dishes into the sink to be cleaned later.

"Samu, would you put the gingerbread men on the plates with the brownies while I finish up these sugar cookies?"

He hums, placing them quickly to give you enough room for your final creations. And, knowing your husband like you do, you finished an extra sugar cookie just for him.

"Okay, I think we are good to go," you wrap the final plate before grabbing what you can.

"The car is heated up and ready, where shall we go first?"

For the next hour, the two of you drive house to house, leaving treats at each one. The two of you finish at Ma's, where Atsumu happens to be as well.

The four of you spend the majority of your time laughing. Ma, telling stories of the twins at Christmas, both boys laughing and poking fun at each other. Before the two of you leave, Ma gives you both a kiss on the cheek and the warmest hug, thanking you over and over for spoiling her so much.

"I think that's all of 'em right?" Osamu asks before starting the car, looking around the seats to check for any.

"Just these!" you smile, holding up a plate with two gingerbread men on it. "I made them for us as a treat when we finished."

Osamu unwraps the plate, heart growing three times the size when he gets a chance to admire the gingerbread one.

One, who assumes is you, has the icing version of your hair, eyes, and smile, wearing your favorite sweater. The gingerbread version of him is wearing an apron, baseball cap, and has his tongue sticking out.

"Why'd ya make me so goofy?" he fake whines, pointing at the face. You cackle.

"It wasn't to be mean! I was trying to replicate your concentrated face at work!"

He laughs, before leaning over the center console to cup your face, swiping his thumb across your cheek.

"Thanks for all yer help tonight. I know doin' this is silly, but it means a lot to me. I love you," He beams. You lean into his warm palm, grabbing his arm.

"It's not silly, it's sweet," you tap his arm. "And, I love you too."

He pulls you in for a sweet kiss, pulling away to give you a kiss on the nose. The two of you begin your drive home, laughing and listening to the soft hum of the Christmas music on the car radio.

Osamu reaches for his gingerbread self, humming as he takes a bite.

"Just like Ma's," he says between bites, proud of his efforts.

"Why did you eat gingerbread Samu? You didn't want mine?"

He smirks, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss on it as the two of you pull into the driveway.

"I'd rather eat the real you,"

"Samu!"

[thebest-medicine]

Day 23: Incoherent

Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - C2 Mighty Nein - lee!Fjord, brief lee!Jester

[see my other tickletober 2023 fics]

A/N: Fjorester my beloved. I need their silly energy in my life. Little snippet of Jester tickling Fjord and then asking him to do the same to her (a lil fluff, a little sexy, whatever ya feel *eyebrow waggle*)

Words: 1,050

—

“Ah. Oh no. No- no Jessie- ahaHAWAIT!” Fjord squealed before descending into giddy laughter. 

“Wait? What do you want me to wait for?” Jester asked innocently — her fingers, on the other hand, were quite guilty of the quick, nimble scribbling they’d begun inflicting on Fjord’s sides.

His head shook side to side against the pillow beneath it, occasionally bumping into his elbows on either side. His arms twitched and pulled against the silks tethering them to their bed above his head. Jester’s fingers sent electric tingles up his bared torso everywhere they touched. They plucked at his sides and then began spidering wildly over his belly. 

“Aha- I can’t- I hehehehe- AHAHAHA AHH NOHOHOHO- THAHAT TICKLES! THAT TICKLES HAHA- AHAHA JESS!” 

“Well, duh, Fjord! It’s supposed to tickle!” 

The next few minutes were hazy — fuzzy in the best sort of way. Jester was smiling at him, tickling and teasing him to bits. She brought out so much in him that he hadn’t expected, and she had so many silly, wonderful ideas for expressing affection. In the midst of one, she squeezed at his hips a few times, getting a yelp for her efforts.

“I can’t believe how cute you are when you’re getting tickled Fjord! Your face is so cute! I have to draw it for you some time.” 

“NOHOHOHO!” Fjord cried through his cackles.

Jester’s grin widened as she got an idea. A few more quick squeezes to Fjord’s abdomen and she pushed up, hauling herself off of his hips and running over to her sketch book. 

Fjord took a few deep breaths, some broken up with lingering laughter, and stared at the ceiling as he happily accepted the short break. “Wh- what are you planning now?” He asked — sounding a little teasing and giddy, and a lot nervous.

Jester spun around, a smirk on her face as she wiggled her eyebrows at him. In her hand, she held up her sketching pencil. 

Fjord swallowed, watching her. His giggling started back up again. 

Jester perched atop him, eyes hungry. He felt his stomach twist with anticipation, excitement, and nerves. She took the pencil in her hand as though to start a lovely drawing, except that she had the pointy end up. 

Fjord shook his head. Jester nodded encouragingly, the hand not holding her pencil grabbed at the top of his underwear and pulled the waistband down a bit. She lightly drug the back of the pencil back and forth over his hip. Fjord gasped and burst into giggles. His legs kicked out on the bed behind Jester. 

“Ahaha no- nonono!” Fjord whined. 

“Yes yes yes!” Jester chirped in response. She drew figures and circles and whimsical patterns all over the lower section of his tummy, the front of his ribs and chest, his sides, and even up into his armpits and along his neck. 

Tracing the pencil along each rib on one side as she made her way back down to his sides, Jester started wiggling and pinching along the other side of his torso with her free hand. 

Fjord’s laughter grew louder as he wriggled side to side at her two fronted assault. His smile could cause bones to melt, but his laugh was like a cannonball of delight. It was the sort of gut-deep, boisterous sound that ricocheted off the walls of the ship like thunder - and it was impossible for Jester not to grin in the middle of the storm. 

Dropping her pencil, she made a sound of delight and started scribbling up his sides. Fjord wheezed and cackled, his eyes squeezed shut with tears in the corners of them. 

Fjord was already pretty far gone, but he still reacted viscerally to the sound of Jester sucking in a deep breath. “NO- NAHAHAHA NOOO NAHAHOT THAT!” He pleaded.

“Aww, are you too ticklish?” 

“STAHAHAHOP HAHA NO- JES DON’T DO IHIHIHIT!” Fjord wailed.

“Oh alright… I’ll just give you a couple raspberries. Let me know if it tickles too much, okay Fjord?” 

Her fingers continued to scribble and crawl their way from his hips to his armpits, which would have had him in plenty of hysterics on its own. Her lips, adding poison to the dagger, pressed down softly on the middle of his belly before she let out a loud, ticklish vibration against his abs. 

Fjord pretended to ignore the shriek that fell from his lips when she started, and each additional squealing wail that followed when she continued.

“NAHA- STAH- I CAN’T AHHH HAHA AHAHAA-” His thundering cackles quickly devolved into shouts and gasps between wails of desperate laughter. 

 It wasn’t until her nails began to scratch unbearably under both of his arms and she decided to blow her next raspberry on his side that Fjord cried out “SP-SPRINKLE!” between hoarse booms of laughter. 

Jester withdrew with a grin, sitting upright over him and taking in his exasperated, ravaged state. “Wow, you did really good Fjord! I was pretty mean..” She winked. 

Fjord felt a blush rise to his cheeks in spite of his already warm face. “Heh, thanks.”

“Okay.” Jester leaned in, peppering his cheeks with kisses as she untied the silks from his wrists, leaving the restraints hooked up to the bed. “Okay, okay! Me next!!”

Blissed out smile on his face, Fjord took his jelly arms and wrapped them around Jester’s wiggling form, pulling her in close for a cuddle. “You’re too good at that.” He mumbled as he pulled her in to be the little spoon, both of them still giggling. “I’m so tired now, I need to nap first.” He sighed dramatically, closing his eyes as his legs wrapped around Jester’s. 

He pretended to start snoring, exaggerated and loud, and Jester squealed adorably. Then, “sleep-walking” fingers began to trace ticklish paths around Jester’s ribs and sides, over to her stomach, down near her hips. 

“Ah ehehe Fjord!” Jester squeaked out as she giggled harder. 

A loud snoring sound, and then Fjord mumbled. “Fjord’s sleeping.”

“Nohohoho he’s nohot! Fjord’s tickling!”

Another fake snore. “No he’s not. He’s sleeping.” Jester felt him take a deep breath, chest rising to press further into her back. A long, exaggerated snore. “But when he wakes up. He’s really gonna get you.” 

“Hehe hehehee oh nohoho-” 

[lemoncrushh]

Wild Horses - One

Summary: Amber Crosby didn’t end up with the life she’d expected, but that didn’t keep her from following her dream. A young, up and coming country recording artist, she and her band set out to do just that. Trying to leave her past behind, it wasn’t until meeting Harry Styles that she realized just how her life could take a turn and alter her future forever.

A/N: Please note all portions in italics are meant to be flashbacks :).

STORY PAGE

Chapter One Word Count: 4.3k+

“Are you sick and tired of being sick and tired…” - Daughtry; Witness

“Are you sure this is what you wanna do?” Pauline asked, lifting her coffee mug to her lips.

Amber let out a breath and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom, it is.”

Pauline swallowed as she looked out the window to the backyard. The swing set was old and rusted, the sandbox her children had once played in now overgrown with weeds. Her daughter was nearing twenty. It was time to let her go and earn her wings.

“Then I think you should go for it,” she said with a sweet smile.

Relief spread over Amber as she rose from her chair to give her mother a hug.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

“You already do, sweetheart,” whispered Pauline as she patted Amber’s hand, a tear trickling out of the corner of her eye. “Now you go follow your dream. Laci and I will be just fine.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. She’s a wild one, keeps me on my toes. Just like you.”

Amber caught the loving admiration underneath Pauline’s joking tone.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too. Now stop making me teary-eyed and go pack.”

Amber grinned as she bound for her bedroom. She was gonna be okay. She could feel it.

The restaurant was freezing. Actually, to say it was a restaurant was like calling that motel they’d stayed in the night before the Ritz. It was a dang Waffle House, but at least it was cheap. Amber had managed to save up some money on this short road tour, but she wasn’t about to splurge on a real restaurant, even if that sign she’d seen for that Mexican place had looked appealing. Still, it was so freaking cold in this joint, her nipples could’ve broken glass.

“And what can I get you, hon?” asked the blond middle-aged waitress.

Amber faked a smile as she rubbed her arms. “Eggs over easy with grits and bacon please.”

The waitress nodded and penciled in her order before addressing Carter who sat beside her. He ordered his usual - three waffles. Nothing else. Of course he would smother them later with butter and maple syrup. Amber watched him sip on his Coke when the waitress walked away and wondered how on earth he was able to carry all the band equipment day after day when he was loaded up on so much sugar. She never once saw him come down from his high and fall flat on his ass, but she waited for the day she would.

“How many more miles til Nashville?” groaned Brendan, running his palm down his face, his eyes weary.

“About eighty or so,” replied Johnny, smoothing out the road map in front of him. “Not much longer.”

“Good, cause I need a real bed. Alone.”

Amber smiled meekly at her bass player. Brendan had taken the wheel early that morning after they’d left Charlotte. The boys were getting a bit restless and annoyed with having to share a motel room, one of them usually opting for the floor or the van so they wouldn’t have to share a bed. Occasionally if Amber got a double room, Carter would convince her to let him take the other bed. Sometimes in the beginning he’d even slip himself into her single bed, and she wouldn’t kick him out if she was drunk enough. But those days were over, she’d told him.

Nashville would be a different situation. The band was scheduled to play a festival, billed as one of the opening acts. It would be excellent exposure for them, and in return they got free accomodations at the Hilton. It was a sacrifice Amber was willing to make to get the recognition. She’d just decided not to tell the boys until after the show that they weren’t getting paid.

The waitress brought their food and other than the sounds of chewing and swallowing, the occasional burp, the four sat in silence. Amber continued to rub her arms when she could, the coffee doing little to warm her up. She’d wished she’d brought her hoodie, but since it was damn near a hundred degrees outside, she hadn’t even bothered to pull it out of her duffle bag. Suddenly, she felt another set of hands on her skin, and she looked up to see Carter, a small grin on his face as he rubbed her naked arms.

“Cold?” he raised a brow.

“Yeah,” she sighed, allowing his long arms to envelop her as she scooted closer to him.

Her stomach did one of those flip-floppy things that she didn’t like. Okay, maybe she liked it, but she didn’t want to. She’d been firm with Carter that they were not a couple, and he wasn’t supposed to act like they were. He’d reluctantly agreed, what with being in a band together and all. But sometimes he could be really sweet. Sometimes he…

“Can I get you anything else, hon?” the waitress asked.

“I don’t think so,” replied Carter, giving her his best smile as he squeezed Amber tighter with one hand and patted his stomach with the other. “That was great.”

The blond winked at him and set the check beside him before twisting her hips and strutting to the next table. Johnny and Brendan began to pull out their wallets until Amber stopped them.

“I got this one, guys,” she explained, giving Carter a nudge so he’d slide out of the booth.

Brendan shrugged, returning his wallet to his back pocket. Johnny dropped a few ones on the table and folded up the road map. As Amber paid the bill at the counter, Carter slid a hand across her butt and whispered in her ear.

“Meet you in the van.”

Amber nodded. “Be there in a minute. I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Ooh, honey, he’s a cutie,” Amber heard the waitress say when the boys were out of ear-shot. She scoffed.

“He your boyfriend?” the blond continued.

“No,” Amber shook her head as she took her change. “Just my drummer.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Brendan when he opened his hotel room door. “At last! My own room!”

Amber chuckled in the hallway, her duffle bag over her shoulder as she made her way to her room. The door clicked shut behind Brendan, but she could still hear him shouting something about ‘getting used to this’. Johnny’s room was across from Brendan’s, Amber’s next to it.

“I’m so ready for a nap,” she remarked, her card key in the door.

“Now? I thought...maybe we could hang out for a while. In mine.” Carter pointed across the hall.

“I’m exhausted, Carter.”

“I know, but…” he paused, his lips quivering into a suggestive grin, “can’t you be exhausted in here? With me?”

“Ugh...Carter…” Amber groaned. Here we go again, she thought.

“I give great back rubs.”

“I know you do,” she nodded with disinterest. “But I’m not feeling that great. I don’t think that Waffle House agreed with me.”

Amber heard the click of the lock and pushed her door open.

“Amber…”

“Carter,” she rolled her eyes, dropping her bag on the floor next to the bathroom. “I’m going to sleep. See you at dinner.”

Pauline held up the phone so Amber could see Laci dance around the living room in her tutu. Amber beamed and giggled as Laci did the same, twirling like a ballerina.

“Yay!” Amber clapped when Laci was finished. “Good job!”

Laci continued to giggle, her brown curls bouncing as she fell over on the couch, her head in Pauline’s lap.

“She’s been practicing,” Amber’s mom announced.

“I can tell! How’s school?”

“It’s going great. Her teacher says she’s always excited to come and never wants to leave.”

“Aw, I’m glad,” said Amber.

A knock sounded on her door so she rose from the bed to answer it. Carter stood on the other side, his hands in his pockets. Amber lifted a finger and pointed to her cell phone to indicate she was talking on it. Carter nodded and followed her into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey, Mom, I gotta go. We’re about to go to dinner.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Pauline nodded. “Have fun in Nashville!”

“I will. Bye Laci!” she waved into the phone. The little girl’s head popped into the screen she blew kisses.

“Love youuuuu!”

“I love you too, baby girl.”

Hanging up the call, Amber shoved her phone into her back pocket and looked up at Carter. He’d apparently had a shower, his caramel hair combed back, his clean t-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders.

“Ready?” she breathed, hoping he hadn’t noticed how it caught in her throat.

“Yeah, Johnny and Brendan are downstairs.”

“Okay.” Amber stepped into her sandals and walked around him to the door.

“Um...Amber?”

“Yeah?” she stopped.

Carter scratched his stubbled chin before shoving his hand back in his pocket.

“Sorry about...before,” he offered.

Amber chewed her cheek and shrugged. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I know but…” he hesitated, then looked down at his feet. “Hey, I know how you feel about us-”

Amber held up a hand. “There is no us, Carter. We’re friends. Bandmates. That’s all.”

His jaw set so hard he could cut through steel, Carter nodded. “Got it.”

Amber sighed. “Carter…”

Stepping closer to her, he put his hands on her waist.

“We got something, Amber. You might not see it yet, but I do. All those times you cried on my shoulder til four in the morning. Those nights in your bed-”

“It’s over, Carter,” she pushed his hands away.

“But I don’t want it to be.”

Amber swallowed hard as she looked down. “It needs to be,” she whispered.

“But why?”

“Because...that was the old me.”

Amber felt Carter sigh more than heard it. She watched his feet as he stepped around her to open the door.

“You’ll want me again, Amber. Maybe not tonight. But one day you will.”

Amber glared at him as he held the door. Maybe he was right.

Harry didn’t usually stay with his band. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, and it wasn’t an ego thing. It was more of a safety thing. If fans got wind of where Mitch, Sarah, Adam or Clare were, nine times out of ten they figured Harry was somewhere near. They would bombard the hotel just to get a glimpse of him, and sometimes things could get out of hand. And Harry didn’t want his band to feel like they couldn’t get out and see the city if they wanted to. So early on Jeffrey Azoff, his friend and manager, had talked him into staying at a different hotel from theirs. And so far it had worked.

Today, however, Harry decided to join his band in the hotel restaurant - the Hilton where the rest of the band members were staying. He reckoned no one would suspect he would be there, so he could slip in and take a seat with the gang and enjoy a private meal. But he’d thought wrong.

He wasn’t sure if it was the girl who nearly fainted in the lobby, or if there had been paps or someone else outside who’d recognized him, but by the time he made it around the corner near the elevators, just outside the restaurant, he was surrounded. Cursing under his breath, he put on a brave face and greeted the mob of fans.

Fans. That was actually too kind of a word. He knew who his true fans were. They were the ones who bought his album and tickets to his shows. They were outside waiting in a queue for hours so they’d get a good spot in the general admission section. They had websites and blogs and wrote fanfiction and made their own merch. They weren’t waiting outside of hotel restaurants hoping to get a selfie with someone they may or may not actually had heard of, let alone sang along to in the car. But being the Harry Styles that he was, he knew it wasn’t fair to pick and choose. Treat people with kindness, that was his motto. He lived by the golden rule, even when all he wanted to do was get a bloody meal with his friends.

When the last girl had left, a squeak in her voice as she snapped one last photo, Harry strolled into the restaurant, waving at his bandmates who sat in the corner of the nearly empty room. Immediately a waiter came by, setting a glass of water in front of him.

“Evening,” nodded the waiter in a monotone.

“We already ordered for you,” said Clare.

“Oh. Thanks,” Harry grinned, setting his napkin in his lap.

“Guess, this isn’t happening again,” remarked Mitch.

“What isn’t?”

“This,” Mitch gestured. “Dinner at our hotel. You were mobbed.”

Harry shrugged with a sigh. “Yeah. It wasn’t too bad. Coulda been worse.”

Sarah and Mitch glared at him before lifting their glasses simultaneously. The waiter came with their food then, and the mood was lightened with idle chatter. Halfway through his salad, however, Harry could feel eyes upon him. He had a gift, he did. He could always tell when he was being watched. Usually it involved a camera, but when he lifted his gaze to browse the room, he only found a pair of pretty blue eyes. They belonged to a young woman sat at the table across the room, one of only two others occupied in the restaurant presently. She was joined by three other lads, who all seemed to be doing their best to pay attention to themselves and each other, and certainly not to her.

He had no idea how or why. She was cute. She had pouty red lips and a heart-shaped face. And there was no way he could ignore the way she tried to look away when he caught her looking at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Yeah, he would definitely be paying attention to her.

Actually, come to think of it, she looked right familiar to him. Biting his lip, he tried to place her.

A burst of laughter broke his thoughts and he turned his head to see Adam showing the other three a video of his kid on his phone.

“How adorable!” exclaimed Clare.

As Adam scrolled to find another funny video, Harry leaned toward Mitch.

“Hey mate, who’s that?” he pointed to the girl across the room. “Do you know her?”

Mitch shrugged just as Sarah said, “That’s Amber Crosby.”

“Who?” Mitch and Harry asked in unison.

“Amber Crosby? She’s part of the festival tomorrow?” Sarah rolled her eyes. “That’s her and her band.”

“Ohh,” sounded Harry. Amber Crosby, that’s right. He’d heard her single a few times. She was good.

“How do you know this?” inquired Mitch.

“Because I make it a point to keep up with what’s going on,” remarked Sarah, pursing her lips. Mitch mocked her with a face which earned him a pinch.

Harry watched Amber sit with her band, though she might as well had been sat there alone. She reached for her glass of water, taking a sip through a straw before her eyes wandered up and locked with Harry’s again. He caught the slight blush in her cheeks as she quickly averted her gaze and set her glass back down.

“Hey, Harry, are y-” he heard Mitch begin, but he didn’t stay to listen to the rest of the sentence. Instead, he rose from his chair and crossed the room to where Amber sat.

“Hello,” he greeted when he reached her table. “Amber Crosby, right?”

Once again, he didn’t miss the rosiness of her cheeks as she lifted her head.

“Yes,” she smiled up at him.

“I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Harry Styles.”

Amber beamed wider, taking Harry’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“I saw that you’re playing tomorrow,” he half lied.

“Yeah,” Amber made a face. Harry wasn’t sure if it was one of embarrassment or annoyance. But either way, he liked how her nose crinkled when she did it. “I think we’re like second or third. So we’ll be out of here by sundown.”

Harry feigned shock, placing his hand on his chest. “And miss my set?”

Amber giggled. “Well, I don’t want to, but you know…”

“Hey, man,” uttered the straight-nosed guy sat next to Amber. If he hadn’t extended his hand, Harry might have thought he was about to threaten him.

“Oh, sorry!” Amber sat up, addressing the three men at the table. “Harry, this is Carter, Brendan and Johnny. My band. Guys, this is Ha-”

“Harry Styles, man, nice to meet ya!” Carter nearly slapped his hand against Harry’s, making Amber grimace. But Harry was gracious, shaking each man’s hand and making them feel important.

“I’ve heard your song,” said Harry, “it’s really good.”

It was Amber’s turn to cover her heart. “Oh, thank you.”

“Yeah, I’m anxious to hear more.”

His eyes met Amber’s then, making her smile. He didn’t miss Carter’s arm, however, that suddenly stretched across the back of her chair.

“Will you be there tomorrow?” asked Amber. “I mean, as early as we’ll be playing?”

“Yeah, I should be. I’ll be popping in off and on throughout the day.”

“What time are you on?” piped up one of the other lads. Damn, Harry had forgotten their names. Brandon? Brennan?

“We’re on at eight,” replied Harry.

“Oh. We might be gone by then,” Carter declared, his fingers playing on Amber’s shoulder. “We have another gig to get to the next day.”

“Oh, too bad,” Harry frowned, not missing the maneuver Amber pulled to get her shoulder out of Carter’s reach. “Well, just wanted to say hello, and um...best of luck tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Amber and her band sang.

Harry gave a small wave as he turned back for his table, rejoining his own band.

“What d’you think?” Sarah raised a brow.

“She seems lovely.”

Just then Amber and her band rose from their table, heading for the exit.

“I think I’ll try to introduce myself tomorrow,” said Sarah. “I definitely wanna catch their set.”

But Harry was barely listening. He watched Amber follow the men out of the restaurant, turning around once to wave at him. He smiled and waved back.

He definitely wanted to catch their set too.

Carter thought he heard something. It was a cheap motel, and the walls were very thin. But did he detect the sound of someone crying? Amber’s room was next door. Could it be…

He waited a few more minutes, just to be sure. Then swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up and walked to the door, hesitating only for a split second before stepping outside.

He knocked gently at first, then thought that was ridiculous and knocked louder. She didn’t answer right away, though that didn’t surprise him. Again, he knocked, this time calling her name.

“Amber! Amber, are you in there?” He knew his question was pointless; of course she was in there. And she was hurting.

He heard the click of the lock before the door opened, just enough to reveal half of her tear-stained face.

“Are you okay?” Another stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay.

She shook her head, her hair falling over her eyes. Carter let out a deep breath.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Amber looked down and shook her head again. “Not really.”

Carter nodded. He wasn’t going to push her.

“Can I...come in?”

Swallowing hard, Amber stepped back, her head still bowed. When Carter shut the door behind him, she finally looked up at him.

“Oh!”

It was only then that it dawned on Carter that he was shirtless. He’d been lying on his bed after returning to his room, still in his jeans, his sweaty t-shirt and shoes discarded across the room in a pile. His mind on getting to Amber, he hadn’t bothered to put on a clean shirt.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

With a sharp turn, Amber ran to the bed, planting herself on it face down.

“Hey,” Carter whispered as he sat down next to her. He watched her back tremble and shake as she cried into her pillow. “Amber…”

When she didn’t reply, he looked around the tiny room. On the nightstand sat a half-empty bottle of whisky. It wasn’t open, but he picked up the empty glass next to it and sniffed it. He made a face as he wondered if she’d already drunk that much tonight.

“Amber,” he said again.

Just as he reached for her, she sat up and wrapped her arms around him. He’d let her cry as much as she wanted; he was willing to wait all night if he needed to. Finally, she lifted her head, wiped her eyes and sniffled.

“I hate my life,” she admitted.

“What?”

“I’m so tired, Carter,” she cried. “So very tired. Of everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sick of trying so hard...when it doesn’t get me anywhere.”

Pushing a strand of her brown hair from her wet, sticky cheek, Carter assumed she meant the band, her music. But then she dropped the bomb.

“I just want someone to love me,” she whined, her big brown eyes searching his face. “Why is that so hard?”

“Amber…”

“Am I unlovable?” she asked.

“What? No!” Carter knew that wasn’t true. Okay, maybe he wasn’t in love with her. But he’d definitely had feelings since they’d met. He knew she’d had a hard life and kept her guard up, but he’d never gotten the whole story. He’d always hoped one day she’d tell him.

“Sometimes…” she hesitated, “sometimes I just wanna end it.”

“End what?” Damn, he was full of dumb questions tonight. He knew the answer. He just hoped he was wrong.

“My life.”

He took her face in his hands then. He wanted to yell at her, shake her into reality. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Amber,” he said firmly.

“Don’t I?” she rolled her eyes. “No one gives a shit about me.”

“I do. I care.”

“You do?” Though her eyelids were heavy, she fluttered her lashes.

Carter could smell the liquor on her breath before he kissed her. He didn’t care. He wanted her to know she was wanted.

She hadn’t asked him to stay that night, but he had anyway. He wanted to make sure she was okay. And when she’d gotten up to puke, he’d held back her hair.

Carter sort of made a habit of staying in Amber’s room after that. About a month or so later, after they shared an entire bottle of whisky, she told him her story.

“Ten minutes,” the stage assistant announced, sending nervous tingles down Amber’s spine.

“Okay, okay,” she breathed, shaking her limbs and fingers. “Let’s do this.”

Just then she heard a voice behind her, one that she recognized from the night before. She turned to see Harry Styles chatting with Brendan along with his bandmates Sarah and Mitch whom she’d met an hour ago. When their eyes met, he smiled widely and stepped toward her.

“Hi, Amber,” he greeted. “Promised I’d make it to see you, and here I am.”

Amber returned his smile, her insides giggling with glee. He hadn’t actually promised that, not in so many words, but she thought it was a nice gesture.

“Good to see you, Harry,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t crack before she even made it to the stage.

“You’ve met Sarah and Mitch,” he confirmed in part question.

“Yes, I did. They’re so nice.”

“I have a great band,” Harry nodded.

“You definitely do. They all seem very fond of you. As they should.”

“Five minutes!”

“I’m on next,” Amber voiced with wide eyes.

“Best of luck to you,” Harry grinned. “You’ll be great.”

“Hope so,” she breathed. She looked around to see her band members coming toward her. For some reason she got more nervous when she made eye contact with Carter.

“Hey, man,” he said as he approached Harry, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, good luck, mate,” Harry reached out his hand to tap Carter’s arm.

“Places people!” the stage hand called.

Amber shrieked, trying to let her body release the last of its nerves. She caught the tiny giggle coming from Harry and gave him a shrug.

“Always nervous,” she muttered.

She hadn’t expected Harry to take her hand then. And she hadn’t expected to feel the electricity that charged through her skin from his touch. And she hadn’t expected the look in his eyes to take all her nerves away and make her feel calm.

“Let’s go!” Carter shouted, his hand on her back as he pushed her onto the stage.

Harry watched Amber Crosby’s short set from backstage. She was good. Better than good, she was fantastic. He loved the tone of her voice, both warm and clear. She had a youthful quality about her while also being very sensual, like some of the classic country females whom he enjoyed. Though he was familiar with the radio hit, he liked her other songs just as much, if not more. He wondered if she wrote them all, and he made it a point to ask her when he got the chance. If he got the chance. He was disappointed that she and her band would be leaving after their set. There was something about her… he didn’t know what exactly, but he wanted to find out.

The crowd cheered after their last song, making Harry smile. He hardly knew this girl, but he was already feeling a sense of pride for her. His own hands clapping eagerly, he watched as the band took a bow together and turned to exit the stage. He felt the presence of two bodies stepping to either side of him, joining him in his applause.

“So what do you think?” asked Sarah.

“I think I just found my new opening act,” Harry replied.

As always feedback is appreciated (even if it is an old fic lol).

[alexlwrites]

Friday, Diner Day - 2052

There was this old couple in the corner of the room, sitting on those high red vinyl stools, both short enough to swing their feet above the ground, the man’s a little lower. They’re both giggling like highschoolers and people couldn’t help but look fondly at them.

Sitting beside them was a young woman, her chin resting on her folded hands, cheeks flushed from laughter. She hung from every word the couple said, eyes full of stars and wishful daydreams.

“So, how did you two meet?” she asked and the older gentleman smiled crookedly, slanted eyes full of mirth.

“Funny story, really” the old lady laughed “Richard here was in a motorcycle gang and I needed a quick escape from the police.”

“Betty was fistfighting transphobes that got in the way of a march for trans rights. She jumped onto the back of my bike and yelled ‘run, I’ve got priors!’”

“I shoplifted a lot” Betty nodded, quickly adding “only from big corporations, of course!”

“She stole our first anniversary gift” Richard placed his hand on top of hers, matching wedding bands reflecting light on their ring fingers “She’s very sentimental.”

There was a horrified yet endeared look on the young woman’s face, misplaced admiration for the lasting love of those elderly ex-delinquents.

Love can really be found in the strangest of places, she mused, maybe I should join a gang.

***

“A motorcycle gang, Y/N, really?”

Friday was laundry day of the week, meaning you and Yoongi wore your weirdest, most mismatched clothes while folding shirts, the smell of his favorite fabric softener covering the room, sticking to the clean sheets.

“You would look good in one of those leather jackets. Also, being in a boy band is not that different from being in a gang”.

Yoongi threw an unknown piece of clothing at you “How would you know?”

“Well, I’ll have you know, Richard, that I used to be a prolific criminal in my day. The TV in the living room? Stole it.”

“From Walmart?”

“From Hybe.”

Yoongi’s giggles and gummy smiles still managed to fill your heart with a funny and unsettling sort of warmth even after decades of being exposed to it. You would never get used to it, never be impermeable or numb to his happiness as it was directly correlated to your own. Every loud laughter you managed to get out of him was a victory and you had been keeping score for thirty years.

Friday, Diner Day - 2022

Diner day was the best day of the week, Yoongi thought. Every possible Friday was spent with his best friends in the back of a poorly lit restaurant they found when they had very little money and way too many dreams. The whole place smelled of grease and sugar, but to him the sweetest thing was always behind the counter.

As usual, Yoongi excused himself from the table only minutes after arriving, leaving behind his hollering friends and walked over to you. You had flour on your head and icing covering your hands, hair pulled into a half-fallen bun with a single pencil running through it. That day, you wore about 3 thousand beaded bracelets and high tops, each foot clad in a different colored one.

“Yoongi” you greeted him cheerfully, pretty rosy lips stretched in a grin “You are back!”

Missed me?, he wanted to ask, but even after knowing you for so long he was still too shy, too unsure. His quiet way of pinning was annoying, sometimes impossibly painful to watch, but there was still some sort of comfort in keeping his cards close to his chest, safety in all the words he didn’t say.

“Uh, yes” he mumbled, voice soft and shy “Got back a few days ago. Thought I’d stop by.”

“That’s nice of you, we all really missed you here.”

Yoongi glanced at the rest of the staff in disbelief: a teenage girl chewing gum that looked like she would rather be anywhere else, half waitering and half bullying the clients; a middle-aged cook that spoke very broken korean and only ever answered anyone with a grimace and a college boy that Yoongi had never ever seen sober. “You all did?”

You shrugged, the picture of nonchalance except for your now bright red ears “Well, I did. It’s not the same without you here on fridays.”

Yoongi’s heart always came alive when you talked to him, but some days, the days when your kindness dripped out of every words and your casual compliments got to him, on those days his heart became an Olympic athlete and tried to jump out of his chest, following his barely working brain down the street, running away from his flustered, sweaty and non-responsive body.

“Ah,,,” he said smartly, right hand flying to rub the back of his neck. C’mon, Yoongi, he thought, you can say something nice to the girl you like “I missed you too” he forced the words out, smile bordering on a grimace.

“You’re just saying that cause I serve you food” there was a light blush hanging high on your cheeks now, bringing even more warmth to your completion and the sight made hope bloom in Yoongi’s chest.

Cause if he could cause that sort of reaction on you (you, who he once saw dump hot coffee on a guy’s lap for harassing the other waitress and yell at client for making fun of the cook’s accent) then maybe he had a shot. Maybe he could find a way to work around the impending doom cloud that loomed over him due to his celebrity status and just ask you out. Just a normal-ish guy with a crush on an extraordinary-ish girl.

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

spoilers: set in season 6

We’ll Meet Again

Before, you were living the dream, and you didnt even know it. Much to your parents disappointment, you fell in love with a redneck, who stole your heart with the kindest, saddest eyes you’d ever known. A pair of lovesick teenagers; most nights you snuck out of your bedroom window to get on the back of his bike, and the two of you would ride away, to nowhere, to everywhere.

Obviously, when you became adults, things were a lot less simple, but they were still a dream. Your sweetheart redneck waiting for you at the end of every shift, leaning against his bike with his arms crossed and a stern expression that melted away the moment he saw you. The two of you took lovesick teenagers to the next level, it wasnt something you grew out of. While still in a pencil skirt and a blazer from your office, the two of you would be climbing trees, running through the grass, your heels hanging from your hand as the rocks and sticks beneath your feet shredded yet another pair of stockings. Wherever you went, whenever you discovered a patch of something new, you carved a heart into a tree with his knife, the heart always had a line that went straight down the middle, to represent how you were two halves of each other. Life, back then, was everything you could have ever wanted.

When the world you knew fell to pieces, you were away on a business trip, in an entirely different state. With all forms of long distance communication made redundant, you had no way of reconnecting with him. That didnt stop either of you from trying, though. He stayed at your house for a month, waiting for you, while you made your way back through the broken world. Less than a day before you arrived home, he had decided to go out and look for you. Somehow, the two of you completely missed each other.

Years have passed since the beginning, and you are still on your own. You prefer it that way. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. All this time spent outside, you have been searching for him, but you have no way of knowing where he is, and it breaks your heart. Just thinking of his name is too much for you to take. Behind you, your journey is drawn out on the trees that you carved into, and at this point you dont know if you’re carving them in tribute to someone you’ve lost, or if you’re trying to guide them back to you.

When you find Alexandria, you decide that maybe being alone isnt ideal anymore. He wouldnt want you to be by yourself out there; you often laugh to yourself at the thought of his reaction to the things you’ve done since he last saw you. The people of Alexandria are naive, that‘s obvious, but you are one person, one against many, and it isnt your place to try and change the way they do things. They let you into their home, and for that you are grateful. So instead of changing them, you put your own skills to good use. When the dead gather at the gates, you are the one to dispose of them, and when it comes to supply runs, you are the one people go to.

While out on your supply runs, you decide to carve trails in every direction, leading back to the gates, in the hopes that maybe, someday, he’ll find one, and he’ll follow them back to you. It’s wishful thinking.

When Aaron brings Rick’s group back to Alexandria, you’re away on a long run, andyou miss him, again. He’s grieved the loss of you, he’s still grieving, he will forever, he thinks. He’s so convinced you’re gone that when Deanna mentions the other survivor who arrived not long ago and refers to your name, Daryl’s only thoughts are that some bitch is going to arrive to torture him with the memory of you. As if being stuck in these walls couldnt be made any worse. As if seeing this neighbourhood filled with people didnt remind him of riding home with you from high school, dropping you off and walking you to your door like the gentleman he was proud to be. As if life without you wasnt painful enough.

He spends as much time outside of the walls as possible, not looking forward to being forced to interact with the ghost of your memory. He heads back to the walls almost every night, so that his friends dont come looking for him, and by then, if this other survivor has arrived he’ll have hopefully avoided them, and he can run back out of the walls the following morning to avoid them further. On one of his walks back, though, he notices something that he didnt before. Something that he hadnt seen in years, but something he’d never forgotten. His shaking hands traced the carved marking in the tree trunk, and then he hears something he never thought he’d heard again.

“Awh, you guys didnt have to throw me a welcome-back party, you’re too kind!”

He turns so slowly, his mind at war with the rest of him as optimism and cynicism battle each other to the death. When his eyes land on you, cynicism evaporates.

You’re jumping on the walkers you’d just greeted, stabbing them through the skull, kicking others to the floor and telling them to wait their turn. A pile of the dead forms around you, and you sigh, your back facing him. He cant move, he has to be dreaming. A walker stumbles right past him, heading for you, and something primal awakens in him. In an instant, he has aimed, fired, and knocked it down. It’s your turn to freeze. The sound of a crossbow is something you’ll always remember, even after all these years. Your heart pounds against your ribs, gripping the string of the very bow that he had made for you and gifted on your 19th birthday. With the same disbelief weighing you down, your body turns just as slowly as his had.

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you can move. For just one precious moment, you both accept the realisation that you were both alive all this time, and against all odds, you’ve found each other again. You’ve found Daryl. And then, the moment changes, and you’re running to each other. You jump into his open arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, his arms locking around your back as he falls to the ground, resulting in you now sitting on his lap. The mixture of laughing and crying that ensues is one of utter madness, the greatest form of bliss, as you hold each other’s faces, your hands roaming all over each other’s clothes bodies for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

“I thought’cha were dead!” Daryl chokes out, and you cant stop smiling at him.

“I thought you were too!” You cry.

“Why’d ya keep leavin’ the carvin’s on the tree if ya thought I was gone?” He asks, unable to comprehend that you are really here, in his arms again. His impossible girl.

“Couldnt give up on you, not ever.” You tell him, and then the two of you are sobbing into each other, crushing each other so tightly that any other time it would probably be too painful, but not now.

From the gates, Rick’s group have gathered, and they’re watching on in confusion. Daryl had never had the strength to tell anyone about you, not even Carol. Talking about you would lead to him talking about how he thought you were gone, and if he actually spoke those words aloud, they would be too real.

“I never stopped lovin’ you, ya gotta know that.” Daryl sniffles, resting his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes, your face aching from smiling more than you have in years. “I know, I never stopped loving you either, Daryl.”

Hearing you say his name broke him, and he buries his face in your neck. “Shit, (Y/N), ya got me back round your li’l finger already.”

You cant help laughing at that, lifting his head from your neck so that you can kiss his forehead, and then you’re staring at each other again, waiting. There’s some hesitance, some nervousness, it’s been so long since either of you have kissed anyone, what if you arent good at it anymore? But against all that, something else wins, and you’re leaning in, your lips meeting his. Daryl’s arms pull your body flush against his, deepening the kiss, and you both sigh, because it hasnt changed. Despite everything the two of you have been through since you last saw each other, you are still the same people, the same lovesick teenagers, deep down in your own heads, in a place where only you two can go.

From beyond the gates, cheers erupt, and you and Daryl break apart, resting your heads together as you laugh and look to the crowd. Maggie and Glenn have their arms around each other, grinning at the two of you. Rick, Michonne, Abraham and Aaron are applauding and smiling in disbelief. Rosita is rolling her eyes at how cheesy this is, but she’s smiling. Carol’s watching on with a hand over her heart and an emotional smile on her face, and Tara’s giving Daryl two thumbs up. Everyone is so happy, and you can tell from the looks on their faces that they’ve never seen Daryl this happy.

“Friends of yours?” You ask him teasingly, and he shakes his head.

“Naw.” Daryl answers, standing to his feet and lifting you up with him. “Come meet the family.”

[pollyna]

✨️Goose and Iceman (& Slider) in Annapolis✨️:

- they met because Nick needs a pencil and never really stop talking because Nick is the only one with a braincell there (sorry Ron);

- they both love sci-fi and Ice lends his book to Goose and Goose does the same. Ice's copies are full of notes and the back is always broken because Ice reads everywhere he can while Goose's are almost new because he's a bit of a maniac on how his books should be preserved;

- Slider is the first one to have a callsign because Goosd had to pull a prank just in that moment, and the banana peel on the floor exactly in the moment Ron was walking in? A fucking success. Nick is the second and the story about his callsign variates based on who asks. The Mother follows because Tom swears that man is more concerned about him not getting sick that everything else, that particular winter;

- Goose thinks and does enough shenanigans that Ice has to come up with a new excuse every day and some are as wiled as the shenanigans Goose does. Once, trying very hard not to laugh in front of the instructor, Ice had to bitten the inside of his cheek so hard he actually drew a little blood, and he spent two days eating ice chips because they were the only thing that didn't hurt;

- Goose takes Ice and Slider line dancing one night and almost falls face on the ground when he sees Ron moving;

- where Ice fills his books of notes, Goose writes on Ice's one. Especially on his math ones because Goose gets bored easily, Ice already knows most of what they're explaining, and Slider is more interested in pyshich that geometry;

- Goose plays the piano regularly every Friday night and once or twice Ice sings, but only when it's just the three of them around;

- the first time they all go up, Ice buys them too many rounds of vodka martini and they get so shit faced they end up cuddling all together because they're cold (and fucking christ how could you not be, sleeping on the fucking beach? a guy, Hollywood?, asks the next morning);

- in the middle of the winter Ice goes around in shorts and one of Slider's, or Goose's, sweatshirts because he forgot to pack his and he's hot and cold at the same time but he won't put on anything else. Goose takes pictures because, he promises, in a couple of years, he will have to show them to someone!! Ron snorts louder and cuddles Ice a little longer until Goose joins them because it's really fucking cold;

- Slider buys a succulent one night because the thing is too cute, and it costs him no more than a penny. Three of the most brilliant minds in the Navy end up killing the poor thing, Maggy, in less than three weeks;

- the day of the graduation, they take a photo, and Goose gives a copy to the other two. Until the next time, my friends he says all serious and composed and Ron slaps him behind the head because ohy Ice, the Mother thought it was going to get rid of us already. They all laugh so much everybody else around them starts to laugh too.

[carriesthewind]

Hi! I read the further comments and posts you made regarding the library poll and incoming results. One specific thing was interesting to me personally: when you brought up that the argument "it's not your property" is in some way the same argument used by cops harassing homeless people in parks etc. That never occurred to me, cuz public property (object) and public property (place) are so very different to me, I can't "take away" a park like I could a book. (1)

(2) I wonder how much of my perspective is formed by growing up and living in a country with a relatively good social security net (ofc, slow bureaucracy exist and can have very negative consequences) where (police) violence against homeless people is at least nominally lower - and how much is just the ignorance of always being treated like (lower) middle class

Thanks for the question!

To first address the "takings" question: you raise an interesting distinction. I think how important that distinction comes down in part to what we mean by "take away." So for example, while a lot of the librarians in the library marginalia poll are (correctly and informatively) talking about how writing in books damages them to the point where they need to be removed/thrown away, a lot of writing doesn't damage the book (immediately) to the point of removal, but still interferes with a reader's enjoyment. That's (part of) why librarians erase pencil markings, even though erasing itself can damage the book - the writing in the books "takes away" from the experience of other readers. Meanwhile, for something like a park, many people would argue that homeless people living in a park "take away" from other people's experience of the park; and if enough homeless people live there, it can prevent other people from being able to access (or safely and comfortably access) the park.

If you want to see examples of people talking this way, here's an article from Fox News in the aftermath of a police raid on a large homeless encampment in a Los Angeles park. Quoting from the article: "'It looks like the way it should be. It's a family park. And I think kids are feeling like they can come to a place and not worry that they might find needles in the playground,' resident Joey larva said." You can see from the way the "resident" (a.k.a local property owner) talks about the park, that he didn't feel kids could use it when the camp was there; that it was "taken" from them. (If you really want to be horrified at humanity, you can scroll down and read the comments. I really really don't recommend doing so, however.)

(Because I don't feel comfortable letting that article be the only word on the subject: here's an article from the Guardian about the aftermath of the raid - and the camp itself - focused on the victims of the raid.)

Which leads to the second part of your question - I'm not sure how much it has to do with your experiences, as opposed to mine. As someone who does public interest law in the U.S., part of the reason I'm so sensitive to these kinds of arguments is because I have seen how the state (and corporations) use the idea of property, ownership, and rules/the law to as hammers to hurt vulnerable people. And how resistant those systems in the U.S. are to considering any actual harms in applying those laws and rules. (One of my first criminal defense cases, I tried to ask the prosecutor what his rational was for demanding the punishment he wanted in his plea offer - what goal did it serve? And I went on to detail the specifics of my client's particular case and my great, law-school-approved arguments for why his offer was inappropriate (I can't give details, but please be assured - there was no rational justification for even charging this person criminally). His response was to yell that this was what he always offered for this offense, my client had broken the law (which, technically, they had), take it or leave it.)

And one of the common experiences of doing public interest law work in the united states is that some of the hardest clients to represent are those who have never been on the sharp end of the justice system before (especially former middle, and even upper-lower, class). Because people have an entirely sensible expectation that the justice system will abide by certain standards of rationality and reasonableness. And then it just...doesn't. Because when it says that the only thing that matters is, "it doesn't belong to you;" it really really means it - regardless of the context, of the harm that you've actually done, or the harm that the hammer of the system is about to do to you.

(Apologies for the depressing answer.)

[ennaku-sirri-da]

ALL I KNOW IS THAT THE ENDS BEGINNING

[ Plaintext: All I know is that the ends beginning ]

[ ID: Digital fanart of Dr.Habit from the game Smile For Me. It is done mostly in grayscale. The style is semi realistic leaning more on cartoony. The faint rough sketch lines are visible.

However his design is from my AU Roseverse. The changes are as follows. Habit is is fur covered. His face is gaunt and freckled with protruding furry cheeks, then fur-ruffles under his makeup-applied eyes, then a thin pencil stache with surrounding chin and neck hair. The middle of the neck is surrounded by a scar, and he has an Adams apple. His teeth are broken, uneven and he has one snaggletooth fang. His voluminous curly hair is more subdued and messed up, but he is clearly balding on one side too with stray hairs perking up.

The background is black with a very mild grey light at the centre, and covered over with static. In the centre is a bust of Habit till his freckled shoulders. He is done in mostly light grey tones, face is left in white with some blurry, sometimes splotchy, uneven shading. The dark grey is used for emphasized features of the face and contrast like eyes and beard. There is some blurring of the lines in various places. Habit has an expression of anger and sorrow combined, his wrinkled brow furrowing deep as his glass eyes crack and oil spills in long lines from them akin to tears. He scowls strongly and his eyes are narrowed. His head slightly tilts at the viewer, facing front.

White text written in a sort of cursive style above him reads, " And one night I realized". The text below him reads," I never had a choice. I'd have to give years for something I don't really care about "

At the very bottom of the drawing a small, widely round-surfaced candle burns with a small flame out of the darkness. It is a real picture edited in. End ID]

--

Talk under the cut! This one's really personal. It's based on my experience, and was done during the same time. TW for very heavy topics, please heed the tags

These are the very words in a message I sent a friend:

"God dude it just keeps weighing on me that I have to give five years for something I dont really care about and very well much more

Realising how my chronic insecurity and constant abuse by my parents and loss of identity and them never supporting my interests at all is all correlated to trapping me in this golden cage

I wished I failed NEET

But then what could I have done to change it? Nothing in my life ever indicated strongly that the stream of Arts was a real viable option I should take. Except maybe like a few English teachers but they couldn't break my mindset

It's like I was fucking doomed from the day I was born to them to be unhappy

And now I have to work and work to be exactly what they want they wanted me to be all along

I cant take it I feel like ive been buried alive"

It was HORRIBLE. I went only for a few days to medical school, but every day I felt like dying. I really seriously wanted to kill myself. I have many times before, but this time the special dread of finality set in again like Judgement Day. I came home, the portion kept building and building, the teachers kept talking, the students kept talking and laughing, the building kept making me get lost, my family could only encourage me more, I couldn't take ANY of it. I HATED them. I HATED this WORLD. This cruel world. I cried until my eyes and heart ran dry when no one could see. I cried until I became nothing more than a hole in my chest and I called the suicide hotline and they couldn't help me.

And you know what? I fucking survived.

I'm here, bitch. I'm here and I'm breathing and I'm happy and I'm going to the stream I wanted, B.A English. I don't care if one more person has to be bewildered that I left MBBS. My precious life is more important than that.

It was like a miracle. I think God is on my side, for some confounding reason. There was a court case involving my seat for another student's, and I heard about the news right on the day I'd decided to "leave". I'd made plans and said goodbyes and everything. And there I heard it. Leaving school, hearing my aunt tell me, like a golden ray of light from heaven. Of course I jumped on the opportunity. No, don't fight for my seat. I've been very unhappy and in a dark mood. This is not what I want to do in life. I told my father this, and he surprisingly agreed. With his support I could be a little calmer about everyone else arguing with me not to do it. For once right now he did something right.

What can I say? I got admitted to an Arts college just yesterday. And this still evening felt like a fitting time to pull this out again and post it. Reminisce. On where I was and where I am now. Be thankful that the end began, but only the end of my old life and the beginning of a new one.

Thank you to every single stranger, friend and family member who was kind to me during this time. To that one fanfic creator who told me to hang in there, to my dear friend who heard out all my deathly woes day by day and held me tight in spirit, to my family who eventually came to support me and say I could do what I wanted(even if it was a hard process).

I will never forget that kindness. And now as I grow up into the world, and hopefully do what I want to do, I hope I can show the same kindness,

And I hope I will be happy.

[mr-nauseam]

° Characters

>Neizan. He/him. Pansexual

.

Neizan has black hair, slightly tanned skin and blue eyes. Two big eyes that are impossible to ignore.

The way he speaks is normal. Not too flashy, not too discreet. He’s usually smiling, and can talk to anyone, not to take away from his conversational skills, but the reason Is that he inspires confidence.

He has the presence that makes you want to wish him a good day no matter how shy or ill-tempered you are. Older people will ask him for directions in the street and young people will give him the story behind their broken heart at a party. He is restless without being anxious. He shakes his leg, twirls a pencil and may seem to want to run away at times, as if there is too much energy inside his body.

That’s why he’s such good friends with Lean, although he’s mate is actually consumed by anguish and that’s why he’s fascinated by Alex or Rhi, because they can sit still for hours on end, never taking their eye off their target.

And that’s why he found Aline, in the middle of the fire so many years ago.

.

> Alexander. He/him. Asexual.

.

Alexander has a strange power. He is able to lose himself in the crowd, to go unnoticed until someone inevitably ends up noticing him and can’t stop to looking him. Is it his white hair, his pale skin with its violet veins or the red of his sensitive gaze? Who knows, but these are never pleasant looks. Murmurs begin to surround him but he is lucky, he cannot hear them, for he is used to ignoring the voices that haunt him. He is lost in thought; he goes through the list of things he needs to prepare dinner. He is good at cooking, and at cleaning. He keeps his home upright; he saves his friends, keeps them alive by making sure they are fed. And he does it without asking for anything in return because he’s not good with words, he doesn’t know what to do with hugs, and he wants to thank them for being there. Also because sometimes Lean makes a mess trying to fix the things, Neizan is overzealous and Rhianne forgets that she needs more than oxygen to survive. Aline is the only reasonable one but she disappears for long hours. He holds a grenade in his hand. Asks its price in a calm, overly comforting voice.

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>Lean. He/him. Gay.

His laughter breaks the calm.

Lean’s presence has always been loud. He speaks loudly and his jokes provoke laughter from his companions. He can appear to be an overly brave airhead unafraid to attack, when in reality he is too scared to think. In a second he is turning the room upside down.

It is an unsuitable day to go out partying but he cares little for it. He wants to feel the excitement and go. He’ll drag Neizan along, because he thinks he feels the same. Alex will try to make him think but he will give in too easily because he has learned that it is easier to control disaster than to avoid it.

Rhianne will look at him with a raised eyebrow and let him be. He crosses his fingers that she (Aline) won’t show up and take away the attention of his faithful confidante Neizan, even though he enjoys her company and maybe they could have a chat in which he unveils his fears.

When the thought crosses his mind, he prays that she won’t show up. And he prays all the more for (not) crossing his path with a pretty face capable of seeing beyond his disordered soul, what means that he (doesn’t) want to see Jareth.

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>Rhianne. She/her. Demirromantic.

She arrives at the lab and brings confusion.

Anyone who sees Rhianne will think she is too young to be there. Maybe it’s her height or her skin with no new wrinkles but it doesn’t take more than a couple of words with her to realise that she is an old soul. Then the tiredness under her eyes is noticeable and anyone standing next to her wants to ask her to go to sleep but no one does.

They know there is no point in saying anything to her, for she will never listen to them. If any daring person tried to make the suggestion, her face would be decorated with a scowl that would make anyone recoil. She needs no words to make her wishes obeyed, nor does she need the sympathy of others. She is totally fine, amidst yellowed parchments and small fragments of scales expanding behind the lens.

Hours will pass and everyone will leave but her. She is too dedicated but sometimes her thoughts stray to those she left behind. They haven’t lost touch but sometimes it’s oddly quiet in this place, she’d grown used to the lively chaos of Lean and Neizan, Alex’s subtle but firm scoldings when her room was a mess and the presence of Aline, who for some reason became a little chatty around her.

Sometimes she misses home.

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> Aline. She/her. Straight.

Aline could be a ghost.

Her footsteps are silent and she disappears easily from the sanctuary. Sometimes she doesn’t go anywhere in particular, she simply walks through the shattered landscape surrounding the imposing realm she now inhabits.

She likes to go beyond the boundaries, where no elf or human goes because then she can get away from all the prejudices that fear her; from all those who upon seeing her fall fleetingly in love with her brown skin and the fire in her hair but think no more; from the world that is intimidated by the monotony of her voice, her sometimes unchanging expression and her power, but no matter how hard she tries, she is unable to escape the memories of another life that invade her thoughts.

Aline thinks she should look for answers but the thought is paralysing for a reason she doesn’t understand but she knows that whatever the reason is, it is the same one that makes her feel lost about her future.

Future and a very distant past.

Two voices that call out to her and she ignores them in favour of orders. She dreams then of returning to the shelter to be able to help Alex once more in the thousands of chores and to laugh with Lean so that his sadness doesn’t devour him. To perhaps discover the next crazy thing Rhianne will do when she remembers her past crime and to simply have Neizan by her side.

Telling that her heart is gentle, holding her hand, singing cheesy songs and looking at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

[pebblesinyourshoe]

A tool box sits on the floor in my office.

It belongs to a young man whose parents brought it to school at my request when this youngster was in first grade. He’s now in fourth grade.

The young boy was born a tinkerer his mother told me the summer before he began kindergarten - always building, always tagging along behind his father who can fix most things and whose hands and mind make electricity flow in places we live and places we work.

The young man liked to be outside. He fishes, mushroom hunts, swings a golf club like a battle ax, and has a smile painted across his face most days.

The boy is gentle. His parents worried - how will a boy who can make a screwdriver sing survive with a pencil in his hands for over seven hours a day in school? Fair question. Honest worry. One never knows about our children when they leave our home and enter school.

This boy has done fine in the classroom with loving teachers who drink in his calmness and appreciate his quiet calm nature. He has surpassed all the typical academic milestones thus far placed in his path. But he has done so much more.

He has the toolbox in my office at my request for a reason. You see, this boy also provides a bit of security for me - a person who can make a pencil sing in the classroom but lacks the tools and skills to build and fix. When these moments demanding work with my hands arise, and they often do, a phone call is placed, “Can you send Jack to my office when it’s a good time?”

And Jack arrives with the smile painted permanently on his face and either grabs the toolbox like a man grabs his lunchbox on the way out the door to work or opens it in front of me to fix whatever is broken or whatever needs built and assembled.

He brings a focus to a problem that is both gentle and analytical. I have a stepson the same way - can just look at a problem and figure it out. Oh, to crawl inside his head to see how they both see the world in three dimensions while I struggle with two.

The task is always completed in the tidiest of fashions. The screws tightened or the parts emptied from the box, spread out on the floor then assembled into something that looks just like the picture on the outside of the box - all the pieces facing the right way the first time they are assembled and no extra pieces leftover to cause you to worry. I marveled at him in first grade when he could work his genius. He marvels me still to this day as he has grown.

He works cheap. A Coke or a candy bar. Always smiles when offered my gratitude and always answers with a humble, “You’re welcome.” He’s the kind of person you hope buys the house next door to you - you know - has all the tools and is happy to use them with you to solve a problem.

I stared at this toolbox yesterday and realized “Time is moving forward”. I have two more years of the security of his expertise and quiet nature before he ages out to middle school. I thought about that and was both happy and sad. Selfishly sad because I will miss him for who he is and what he offers but happy because he is growing and is becoming a young man who is successful both with a screwdriver in his hand and to the relief of his parents, with a pencil as well. The praise goes to his teachers and his family and some born-into genetics but also to the young man. Who, like my stepson, knows how to work and how to fix things and how to do a job well both with a screwdriver and a pencil clutched between his fingers. A true gift.

I am hoping the young man and his parents donate the toolbox to my office upon him aging out. This year I plan to ask one of my teachers who can do that voodoo with a Cricut to add “Jack’s Toolbox” as a label to that red container. It is his box and is a reminder to me that talent runs in many different directions in a human being and that we all have gifts that can be offered to help each other when called upon.

Jack always answers my call. He always helps. He always does it with a smile. And he is already a success in life but he makes me wonder, “What greatness awaits him as a human being, a partner, employee, neighbor, friend, and citizen?” I think it will be wonderful to see where life takes him. And we all need to appreciate those individuals in our world who can build, fix, and troubleshoot but are also great friends, loyal employees, hard workers, honest neighbors, and community-minded citizens. It’s amazing what a toolbox can do in the hands of the right person.

[moonsb1996]

Ha! Calling it an OC for MHA wouldn't be an accurate statement because I have a comic that was translated into AO3. But if they stand out a little, there will be quite a lot of people. But I'll quote three people. The first person is a girl. Why is it a girl? I've been thinking about her since I was 12 and have never been able to find her story to shine on her until now. And the brief information is Quirks buff: She can increase physical power. And speed can be obtained from any part, such as the arms or legs, but most focus on speed, causing the destruction power to be quite low. Therefore must use a rapid attack instead. and cannot be used consecutively for a long time The reason is because she has a cardiac defibrillator. I think it's interesting if a character has something different from everyone else. So I gave her heart problems from childhood. And is very allergic to lightning. Her "buff" will cause lightning to occur when used. (Like Izuku) This allows her to avoid using her entire Quirks as much as possible. She has a lot in common with Izuku. She likes to analyze Quirks and doesn't have many friends from her old school. She used to have a bully who was like Bakugo. Therefore, when meeting people like that, they will avoid them. Or if it's a little heavy, you won't look at your face. Even make it into the element of air. And she has an imaginary friend, or like Izuku has a previous OFA holder, but he doesn't have Quirks, so don't worry about him.

The second person is another person who got the idea from my other OC from another story. and quite like his personality So I came up with him too

Quirks second coming Have you ever seen alan becker stickman? Yes, it's like that. Super powerful and cool. You can't help it. But I won't let heaven grant me that much blessing because if this OC uses 100% full release, he will lose his memory. which he has used 50% of the time, causing him to remember events or his own name with his old job (He's also a famous pro hero) and had to go back and learn how to read, write, or hold a pencil and eat. Currently, he's able to realize how deadly his Quirks are if used 100%, causing him to choose to use other attacks. Mostly unrelated to Quirks.

The last person, the 3rd person, this OC will be called Can't be a hero. Because I wrote him to be a villain, but I brought him up because he is a funny character to me. His idea or motto of being a villain is "As long as the world doesn't end, I want to drink my favorite cup of tea comfortably.” AKA, why would he want the Villain King chair? My tea-drinking chair was already nice and comfortable, and he saw that it was an underground world. Or is the world of villains all about business? There was money to hire him and his team. He went to work, but there was an agreement like any other contract job. If the employer breaks the rules of the agreement that provides the document to be read He will immediately abandon his employer and give them a refund (send in the police or kill them). Quirks undead, he is an OC who got the idea from the game Dark Souls that he can't die, regardless of whether he's attacked physically or mentally. He can renew his broken body as long as he has it. Rubbing alcohol over the wound and holding the severed object is enough. (He cannot regenerate.) But at the same time If the item is damaged, such as being broken into pieces of meat Or is it easily digested? will be disabled in that part The size of the wound will also affect his healing. For example, if there is a large wound in the middle of the body, You must lie still, conscious, and die until your body can heal. (About a week or month) And if you get stabbed with a small knife, wait a few minutes for it to heal on its own. But he cannot move without his brain. Therefore always avoid being attacked in the head. And even with such good Quirks, he was more of a sniper. because he was disabled in his leg Must use a cane As I said I like characters who are clearly different from ordinary people. That was another reason why he chose to be the group's sniper even though he was the leader. and most importantly He doesn't know how to drive. Even though he is a veteran And how are the other OCs? It's fun to talk like this.

A common theme of my complaints about Katsuki is that he’s worse than a 12 year old’s S.I in terms of writing and plot armor.

Why do I bring this up? Well it’s cause I feel almost anyone can make a far superior character. This could be in terms of likability, creativity, connection to the plot/themes, etc. Hell, I’m sure most of you who’ve seen my blog have better MHA OCs than Katsuki.

With that being said, I’d like to give you guys the stage. Got a MHA OC you’re proud of? Or maybe you want to hear other people’s opinions about your OC to avoid creating another Katsuki? Feel free to share your MHA OCs 🙌. I’m curious to see what you guys have come up with. I’ve got plenty of my OCs that I might share in the future but for now I’ll shine the spotlight on you.