#i LOVED English lit lessons

[xerospaced]

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[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to study English literature A-level in an all girls sixth form with a young teacher then just know that once (and this is a few years ago now) my teacher played the “If the men find out we can shapeshift they’re going to tell the Church!!” video and then asked us what about the video we could apply to studying The Handmaid’s Tale

[poetryforall]

"Why close your eyes to the world when a universe of possibilities stands right in front of you?"-Adora finds a friend

[dear-ao3]

You can't hide the bit about starting a cult in the tags. We demand the story.

once upon a time i was a menace of a 15 year old taking high school chemistry. and this was not a particularly advanced chemistry class. we had ancient bunsen burners, occasionally we lit things on fire, sometimes there were chemicals involved, but for the most part, it was standard run of the mill shit.

the class was divided into two groups of people:

The Trouble Makers and the People Who Didnt Cause (many) Problems

as a mostly straight a and usually honors (when it wasnt science) student, i fell into the second category.

this class was 8th period, last period of the day, and the teacher was new that year. we will call him mr a.

mr a was on the younger side and seemed like a dude who wanted to have fun with us (essential for a science class). unfortunately he was teaching a batch of idiots (myself included).

its been several years so i dont remember the exact politics of this class, but i do know that it was populated by the two guys who stuck a pop tart still in the foil in the band room microwave and nearly lit the entire building on fire, a few class clowns, some very stereotypical football players, two guys who were positively dumb as bricks and constantly acted like they were on the verge or breaking up or getting back together (they were not dating at all. they were both and still are very straight), and then there was me and a few other girls who mostly just minded our business and watched the chaos unfold.

mr a's mistake was that he engaged with the insanity caused by The Trouble Makers. which resulted in even more insanity. he only lasted one year. he hated all of us but he might have hated himself more.

he did like me and my friends tho because again, we did not cause problems.

you might be wondering what kind of problems could be caused in a high school chemistry class. well lots. for starters one of the outlets in the room was taped over with NO JUSTIN! BAD JUSTIN! written on it because one kid thought it would be funny to stick scissors in the outlet in a different class (true story). there were broken beakers, smashed glass, general insanity. again, not an honors class so most of us didnt really care about it as long as we passed. there was one time he told us (jokingly) that we should only drink pepsi because his wife worked for the company and it would help fund his kids college career or something. two days later five guys came in with coke bottles. that was the kind of class this was.

but we still learned chemistry. probably. i dont actually know.

this guy taught lessons like he was reading a tumblr text post. like full on "so the guy hated that guy cause xyz and smited him in the science journals for this that and the other thing" it was entertaining.

i remember learning two things in this class. one was that salt is NaCl. which mr a called "our good friend nackle" the second we will get to in a minute.

one of the things we had to do in class relatively early on was decorate a periodic table that we would be allowed to use for tests. like color code and all that. we were allowed to use it for tests because there was a Giant periodic table hanging in the room and mr a was "too short to cover that up"

well, that periodic table proved to become his worst nightmare.

now. remember that i am 15. i am a sophomore in high school. i have not yet had to consider the horrors of college. i am at peace. aside from this chemistry class i am also taking a dance class (that i didnt like), ap english language (which was terrifying because im really bad at deeper meaning in texts), honors algebra 2 (which i Barely passed), latin III (another class i was pretty shit at, but it was fun), crafts 2 (which was wonderful), gym (thats a totally Other story) and honors united states history (which i loved). i was also dancing about 20 hours a week outside of school. but most of my schedule required me to be a good little honors student and mind my business. i was also, by all accounts, an absolute loser and a nobody and had very few friends and was totally unknown to most popular kids. however, you all know me on this blog and know im a little shit and it was only a matter of time before i caused problems Somewhere.

and that somewhere came one blissful day during 8th period chemistry when mr a asked me something about the number of electrons on carbon.

and i (to my credit) was entirely zoned out because again it was 8th period. but i gave him an answer. it was the right answer. what the answer is now i have no idea because i went on to get a ba degree in history and my eyes have not graced the periodic table since this class.

and then he asked me "how do you know thats the right answer"

and i said, in all my zoned out, infinite wisdom "it says so on the periodic chart"

isnt a periodic table? you might be asking.

well you are correct.

but you see. the giant periodic table above the front of the board at the front of the room was from the 70s. and it didnt say periodic table. it said "periodic chart of the elements"

and i, being zoned out, just read the damn name off of the thing because what the fuck else is a girl to do.

and mr a says "its a table. the periodic table."

and i, who have now zoned back in and realized my mistake, refuse to admit that i was just zoned out in class so i say, like any reasonable person, "then why does it say periodic chart up there?"

and mr a said "i dont know, its old."

and i said "well it says chart. so why cant we call it chart?"

and mr a said "because its a table."

and me, because im a little shit and also 15 and there were probably also 10 minutes left in the school day said "i think we should be allowed to call it a chart. it says so right there."

and well. that was all the go ahead the trouble makers in the class needed to hear.

from then on, it was the periodic chart. we all called it that. all of 8th period. and mr a HATED it. if you wrote chart on your test you got points taken off (which i never did because i wasnt an idiot but i would put little smiley faces next to my answer and he would draw a frown face when he graded my paper next to it). if you said it when you answered a question he would pretend he hadn't heard you.

it was such a phenomenon that it spread to his other classes. everyone called it the periodic chart. the scissors in the outlet kid. the pop tart kids. the football players. everyone. it was a chart. not a table. to this day i still call it a chart.

though, i think he was just mad that my cult (which he did call a cult, the periodic chart cult) was more successful than his stoichiometry cult. which was basically that we all had to repeat stoichiometry back to him every time he said it. that is the second thing i learned in this class. dont ask me what it is though, i just remember the name.

at the end of the year we parted ways, mr a silently glaring at me for my chart crimes, never to return to our school (probably because he got fired, unrelated to my chart crimes). despite this, he did still like me as a student, and i did get an a in his class, though it probably pained him to give it to me.

the following year i had physics in the same classroom, periodic chart overlooking me.

i used my iPhone 5c to take a photo of a white board and accidentally dropped it six inches onto the lab bench. the screen grayed out and it never turned on again.

the chart had cursed me for my hubris.

[satellite-evans]

you don't have to be sorry

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Summary: Harry learns why you refuse to let him pay, uncovering your painful past.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: past abusive relationship, little angst, fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Harry had always found joy in giving. Growing up, even when he didn’t have much, he’d learned that the look on someone’s face when you did something kind for them was worth more than anything money could buy. That lesson had carried over into his adult life, especially once his career took off and his world expanded in ways he’d never anticipated. He loved surprising his family with impromptu vacations, treating his friends to dinners just because, and going the extra mile to make everyone around him feel cared for.

When he met you, he found himself wanting to do those little things even more. Your smile was infectious, your laugh a melody he didn’t know he’d been missing until you came along. You were so strong, so independent, and it only made him more drawn to you, your kindness, and your spirit. From early on, he’d noticed that you carried yourself with an ease that spoke of someone who’d learned to take care of themselves, and he admired it. You were thoughtful, always prepared, and fiercely capable of handling things on your own.

Still, that didn’t stop Harry from wanting to treat you. From the beginning, he’d try to pick up the tab here and there, take you out for meals he knew you’d love, or surprise you with little things—your favorite flowers, a new book he thought you might enjoy. But each time he tried, you’d flash that polite, unwavering smile and insist on paying your own way. It wasn’t just a gesture, either. It was firm, unyielding, and Harry quickly learned that it was one boundary you weren’t willing to compromise.

He brushed it off at first, thinking maybe it was just the way you were. And in a way, he appreciated your independence. He knew you’d never take advantage of his generosity, and that was part of what made him feel so strongly for you. But as time went on, he couldn’t help but notice the subtle ways you’d tense up when he offered to pay, how your expression would harden slightly when he’d suggest covering the check. It was almost as if his offers triggered something in you, something you seemed determined to hide but couldn’t fully suppress.

And so, he kept quiet, telling himself not to pry, to respect your independence. Yet, as the months went on, he found that it bothered him more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he wanted to be the one to pay, necessarily—it was that he wanted to feel like he could express his love without it feeling like a violation. He wanted you to feel comfortable enough to let him in, to let him care for you in a way that didn’t make you feel trapped.

One evening in late autumn, he planned a special dinner. The two of you had been talking about going to this small bistro on the outskirts of town for a while. It was an intimate spot with candle-lit tables and soft jazz playing in the background, and Harry knew you’d love it. The idea of spending a quiet, meaningful night there with you had stayed on his mind for weeks.

The evening was perfect. The glow from the restaurant’s lanterns bathed the room in a warm, amber light, casting a soft radiance on your face that made you look even more beautiful than usual. Your laughter floated through the air as you both shared stories and exchanged glances, and Harry felt the gentle comfort of being in your presence, something he’d come to treasure more than he’d ever thought possible.

When the bill finally arrived, he reached for it out of habit, ready to do what he’d long hoped to: treat you to something special, just because he wanted to. But, as always, you beat him to it, your card already in hand, that same polite but unwavering determination in your eyes.

��Please, love,” he murmured, placing a hand gently over yours before you could hand the card to the waiter. “Let me take care of this one, alright?”

Your smile faltered just for a second, and he saw a flicker of something in your eyes—something that didn’t quite match the confident independence you usually displayed. It was a look of hesitation, one that seemed out of place for you, and Harry couldn’t ignore it any longer. The moment was brief, gone as quickly as it came, but it was enough to stir his concern.

As the two of you walked out of the restaurant, Harry held your hand, feeling the cool night breeze brush against your skin as you strolled down the quiet, lamp-lit street. His mind was still on that moment at the table, the look in your eyes that hinted at something more, something you’d been keeping from him.

He stopped walking, gently pulling you to a halt beside him, his fingers still laced with yours as he looked down at you, his eyes soft and filled with a quiet concern.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, his voice low, careful. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but… why don’t you ever let me pay? I know you’re independent, and I love that about you. But… it feels like there’s something more to it. Like you’re keeping something from me.”

You met his gaze for a moment, but quickly looked away, shifting under the weight of his words. He could see a hint of tension in your shoulders, the way your hand tightened slightly around his, as if you were bracing yourself against an invisible force.

“It’s… it’s not about you, Harry,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you know that. This is just… it’s something I’ve had to do for myself.”

He nodded, encouraging you to continue without saying a word. He could see you struggling to find the right words, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you, as if the memories you carried were too painful to release.

“My last relationship was… it was complicated,” you finally said, your voice wavering slightly. “My ex… he was controlling. It wasn’t like this—it wasn’t done out of kindness, or love. It was… it was about power.”

Harry felt his heart sink as he watched you, his own feelings of helplessness swelling inside him as he realized just how deeply those past experiences had affected you. His fingers tightened around yours, as if to ground you, to remind you that he was there, listening.

“He… wouldn’t let me pay for anything either,” you continued, your gaze distant as if you were looking back at a memory you’d tried to bury. “He wouldn’t let me work. He’d tell me it was because he wanted to take care of me, but it was… it was more than that. He made sure I depended on him for everything. And whenever I used his money, he’d remind me that I wouldn’t have anything without him.”

You swallowed hard, the pain in your eyes raw, the vulnerability in your expression stark against the mask of strength you usually wore.

“It was like… like every time I let him pay, he took a piece of me with it. I felt like I was losing myself, one little piece at a time.”

Harry felt a swell of emotions surge through him, a mix of anger, sorrow, and helplessness. He hated the thought of you going through that, hated the idea that someone had taken advantage of your trust, had tried to mold you into something you weren’t. The thought of someone treating you that way filled him with a protective instinct he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Oh, love,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he reached up, gently brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you went through that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

The warmth of his hand against your cheek was grounding, soothing, a reminder of the safety you felt with him—a safety that was new, unfamiliar, and terrifying in its own way. You looked up at him, feeling the walls you’d carefully built around yourself begin to crumble, the armor you’d worn to protect yourself falling away under the gentle strength of his gaze.

“I didn’t want to feel that way again,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “When I finally left, I promised myself I’d be independent, that I’d never let anyone have that kind of power over me again. I didn’t want to feel… trapped.”

Harry listened, his heart breaking for the pain you’d carried alone for so long. He wanted nothing more than to reach into those memories and erase every moment of hurt, to go back and shield you from the scars that man had left behind. But he knew he couldn’t change the past. All he could do was be here, fully and completely, for you now.

He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a warm, protective embrace, as if his presence could somehow shelter you from every painful memory, every scar that still lingered. You felt yourself relax in his hold, the tension in your body melting away as you allowed yourself to simply be, to feel safe, without fear.

He held you for what felt like an eternity, his hand gently rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles. Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your shoulders, his gaze filled with a tenderness that took your breath away.

" I'm sorry." You said in a whisper, almost unhearable to him. Almost.

“ Oh lovie. I’m here for you,” he said softly, his voice a gentle promise. “You don’t have to carry this alone. You don't have to be sorry. I’ll never make you feel that way, I promise. You’re safe with me.”

The sincerity in his words touched something deep within you, and for the first time, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could let go of the past. You took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders as you allowed yourself to lean into his warmth, to trust in the quiet strength of his presence.

“Thank you, Harry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of gratitude and relief. “I don’t think you know how much this means to me.”

He smiled, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as you continued your walk down the quiet street. The world around you felt different somehow, softer, brighter, as if the warmth of his love had transformed the cold night into something beautiful.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Harry glanced at you with a playful grin. “You know, I was thinking… if you keep insisting on paying for everything, I might just have to start charging you a fee for dating me.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh really? And what would that fee be?”

“Let’s see… one home-cooked dinner a month, plus unlimited cuddle time, and maybe a few spontaneous trips to the ice cream shop,” he replied, feigning seriousness with a cheeky smile.

“Sounds like a bargain, but you might want to raise your rates. I’m a high-maintenance girlfriend,” you shot back, a playful glint in your eye.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “High-maintenance? lovie, I don’t know if I can handle that kind of pressure.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll throw in a free consultation on how to keep your wallet healthy. You know, just in case you want to save up for our future yacht,” you teased, your tone light.

“Ah, yes! The yacht. I’ll need a solid financial plan for that one,” he said, nodding dramatically. “Maybe we should just start a joint account: ‘Harry and Y/N’s Fund for Epic Adventures.’”

“Only if I get to choose the adventures,” you countered with a grin.

“Deal! Just promise me one thing,” he said, suddenly serious.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Promise you’ll never stop being you—independent, sassy, and always ready to take the lead when it comes to dinner bills,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

You laughed, feeling your heart swell. “Oh, I won’t! But fair warning: you’ll always be my favourite plus-one, even if you are a bit of a freeloader.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Freeloader? I’ll have you know, I bring a lot to this relationship—like charm, good looks, and the occasional serenade!”

“Okay, you’ve got a point there,” you conceded, shaking your head with a laugh. “But just wait until I hit the jackpot. You won’t know what hit you when I start treating you!”

With laughter and lightness in the air, you both continued your walk, the future feeling bright and filled with promise, all while playfully nudging each other along the way.

[solvisun]

120924 ✦ GET CLOSER (TO ME)

haikyuu 𝜗𝜚 tsukishima kei x reader

it’s not about meeting finals when you’ve aced it now, when he’s sure your friendship will slowly erode in the waves of time—it’s not about meeting expectations but meeting you in places where it’s still special. where there’s a world of only just you and him.

notes 𝜗𝜚 soft!kei makes me feel things. fluff. 2.6k wc. not proofread. i want to expand on this in the future.

it was only ever about meeting finals at the finish line with you. nothing more.

tutor turned (tentative) friend, tsukishima is sitting across from you in the back corner of a cafe you had suggested. one he sees in passing but isn’t intrigued enough to go inside.

similarly, that’s how he thinks of you. just a classmate catalogued in his brain for months. nameless. you’re “the person who laughs too loudly across the room” or “the one who greets everyone like they’re old friends.” but you never paid him much attention, so he didn’t pay you much, either.

but then finals season rolled around, and you—of all people—asked him for help. out of all your friends, who you’d waved off with polite but dismissive smiles, you came to him.

your tone had been formal, but it’s easy to conclude that you’re desperate still.

when he said no at first, out of pure instinct, you added, “i’ll treat you to whatever you like.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

“yeah. i know a place,” you’d replied, flashing a smile that felt oddly personal.

and so, he winds up here. gets lost immediately as soon as you flood him with your rambling, something about a game. something about the stardusts collecting your eyes, entranced on how you can love something with all that you’ve held.

he snaps out of it, swatting at you with a rolled-up notebook. “if you don’t focus, you’re definitely failing.”

“hey!” you protest, rubbing your arm where the notebook hit. “do you think i’ll actually pass, though?”

you give him a look, your eyes wide with tentative hope, like you’re not sure if you should believe him.

he sighs, setting the notebook down. “only if you shut up and let me explain this part.”

the grin that makes way through your lips is one he must avoid. it’s sweet and it’s cute and he bites back the strange irritation bubbling up in his chest.

it’s kind of unsettling how this routine has woven itself into your schedules. after months of only scraping the edges of each other’s worlds, he’s somehow found himself standing at the front arch of your life, waiting for permission to step inside.

at first, it was just an hour on weekends. but after a week, it became two hours, then three. from calculus or japanese lit to you also teaching him english because apparently you ate a large encyclopedic dictionary when you were 10.

one day, he even treated you instead of the other way around, mumbling something about “returning the favor.” though he is still too stingy if his order gets too long and still too technical when he breaks the lessons down to the simplest of concepts.

“why’d you ask me to tutor you, anyway?” he asks out of the blue.

you freeze, caught mid-bite of your carrot cake. “oh.” you’d expected this question eventually, but not like this—casual, almost offhand, yet entirely without judgment.

“uhm, i guess…” hesitant, you set your fork down. “i wanted to get to know you better.”

you see it, the imperceptible furrow of his brows.

“but i do need your help,” you added quickly, your tone softening as you shifted in your seat, the amber light of the cafe easing itself on the comforts of your skin. “it wasn’t just some excuse, if that’s what you’re thinking. you’re smart, and i figured… if anyone could help me, it’d be you.”

you held his gaze steady, golden brown meeting at the center of where you both stood in both worlds. he is already inside. he is already in motion.

“and being friends is nice, too,” you added with a small, sheepish smile.

he let out a something that’s between a scoff and a short chuckle, shaking his head.

“unbelievable.”

“yeah? you don’t mind though.” you shot back, grinning

he didn’t dignify that with a response, but the faint flush on his cheeks gave him away.

three weekends. two separate walks become one (two for tsukishima still, one to walk you home, one to retrace his steps back to his own). july saunters in and yamaguchi comes to adore you from the way you influenced him to try obscure games you’re always up to.

after practice, a shadow greets him near the gym’s exit—you, waiting. three joined walks divide unevenly when tsukishima follows your route instead of his. yamaguchi always gives you a weird smile in secret.

when you ace your finals, he convinces himself it’s over. your friendship will erode, fading into the waves of time now that your goal has been met. august quickly fades with you, your absence hits like an unexpected, quiet loss.

and on the start of second semester, somehow he does things that go against reason. he tries to finish his lunch with you, always sitting just close enough to grumble if you poke at him. he starts buying you water, a habit he brushes off with a clipped, "just don’t collapse on me." because you have the habit of forgetting to bring your own. he even calls you in the mornings, his voice drowsy but still sharp as he teases, "fix your sleep schedule already; the bags under your eyes are haunting—wake up, we have a physics quiz to refresh on.”

he still tutors you when he can, but the more he stays, the more unproductive things get. you’ve started asking about things unrelated to the lesson, distracting him with snippets of trivia or questions about his interests. at first, he’d snap back with his usual sarcasm, telling you to focus, but more often than not, he’d end up indulging you.

“how do you even know all this useless stuff?” he mutters one day, not unkindly.

“i told you,” you grin, “encyclopedic dictionary at age ten. it was delicious.”

he shakes his head, hiding the small twitch of his lips behind his hand. the next time you bring up some obscure fact, he doesn’t stop you.

and the worst part? he’s not even pissed about not getting a full score on that physics quiz.

he still walks you home, manages to picture you while you loyally admire the sunset (no, there is no camera with him, only in his eyes, he will picture you like this until it bleeds through his consciousness).

there are also those quick detours to the konbini. he treats you with cool nonchalance, like it’s breathing, and you don’t comment on how natural it’s become. he writes notes for you when you’re sick or when you miss class, the handwriting neater than usual as though he’s put more thought into it. he even visits you once, scolding you for not taking care of yourself properly but staying longer than yamaguchi or the freak duo, who’d spent most of their time bickering instead of talking with you.

he lets you sling your arm through his as you move through a crowded hallway, muttering something about “not wanting another problem in his life” if you get lost. it’s a weak excuse, but you’re careful not to tease him too much.

all these things are better left unnoticed, better left to not be questioned. still, it leaves you wondering. there is something comforting in the way he stays that it feels almost fragile to touch. one misstep might shatter whatever has been quietly building between you. so you don’t call him out. you don’t linger by the threshold and ask if you can be selfish. you know you can’t.

what you don’t tell him is this. while your phone is full of different kind of sunsets, your favourites are always on the moon. he’ll probably say something like, that’s so fucking cheesy and just dismiss it as another weird habit of yours for being poetic. but you do like the moon. always.

you do like it when he asks what you listen to as you share the half of your earbud, you do like it when he corrects your mistakes on worksheets, you do find his hair soft even just by glancing when yamaguchi eggs you on. you do like the things he does for you, more than you let on, actually.

so despite your efforts, you still find yourself reaching for him in places where it’s special. where it matters, moments of just you and him.

autumn feels like honey, hits your chest slow and achingly sweet. “why do you do all this?” you ask softly, your steps slowing until you’re almost at a standstill. “for me, i mean.”

he stops, turning to face you. the fading sunlight casts a warm glow on his face, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer.

with a slight shrug, he says, “does it matter?”

you frown, words pulling and pushing itself between your teeth. “it does to me.”

tsukishima kei is anything but direct. you’re so tempted to call him by his first name, thought of how it would sound like on your tongue. it’s making the autumn breeze feel more chilly, fingertips frigid and palm starts to sweat.

then, he mumbles, so infuriatingly quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “…i don’t want you passing by my life again.”

it’s a vague, almost evasive response, but there’s something in his tone that makes your head irrevocably altered. air suspended on your lungs. he resumes walking ahead, and you follow. soft crunches of leaves under your foot is the only thing filling the silence.

later that night, as you’re going over the notes he’d written for you, you find a small doodle in the corner of one of the pages. it’s simple, just a stick figure with glasses and a speech bubble saying, “don’t fail.” you laugh, faint and private and uncontrolled.

you wonder if he knows just how much this miniscule, unexpected act has already stitched its way into your heart. how much you admire the moon since the first day. how cheesy and hopeless you really are.

winter feels like lace and soft breaths. you feel it’s fragility in every flow of warmth, a little unstable, and far too beautiful to let go of.

the air bites at your skin, your breath fogging in short puffs as you wait outside the gym. you stomp your feet to keep the blood flowing, checking your phone for what feels like the hundredth time.

the doors finally creak open, and tsukishima steps out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. his hair is slightly damp from practice, and there’s a layer of frost in his glare when he sees you.

there’s also the pink flush in the tip of his ears. the ease in which he slides beside you as you walk together.

you admit that, wow, he really is beautiful.

he sighs, his breath misting in the air. “where’s your scarf? it’s freezing.”

“yes i know i will freeze to death. yes we are wasting time. yes and let’s go."

he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before unwinding the scarf from around his neck. before you can protest, he steps close, wrapping it around you. his fingers brush against your skin as he adjusts it, the warmth of the scarf—and his touch—makes you freeze for a different reason.

“there,” he says gruffly. “now you won’t whine about how cold it is.”

you blink up at him, stunned. “what about you?”

“i’ll live,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “come on.”

the walk home is quiet at first, the snow crunching underfoot. you’re hyperaware of his presence beside you, the warmth of the scarf around your neck, the faint scent of him clinging to the fabric.

the snow continues to fall, catching in your hair and on your lashes. you glance at tsukishima again—he’s quiet, well, he’s always been (when you’re not letting him pick you apart), but there’s a thought that’s sandwiched between the spaces when he drifts off from afar. something that’s hard not to ask what he’s thinking.

the scarf around your neck feels too warm now, your pulse thudding every time you catch the faint scent of him clinging to it. you’re not sure if it’s the cold or the weight of his presence, but something’s making you dizzy.

“stop staring,” he mutters, not even looking at you.

you flinch, heat rushing to your cheeks. “i wasn’t.”

his gaze slides to you, skeptical. “sure.”

you bite your lip, trying to suppress your embarrassment. but then he stops walking, and you almost stumble in the sudden stillness.

“what?” you ask, your breath misting in short puffs.

he doesn’t answer right away, just turns to face you fully. his hands are still stuffed in his pockets, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in his expression, like he’s teetering on the edge of something.

“you’ve got snow,” he says finally, gesturing vaguely to your hair.

“oh.” you reach up, brushing at it awkwardly. “did i get it?”

“no.” he steps closer, the world narrowing to the space between you. his hand emerges from his pocket, brushing lightly over your hair, fingertips cold but delicate against your skin.

you freeze, your breath hitching, the scarf suddenly feeling too tight around your neck.

“there,” he says softly, his hand lingering for just a second too long before dropping back to his side. but he doesn’t step back.

instead, his eyes dart down to your lips, then away, his throat bobbing as he swallows. you see it—how his fingers twitch like he wants to move, but he’s hesitating, unsure.

“tsukishi—”

“i’m gonna do something stupid,” he blurts, cutting you off.

before you can ask, he leans in, awkward and hesitant, like he’s not entirely sure of himself. his lips brush yours—soft, tentative, and just a little clumsy. it’s not perfect; you can feel the nervous edge to it, the way his nose bumps yours slightly, but it’s him, the moon favorite in many sun soaked worlds, the paragon of adoration and heartaches. and it’s enough to make your heart stutter.

he pulls back almost immediately, his face beet-red, his eyes darting anywhere but you. “that was—whatever. forget it.”

but you’re staring at him, breathless, the warmth of his lips lingering like a brand. “kei,” you say, veins buzzing and head exploding.

“don’t,” he warns, his voice uneven, he can’t even fully register that you called him by his first name. “don’t say anything.”

but you just smile, giggling as you tug gently at the scarf he gave you. “you’re so bad at this.”

“shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no bite in his voice, only the faintest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips.

when all’s been said and done. you can only look at him. he can only look at you. the silence between you feels full, brimming with all the things neither of you says, yet understands. winter may feel fragile, but as he cups your face on both his hands, chastely kisses your forehead in finality. you realize some things are worth the risk of breaking.

and this? this is one of them.

"...you called me kei."

"late reaction, kei."

"i'm going to kiss you again."

"okay, kei."

© SOLVISUN 2024 | thank you for reading <3!

[thesilmarillionblog]

ANGEL IN DISGUISE

Summary: When Dean gives you a Halloween party explanation, he also gives you a gift: a pair of wings for his angel.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Angel! Reader

Warnings: +18! (light smut), fluff, naive reader, wing kink!!!, soft, teasing, reader has a praise kink, sub!dean

Word Count: 2917

A/N: English is not my first language.

🎃── Halloween Special One-Shot ──🎃

“Can you help me with these pumpkins, sweetie?” While he was having a hard time making a beautiful decoration for Halloween Week, Dean asked with a chuckle. He had been asking for your help, but all you were doing was smiling as you enjoyed the view while watching him. Every time he scooped a pumpkin to give it a form, his muscles stretched out, giving his hands and arms an appealing look. 

You finally got off of the chair and said, “What are the pumpkins for?” as you looked deeply into the eyes of the pumpkin and the lights within. If you touched them, you could make them look brighter. 

“It is only aesthetic for the week of Halloween. They'll be put in the garden.” Dean kept cutting, attempting to make it clear that they are meant to seem frightening.

You laughed out loud despite being confused by the whole idea, “They don't look scary to me.” You couldn't help but feel happy since you would be spending your first Halloween together as a couple with Dean. You lit the newly cut pumpkin that Dean had just made. Your heart seemed to burst with happiness as he glanced at you with pride and affection.

“Nothing is scary for you, isn't it?” Dean immediately gave you a very gentle slap on your ass, making you jump. He shot you a look as you gave him a more powerful spanking through his pants on the ass. He appeared to be in pain.

“Someday, I should give your perty ass a more serious spanking. You really need to learn a lesson. I am telling you.”

You teased him, “I can make your pain go away,” as you hurried to hug him from behind in between laughs. You tuck your head behind his massive arms and wrap your arms around his abdomen. It was difficult for him to do his job while you were being naughty. You enjoyed touching as well as teasing him. It was uncomfortable to watch Dean occupied with anything other than you since he had been battling with pumpkins since the morning. You should have been doing different things. 

“How?” Dean arched an eyebrow and said, “Will you kiss my ass?”

“Do you want me to?” You asked confused since you couldn't tell most of the time if he was being serious or joking. It was not necessary to give him a real kiss to soothe his pain, but if that was his desire, you might fulfill it with joy. He had a lovely ass. 

“Oh God,” he shook his head and moaned. When you took Dean seriously, he couldn't stop chuckling. 

“Don't bring the Lord when we are talking such things, Dean,” you said. He had an excellent connection with words, but he needed to have made more use of them by praying. “Do you really want me to kiss your ass though?” 

Grinning, you met his gaze and held it there until he turned to face you. While he was quietly laughing and confusing you even more, Dean jumped when you held his ass behind his back, signaling that you were about to unzip him and plant a kiss there. 

“Hold on,” he laughed. “Of course, it wasn't what I meant. Plus, you don't have very tough hands.”

“Okay, you lost the chance. You were on the verge of crying there; don't lie to me.” With a murmur of disappointment, you released his ass. “Also, you should not challenge an angel. I could give you one slap and turn your tight ass scarlet.” Of course, you wouldn't do it. 

He grinned at you and released his abdomen, allowing you to see whether you could help him with his pumpkins. “I wouldn't dare,” he said. “Have some mercy, woman.”

“See?” you asked, holding out a little pumpkin that you had lit up and presenting it to Dean. “I'm not always useless. I can apply whatever color you like to make it shine.”

You asked, “What do people do on Halloween?” with curiosity. You had never heard of such a concept before, so you were excitedly awaiting his response, thinking that it would be something amusing for couples like you and Dean. 

“We dress up and pretend like we're somebody else or something.” Dean stared at the pumpkin you were holding proudly and attempted to explain, “You're free to wear anything you like, even if it's weird.” It seemed like you were showing off your power as you continued to brighten them. 

“Why?” 

“It's only a concept, sweetie, and Halloween parties are actually really enjoyable. Trust me. Wearing masks that hide your face, making it impossible for others to recognize you, so that—” Dean abruptly stopped himself before trying to spark jealousy in you, remembering the last Hallowen part he had joined. 

“Hmm,” you said, setting the pumpkin on the table while acting understanding. “Give me an example.”

After taking a breath and placing his knife on the table, Dean turned to face you and wrapped his arms over your belly. Right away, your arms found his neck and pressed your body against his. He had neglected you due to the pointless special week and pumpkins. 

He put his fingers on your ass through your pajamas and said, “For example,” which made you thrilled. “Do you recall the film we saw the week before? Shrek. Fans of the film and its characters can dress up like them. In addition, a large number of people cosplay as angels and devils. They're wearing wings on their backs.”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you scowled. “Real angels don't wear fake wings.” Then you continued to embrace Dean while attempting to justify your explanation, saying things like, “Our wings are magnificent, and none of those people have seen a real angel in their lives.” 

You added, “Demon's wings are simply ugly, but it depends on their rank, of course,” with a chuckle, before Dean said a thing. “Some of their wings are big and very thick. Actually incredibly excellent.” It wasn't appropriate of you to vocally confess that you admired some of their wings, but you spoke before you thought it through. 

Dean grimaced as you gave him an ashamed look. “Thick and big, huh?” he said, obviously annoyed by your oversharing. 

“To be honest, they are hideous. I loathe them. Not my taste,” you hugged him closer and stressed each word in an attempt to shift the topic. You did your best to lift his mood again by playing with the buttons on his shirt. “Since you're my boyfriend, I just like you the way you are. I take it that my wings are enough for the two of us.”

He gave you a quick kiss on the nose and said, “That's my girl,” which stunned you. It was dirty things you needed, not Halloween stuff. You sighed with anticipation as your mind was flooded with filthy images, and you continued to fiddle with the buttons of Dean's shirt, hoping he wouldn't be decorating pumpkins any longer. 

Dean remarked, “Just because you're being a nice angel,” and he briefly kissed you on the lips. “Now close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Dean said, “Just close them,” and waited for you to obey him. You closed your eyes eagerly while your mind raced with dirty ideas, wanting Dean to take action soon.

He continued to tell you not to open your eyes as you heard him go one step further. After a while, you became a bit upset and raised your voice, vowing not to. It was like he was trying to get under your skin on purpose.

You were about to get angry when you heard Dean was returning. You couldn't help but feel excited. Your body was prepared for everything.

Dean said, “All right, you can open your eyes now.”

You were perplexed to see two artificial little wings on his hands, but you didn't want to ruin his joy. Asking, “What's that?” you gently touched the white feather on it. 

“I assumed we could go to a Halloween party together. It must be fun and interesting for you to cosplay as an angel. See those plumes.” With excitement, Dean gave an explanation. 

You joyfully grabbed the wings from him and examined the feather on it on your own since he appeared to be thrilled. You didn't want to offend Dean, even if the wings were all fake and your wings were more beautiful than those small ones. After all, it was a gift, and he couldn't create real ones for you. He was extremely considerate, in fact. 

With a wide smile on your face and your pulse pounding with delight at the thought that he had truly planned to take you to a party and even bought you something, you gave him a firm embrace and left him breathless with a long kiss. 

“It's really beautiful. Thank you,” you said, giving him a timid grin that made you happy to see as he exhaled deeply in relief. 

“Don't mention it, babe.” 

You sat on the couch and played with the feather. Dean followed you. You continued to grasp his lovely present as he drew you closer into his arms and placed your head on his chest. You could see he was proud of himself, even if he didn't say it, since he knew he thought well of gifting such a thing. 

You lifted your head to see his response and said, “But don't you think my wings are prettier?” To avoid his becoming used to it, you had just once displayed yours. It was something he had to earn. Well, that was a lie. If he wanted to see it, you would show them straight immediately.

“Yours are wonderful, of course. They're larger,” said Dean. He was aware that your wings were far greater than the ones he had given you.

With pride and happiness in your heart, you gently placed the wings on the coach before turning to face Dean. “And?”

Dean gave you a wide grin as he licked his lips and said, “I didn't know angels had a praise kink,” as you swiftly got on top of him.

“And?” you asked. When he complimented you on your wings and everything else, you absolutely loved it. 

Dean put his arms around your abdomen and rolled his eyes, trapping you in his grasp. You could break free at any time, but you enjoyed his behavior when it was this way: passionate and possessive. 

He then added, “And,” which made you gasp in anticipation. Dean's lips curled as you slightly moved on his lap. His body underneath you seemed prepared for whatever it was you had planned to offer him. 

He was mostly dominating when you had sex, but you knew he was satisfied when you were in control, above him, and at your mercy. It was beyond words to watch him enjoy himself beneath you and know that it was you who was making him feel that way. Dean signaled for you to move by slipping his hands to your hips. You felt him becoming hard under you too, as he peered through your top at your stiffened nipples. You had been waiting for this time since the morning, and at last you were going to do something better.

You urged, “Come on, tell me,” as you began to rub yourself his cock. You could still feel his hardness beneath you, but it would be nicer if he wasn't wearing his sweatpants. Dean reached to put his hands on your tits, but you swiftly stopped him and put them back on your hips. 

He was obviously disappointed not to touch you because he needed it, as seen by his clenched jaw. But he needed a lesson. 

When your hips on his cock began to move quickly, he groaned, “I'm at a loss for words.” He smiled and pulled you by your back to his body so your nipples touched his chest. “If you come closer a little...” This time, you didn't resist him. 

“Like this?” you inquired, abruptly stopping on top of him to make him a little go crazy.

Dean awaited your next move. You dropped your top and exposed your tits to his sight just as he was ready to urge you for more. He always found joy in looking at you with that kind of intensity, as though he wanted to touch every inch of your body. He obviously wanted to. Repositioning your hands on his shoulders, you lifted his chin and met his eyes. He was aching under you, but you'd take what you wanted as well.

“Your wings are,” Dean said playfully. “Softer, nicer, more beautiful, perfect, lovely.” He would have laughed at you, seeing how happy you become with every compliment, if he weren't suffering under you. 

His attractive face was seized by your hands on his chest, and you gave him a frantic kiss. When you grabbed his hands and indicated for him to gently stroke your back, where your wings ought to be, Dean was smling on your lips. You became wetter on him the more he stroked your spine. You couldn't stop groaning into his lips because your back and spine were arching with such ecstasy. When Dean began pressing his fingers there, his smile vanished, seeing you getting pleasure.

Just by stroking your back, he was going to ruin you. 

You were ready to experience pleasure together when you made the decision to reveal your wings to him again because it was Halloween. You paused to let him catch his breath. “You're a very generous angel today, aren't you?” he said after really feeling your wings between both of his hands. Dean groaned as he took a little back to better see your gigantic wings. 

You said, “Just because you're generous too,” and allowed him to touch you because he seemed to like it. 

“Is there anything you want me not to do?” Since you weren't displaying your wings very much and you let Dean touch you on a regular basis, he didn't know what exactly to do. Since your relationship was new, this was your chance to move forward. You trusted him with your life. Your spine tingled with excitement as you realized that both of your bodies were covered with your wings, and he was in awe. 

With joy, you closed your eyes as his fingertips found every inch on your wings. This is something you ought to have allowed him to do from the very beginning. You leant back in pleasure and let out a loud moan as soon as he touched a sensitive spot. Without knowing if he hurt you or not, Dean's hands stopped right away. 

“Don't stop!” Pushing him to continue, you took his hand and placed it in the same location. “Press your fingers a little harder.”

“You're a horny angel, aren't you?” Dean moaned as you began to roll your hips on his hard cock, skillfully caressing the sensitive area, as if he knew just what to do. Each move you made had your tits bouncing. He needed to take care of your wings before he could touch and lick your tits, as you could sense, or else you would lose your mind soon.

“Just for you,” you said with approval as you met his green eyes directly. Your cheeks were flushed with delight. “More.”

"Damn right. Good girl,” he praised once more, making your heart melt with bliss and desire. “Come on, you're almost there.”

Dean encouraged you to move on him quicker by applying more pressure on your hips on his cock with your hips as your moans became louder. He didn't close his eyes while you were experiencing such incredible pleasure that your wings were moving wildly. It was getting hotter by the way he was staring at you, almost as if he were worshipping you. You wanted him to love you as much as you loved him, to cherish and adore you. 

You screamed out “Dean!” as your orgasm hit powerfully. Your spine arched with the intensity of the moment, your legs and even your wings trembling wildly. You knew your underwear had been ruined and your walls were squeezing around nothingness. 

He began to spill into his boxers with a muffled sigh when  your climax triggered his as well. It was both fascinating and existing to see him ruin his sweatpants with his seed.

When you both came to your senses, Dean kissed your forehead, stroked your wings tenderly, and drew you even nearer. You asked, “What now?” as Dean adjusted your top.

As he was still gasping for air, Dean grinned at you since you were so enthusiastic and prepared to go all the way. He didn't move, although he felt somewhat hot under your wings. 

He moved your body a bit closer to him and stated, “I need to take a shower, obviously.” He felt like a teenager knowing he just came in his boxers, but it was satisfying. 

“Do angels wash their wings?” abruptly asked Dean. 

His silly question made you laugh so hard you couldn't stop. You waited for his response after answering, “If you want to know the answer, we can shower together.” Under the water, you could feel each other far more strongly and deeply. 

Dean licked his lips and grinned at you, saying, “Well, I can't wait to find out the answer then. Just for scientfic reasons.”

It's a silly little one-shot, but let me know what you think please. Hehehe. You can check my MASTERLIST for more.

[stanart4clearskin]

knight!art donaldson x princess!reader

art had essentially grown up in the castle. his mother was the queen's lady-in-waiting and his father was the king's most loyal knight. in return for their valuable service, the king and queen let art take lessons with their daughter—you. the two of you studied english, art, music, and fencing together. although the start of your guys' relationship had been rocky, the two of you eventually became good friends. the two of you confided in each other when life was hard or simply when you wanted a companion. 

all throughout childhood art had a crush on you but he was smart enough to know not to act upon it. he knew that you were destined for far greater things than being in love with a common citizen such as himself. although he knew he could never be with you, that never stopped him from acting upon his feelings. he complimented you whenever he could, brought you flowers he saw when he helped his dad patrol the grounds, and would sneak into the kitchen to grab you a sweet treat late at night. you were art's first love and he liked to think that he was yours. as you got older, the two of you never talked about any feelings either of you could possibly have because you were to be engaged to a prince of a distant kingdom. art didn't want to get in the way of that. 

on the eve of your 19th birthday and wedding, you had confided in art late at night about your apprehensions for your future. your head was in his lap as art's fingers combed through your locks. you both knew it was improper for a man and woman to be alone so late at night, let alone in your chambers but neither of you really cared. 

"i'm terrified to be married." you admitted, your eyes tracing the lines of the cobblestone ceilings. "i have heard that prince zweig is loud and brash. he doesn't have much respect for women, let alone me."

art's heart clenched at your words. he hated the thought that you were to be married to someone who wasn't him and he hated the fact that your future husband wasn't even that good of a man. "i'm sure those are just rumors." he said but the words seemed unconvincing to both of you. 

"i have heard that his parents have tried multiple times to find him a wife. every time something has gone wrong." you were apprehensive about what the next day might bring. prince zweig previously had his past bride-to-be kidnapped so that they couldn't go through with the wedding. 

art could tell that you were nervous. his nails scratched against your scalp, causing you to release a hum of pleasure. "i'll be with you all day. i'll make sure nothing will happen to you."

the day of the wedding had come and the hours leading up to it had been rather uneventful. no one had attempted to kidnap you nor had anyone attempted to sabotage the officiant. your ladies-in-waiting helped you with your dress, hair, and makeup and soon enough you were walking down the aisle. you weren't sure what the feeling in the pit of your stomach was when you noticed that prince zweig wasn't at the alter. perhaps it was relief or maybe even joy at the possibility of not having to be married. 

king and queen zweig insisted that everyone wait for the prince to show up but night turned into day and there was no sign of him. as you undressed from your stuffy white gown, you couldn't help but feel giddy. a large smile graced your features when art came to escort you back to the castle. the two of you were as giggly as hyenas during the carriage ride back home. that night the two of you snuck out of the castle and took a carriage ride to the nearest town. you spent most of the night at a local bar, drinking and singing your hearts out. when you both returned to the castle at sunrise, you shared a drunken kiss that neither of you would acknowledge for years. 

as time passed, art was sent off to a knight training camp while you and your mother traveled the country looking for possible prospects. many men were interested in you–naturally–but you had very little to no interest in any of them. you would never admit it aloud but your heart was already occupied by art. you couldn’t bear to marry someone other than him but you knew you could not marry him so secretly you vowed to never marry. every suitor failed to meet the mark for you and so after nearly a year of looking, your mother gave up and the two of you returned home. throughout your traveling around the country, you hadn’t been able to keep in touch with art. you had tried but life was too busy to constantly send him letters about your day and he was too busy training each day to respond. the two of you had grown distant but you were determined to reunite with him once he returned from camp. 

the moment you saw the gates opening and a carriage pulling in, you wasted no time rushing outside to go see art. he had hardly even stepped a foot onto the ground before you launched yourself at him. immediately you noticed the changes training had done to his body. he had once been awkward and lanky but now he had grown into his height and had muscle to accompany it. he held you with ease, as if you weighed as much as a feather. 

art beamed when he saw you. he would never tell you but every night while at camp he dreamt of you. his dreams ranged from merely having conversations with you to him completely ravishing you late at night. “hello princess.” he greeted and you noticed that his voice had changed as well. it was deeper and smoother, almost like dark chocolate. 

“i’ve missed you, art.” you gush, letting your feet return back to the ground. your eyes take in the sight of his face–from his crooked smile to his bright blue eyes and the hint of brown they have. 

“that’s knight art to you.” he says and in return you lightly shove him. all throughout childhood art had teased that you would eventually have to call him by his position but it felt surreal now that it had come true. 

“in that case you may no longer call me princess as i am a queen now.” 

for a moment art’s expression faltered and the color faded from his face. “queen? your father passed?”

you nearly snorted at the look of distraughtness on the knight. “no silly! my father abdicated, making me queen.”

pure relief flooded art’s face. he’s sure that he’d be equally as devastated, if not more devastated than you if your father were to pass. 

as the weeks passed the two of you fell into the routine that was new but also similar to the one you had growing up. early in the morning art would sneak into your room and wake you up, claiming that it’s his duty as your knight. during the day he’ll linger outside your office and peek his head in sometimes to watch you do your diplomatic duties. typically knights eat with the other workers but you forced him to eat in the dining hall with you and your parents. at night a knight will post guard outside your room while art lays with you until you fall asleep. he claims that it’s because someone needs to stay close with you at all times but he can’t resist stealing a kiss or two. 

even though the two of you would never marry, it didn’t stop either you or art from loving each other.

[charliejaneanders]

Here's a Tumblr post that I can link to that explains all about my novel Lessons in Magic and Disaster, which comes out August 19.

Lessons is about a young trans woman named Jamie, who is a PhD student in English lit. She's also a witch! Jamie has learned how to go into the abandoned places, where people built stuff that's being reclaimed by nature, and cast spells to make her life better. (Plus other people's lives.)

Jamie decides to teach her mother Serena how to do magic.

(Image: Daderot/Wikipedia).

Serena has been living in an old one-room school house in the middle of nowhere for the past several years — ever since her wife died and a bunch of other bad stuff happened.

Jamie thinks that learning about magic will help her mom to feel powerful and start wanting things again. She wants to help bring her mother back to the world. But there's a lot that Jamie doesn't know about what happened to her mom back in the day, and the baggage that Serena still carries.

The novel has a lot of flashbacks to Serena's past as a lesbian activist in the 1990s and 2000s, including protests against the bombing of a lesbian bar, and other actions. And we see how Serena met her wife, Mae, and how they eventually had a child, Jamie. And how Serena and Mae dealt with raising a trans child in the 2000s and 2010s.

This storyline is so full of joy and coziness and family and love — Serena starts out as kind of a feral queer who is just messing around, but then she falls deeply in love and has to grow up in the process of building a family. Serena goes to law school and becomes an attorney, while Mae does a million jobs, including being a pro domme.

I really loved researching a million things about queer people from the 1990s to the 2010s, and it really drove home how much the struggles we're having today are exactly the same as back then.

There's also a third storyline in the book! Jamie, the main character, is writing her dissertation about 18th century literature. Jamie becomes obsessed with a mysterious novel called Emily which was written by an anonymous woman in 1749.

(Emily is a fictional book that I made up, but all the stuff I include in Lessons in Magic and Disaster about how amazing the women authors of the 1730s and 1740s were is true. They were incredible. I was taught in college that Jane Austen was the first great lady novelist, and that was a lie. I found out so much great stuff researching this book.)

Following the trail of Emily eventually leads Jamie to discover hints about a mysterious scandal that happened in the 1730s. And the scandal involved Charlotte Charke — who was a real person, but I made up the scandal in question. Charlotte Charke was an actor who usually performed in men's clothing, and she also lived as a man offstage. When she couldn't get work on the stage, she did men's jobs, and she married a woman who stayed with her for most of her life. (I'm using "she/her" pronouns for Charlotte because that's what she used when she was alive, but she was very clearly transmasc.)

That's Charlotte in the picture above, wearing a totally fabulous pink outfit — she often played a foppish, overdressed man on stage. And pink was a manly color back then.

Anyway, we start to realize that the same struggle for liberation has been going on for CENTURIES. And also that maybe the author of Emily knew something about magic... something that can help Jamie and her mother in the present.

So that's what the book is about. I ended up doing so much research and even writing a ton of passages from a fake 18th century novel, plus tons of letters from the 18th century. And I had a blast writing all the scenes where Jamie tries to teach Serena how to bend the universe a little. There are parts of this book that still make me laugh, and other parts that still make me cry, when I re-read it.

You can read the first two chapters (which form a self-contained story), over at Uncanny Magazine.

If that sounds good to you, you can pre-order it anywhere. If you want a signed/personalized/doodled copy, you can pre-order it from Green Apple Books (they ship all over the USA). If you pre-order it — please do, it really helps so much! — then you should definitely submit your receipt so I can send you some extra goodies in August.

Thank you for reading this whole thing! I'm very excited to share this book with you. <3

[materassassino]

When the Moment Comes

Born from this post where @frizox and I were chatting about feral!Nicky. This was supposed to be one scene, but somehow I ended up with a load of Nile stuff and it got Very Serious. But that's ok!

Unbeta'ed, for once. TW for gore.

------

It’s not a thought Nile ever shares, because it’s probably rude, or at the very least insensitive, and she’s sure Joe and Nicky know their own story better than she ever could, but… sometimes she doubts very much that Nicky was ever the Crusader he claims he was.

It just doesn’t seem like something he could be capable of. Sure, they’re all eternal warriors who take lives on the regular and are proficient in more ways to kill than Nile can possibly list yet, but still… it’s Nicky. Mild-mannered, soft-spoken, quiet, compassionate, gentle beyond measure outside of battle (and even in the thick of it, he’s efficient and clean with how he kills, crisp and no-nonsense). He cooks them all dinner. He feeds birds and stray cats. He plays cat’s cradle with the war-lost children they find. He patches up Andy with supreme delicacy and care. He makes Nile coffee and goes to see musicals with her. And with Joe… well, she’s never seen two people more in love, so enraptured with each other.

Nicky is kind. The idea that he could have been some bloodthirsty holy warrior, taking his sword to the innocent, simply cannot compute in her mind.

She doesn’t scoff when it’s mentioned. Doesn’t roll her eyes or snort into her wine glass. She keeps it very much to herself, the idea that they might be ever-so-slightly exaggerating.

--

Nile knows she’s good. They never treat her as if she isn’t, they respect her skills and absolutely view her as an equal. Which makes rookie mistakes all the more annoying.

So now here they are, her and Nicky (N&N, she thinks with what might be a slightly hysterical private giggle), tied to a pair of cheap metal chairs in a room that’s little more than a concrete box with a door and a boarded-up window, lit by a single, sickly bare lightbulb. There is a table in the corner, covered with a cloth that outlines just enough of what is underneath it to make Nile turn cold with fear, and a single other free chair, set facing them. There is no one else in the room with them, but the room is still crowded, thick with ghosts in the dark corners and the traces of old blood on the floor.

When Nile looks at Nicky, he doesn’t seem worried, but he doesn’t seem calm either. He is staring at the closed door, his expression not angry or full of loathing, just… intense. His eyes, which unnerved her at first, before she saw the warmth in them, are icy cold.

The door opens.

A tall, broad man walks in, sweat glistening on his dark brow, wearing a cheap-ass military uniform, and she recognises him from Copley’s brief. He’s the very warlord they’ve been after, absolute scum, a rapist, a child murderer. He grins at them, all white teeth, and Nile hates him more than anyone she’s ever hated before. She does try to not hate, but to be honest one of the lessons she’s learnt in this job is that some people really do deserve it.

Nile knows he can speak flawless English – he was educated at Princeton, from what she read in his file – but he chooses not to, directing only a sneer at her. He sits, and speaks to Nicky in the local language.

Nicky says nothing. He merely stares. The warlord says something else.

Still no answer.

Nile can feel the tension mounting, as the man’s affable smile disappears in the face of Nicky’s stony silence. He asks another question, more roughly.

Nicky still doesn’t speak.

The man is ruffled now. He isn’t a man used to being ignored, and it shows in the way he shouts at Nicky, right in his face, now out of his chair.

Nicky remains completely unfazed, still staring with those frozen eyes, utterly still, as if he were made of stone.

The man lets out a string of swear words and stomps over to the table, throwing back the cloth and revealing exactly what Nile had been dreading: an array of dirty-looking tools. Pincers, pliers, knives, a cordless drill, a clawed hammer. She swallows down a whimper.

The warlord studies the selection, and Nile is weirdly reminded of the old women they’ve seen at the Mediterranean fish markets, choosing what to get for dinner. He picks up one thing, looks at it, discards it. He makes it very obvious he is showing them what is in store for them, taking his time to play with them and build up the fear, letting out a breathy chuckle that makes Nile’s skin crawl.

That is when Nicky finally moves. He rolls his shoulders, and it makes Nile think of mountains moving, something old and solid shifting after aeons of stillness.

“I think it would be best if you looked away, Nile,” he says, the first sound he’s uttered in a long while. He touches her knee with his, some small, sweet comfort.

Nile frowns.

The warlord immediately turns around at the sound of Nicky’s voice, striding back over to stand in front of him. He opens his mouth to speak again, something most likely derisive, and Nile doesn’t have the time to look away. It happens too fast for her to even fathom it.

Nicky launches himself forward, and fastens his teeth onto the man’s bare throat like a savage beast. The man doesn’t even manage to scream, caught unawares, until Nicky’s jaw clenches shut, deep in his flesh.

They really made a mistake not tying his legs as well as his arms, she distantly thinks, but it’s a subconscious thought. She cannot actually think. She can only stare.

He holds on like a fucking pitbull, ignoring the punches and kicks and howls the man is emitting, calling him a beast, a savage, a white demon, in four different languages. He tries to shove Nicky off, but when he does, his eyes go round and white.

Nicky wrenches back, teeth still locked in flesh, and he takes the man’s throat with him.

It’s a fucking mess, tatters of meat left behind as blood spurts everywhere like a fountain. Nicky steps back, sets the chair legs back on the floor with a ringing clatter, and spits a chunk of flesh onto the floor. Blood drips down his chin, onto his shirt, smeared around his mouth. He reminds Nile, in her shrieking mind, of predators in nature documentaries, freshly painted with their kill.

The warlord collapses to the floor, opening his mouth but unable to scream anymore. He pats helplessly at his open gullet. There’s blood everywhere, the floor, his chest, his hands and arms, everything is red, slick with it.

All Nile can do is stare.

Nicky’s eyes are icy when they stare at the dying warlord. No… not icy. Ice feels cold. Those eyes feel absolutely nothing, a pale, terrifying void in a half-mask of gore. Utterly empty.

All of a sudden she understands how this man could have done what he did. How this man could have traversed the sea to try and wipe out a whole religion, take a sword to a whole city that had committed no crime except worship the same god a different way. She can see flames and maille and a blood-drenched sword, and she’s never been more afraid of someone in her life.

The door blasts in, kicked off its hinges, but she doesn’t see Andy and Joe until they’re actually in her line of sight, lowering their weapons. And all of a sudden, there’s Nicky again, blinking up at Joe as if he hung the moon. Joe cradles his blood-splattered face, tilts it up, and kisses him on the forehead.

Nile feels like she might be sick.

Andy nudges the warlord’s body with her boot, sighing.

“They wanted him alive,” she says, though she doesn’t sound particularly sorry about it.

“Accidents happen,” Nicky says, through blood.

And then Nile is sick.

She manages to tear her eyes away, turns to the side, and pukes. They haven’t eaten much in a while, which means it’s mostly bile. When she’s finished, her insides aching with the movement, she realises she’s trembling, and there are tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Here,” Andy says. Nile looks up at her, and she’s holding out a bottle of water. Nile realises her hands have been freed, and she tries to take the bottle, but has no grip. She is shaking far too much. She drops it, it spills everywhere, diluting the blood at their feet.

She doesn’t look at Joe. At Nicky. She daren’t.

“Let’s get out of here,” Joe says. Nile doesn’t know if she can even stand. She feels bad, leaning on Andy, but her legs wobble like a fawn’s when she tries to walk, and when Nicky steps forward to help, she flinches away from him, bodily, backing into Andy.

There is a long moment of very pregnant quiet.

She’s seen some pretty awful things, by now, things she doesn’t even want to contemplate anymore, things she refuses to describe. But the image seared behind her eyelids is Nicky with another man’s torn-out throat between his teeth.

--

She chooses the seat farthest away from Nicky as she can. She still hasn’t looked at him yet. She can hear Joe quietly talking, understanding one Arabic word every ten, but Nicky rarely answers.

She saw him, from the corner of her eye, swill out his mouth multiple times, and pull off his overshirt, wiping his face with it. She’d gotten into the van and squashed herself into the farthest corner as they drove away.

She dares to look up from where her eyes have been fixed on the floor of the vehicle, just enough to see the bottom halves of Nicky and Joe’s bodies. Joe has a hand firmly on Nicky’s thigh, completely sexless, more like it’s there to ground him. Nicky’s hands are in his lap, his fingers twisted together, his knuckles white, and she blinks at that. His forearms are taut to the point veins are standing proud, and she suddenly realises he is fighting, with everything he has, to not tremble.

She risks raising her gaze further.

Joe’s head is tilted towards Nicky’s, his mouth almost at Nicky’s ear. Nicky, for his part, is staring pointedly down, between his knees, his mouth a thin line and his eyes… not empty, now, but hollow. Almost unseeing. He looks lost.

Nile doesn’t know what to say, and even if she did, she isn’t sure she would be able to say it anyway. How do you even respond to seeing such a thing? She stays quiet, her toes curling and uncurling inside her boots, her fists clenching and unclenching. She goes back to looking at the floor, and tries to fit all the different pieces of Nicolò di Genova together in her head to make a coherent vision of the man.

She fails miserably.

--

When they reach the safehouse the next day – a comfortably upper middle class, old colonial affair, with a bathroom and hot water – Nicky goes immediately to the shower. Joe follows him, exchanging a look with Andy that Nile has no hope of reading, and leaving the two women alone. Andy takes a deep breath and lets it out, hands on her hips. Nile merely stands there, unsure of what to do with herself.

“You’re going to have to talk about it,” Andy says. It takes a few seconds for it to sink in, as if there’s a delay between Nile’s ears and her comprehension.

She stares at Andy.

“What do I even say?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse. Andy shrugs, but it’s not dismissive, it’s sort of helpless, as if even at her fathomless age there are still things she doesn’t know. And that must be the case, after all – she’s only human.

“I can’t help you there,” she says. “But letting it lie as it is won’t help.”

Nile inhales, holding the breath for a few moments before letting it out, slow, through pursed lips.

“I’ll figure it out,” she mutters, although the pit in her stomach says otherwise.

--

She doesn’t see Nicky for the rest of the day. Andy and Joe disappear in search of food, and bring back things that smell divine but turn Nile’s stomach, because the thought of meat makes her then think of blood, and then of Nicky. Not-Nicky. Nicky-but-also-Not-Nicky. How many of him are there?

She rubs at her eyes and watches Joe take some containers off with him, towards the bedroom he shares with Nicky. As if her gaze is a physical thing, he turns back to her, meets her eyes head on. Not a challenge, she thinks, but she isn’t sure what until he offers her a wan smile, his eyes crinkling as they always do, though, for once, they don’t sparkle.

She tries to smile back, but it’s just not possible – she only gets the slightest twitch out of herself. That seems to be enough, however, to satisfy Joe, and he vanishes again, into the dimly lit bedroom, nudging the door closed behind him with his hip. Andy sits at the table, digging into a chunky soup that she says is called miyan kuka. Nile looks at it, frowning, and Andy offers her a spoonful, her palm cupped beneath it.

Nile hopes she can keep it down.

It’s spicy, warming her immediately and making her tongue burn, and if she were hungrier she’d ask for more. She nods, blowing out a breath around the heat. Andy grins. It would feel like the normality Nile has settled into, if it weren’t for the gapingly empty seats at the rest of the table. The primal fear is in conflict with the need for routine, for familiarity. They always eat together, that’s how it is, but she doesn’t think she could stomach sitting next to Nicky eating.

Andy takes the couch, folding her arms across her chest and sleeping like someone’s dad (someone’s dad who happens to keep a gun on hand), but Nile can’t rest. She’s keeping watch, she lies to herself for all of five seconds, before she knows it’s just fear of sleep. Sleep brings dreams. She has her fair share of familiar nightmares – Quynh still torments her down in the depths, and there are a thousand other things now, a holiday slideshow of fucked up shit – but this… she doesn’t want to go back to that concrete room.

She realises it’s because she hates this version of Nicky she’s seen. This feral, savage beast, a man she’d been coming to love like an older brother (something she’s never had before and yet has found two of, all of a sudden) reduced to something animalistic and vicious. She doesn’t like it. It’s at war in her mind with the soft smiles and crossword puzzles and Italian lessons and church visits. It’s even at war with the warrior himself, the capable swordsman, the protector, the shield, the still and patient sniper.

She probably shouldn’t, but she sits on the balcony, huddled in one of the chairs with a blanket around her shoulders, staring out into the night and the lights of the small city. It’s mostly quiet, but bars are open, she can hear music drifting towards her, and she thinks how funny it is that wherever they’ve gone, no matter the horrors, people are still partying. Humans are strange.

She hears the sound of the French window opening – Andy and Nicky both like doors that creak, Nile’s noticed – and she half turns. It’s not entirely who she expected.

She blinks up at Nicky, shrouded in moonlight, his hands in the pockets of the soft tracksuit bottoms he’s wearing, together with a very baggy t-shirt, like a US quadruple-XL. She cannot help the flash before her eyes of the sight of him bloody and empty-eyed and it makes her face crumple. She looks away.

“May I sit?” he asks, very softly, almost hopeful. He knows he’s terrified her, and she knows he hates it. Nile doesn’t want him to go, though, so she nods quickly, gesturing with a blanket paw at the chair beside her. He takes it, but only after moving it away to give her a hand’s worth of space.

She knows he would never hurt her, but she also knows that killing someone like that is a thing he can do. Knowing is supposedly half the battle, but it doesn’t really help right now. How can she even come back from that?

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says. He is picking at the rattan of the armrest, nail’s digging into the slight fraying, intent on making it worse. “I did not mean…”

He trails off, voice faltering, and that makes Nile look at him. He is usually so sure, so steadfast. Most everything he says is a statement, something she can put her trust in. To hear him sound so uncertain leaves her lost at sea herself. He is staring down again, like he did in the van, his jaw tight, his anxious frown deep.

She still doesn’t know what to say, so she simply speaks without knowing what she will say.

“It was terrifying,” she admits. “I didn’t think anyone was capable of that.”

He lets out a small, distraught noise, dragging his hands down his face. She can see the fingers settled on the arch of his nose are trembling again. She hates to see that.

She reaches out a hand, very slowly, and rests two of her fingers at the crook of his elbow, between fabric and goose-pimpled skin. His breath hitches, but he does settle, somewhat.

“He was talking about hurting you,” Nicky says. “I could not let that happen.”

Nile swallows, blinking back tears. “I think it’ll happen someday,” she croaks, even though the thought is agonising. There is a constant underlying sense of dread, in their lives, a little prickle at the back of the neck that says not if, but when. The knowledge that each death might be her last. The knowledge that one day she will most certainly be tortured. And the choice she has made to walk headfirst into that. She must be insane. They must all be insane.

“If I can prevent it, I will,” Nicky says firmly, and that’s more like him. Something sure, something he believes in completely.

“I know,” she replies. “I guess… I guess what scared me the most was… seeing the old Nicky.”

He turns just enough to look at her, slightly puzzled, all in the eyes.

“You know, like… Crusader Nicky.”

All of a sudden she’s worried she’s said something terrible, something she can never walk back, something unforgiveable. She’s afraid she’s ruptured something that should have been good and strong between them. But then his face softens, and he finally lowers his hands.

“I am still that man, in truth,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He will always be me. I have changed, yes, but I could still become him again. He is a constant reminder of what I have done, and how I choose not to be like that every day. But also… You will not like to hear this, Nile, but everyone can become like that. Everyone is capable of terrible things, savage things. Even Joe. Even you. You hear a lot about the banality of evil, but you do not hear nearly enough about the simplicity of it.”

She is quiet as Nicky’s words percolate. Her first instinct to balk, be offended at the very idea. Not her, she is better than that. But is she? Is anyone? This is a broader subject than she has the scope for tonight, and Nicky seems to sense it.

“There is a difference, to me, between what I did at Jerusalem and what I did yesterday. I do not like what I did, I hate it, but I will never apologise for protecting you, or the rest of our family.”

She nods. Slowly, hesitantly, he turns his arm and opens his palm in offering. She looks at it, at its breadth, the length of his fingers, the calluses that must be from before he died, and sets her own hand in it. It’s warm, and it feels safe when his fingers close around hers. She expected the frightened rabbit part of her mind to see it like a bear trap. It feels more like an embrace, and she is relieved. Something dislodges in her chest, melts away from her, and she gently tilts towards him, resting her head on his broad shoulder.

What would she do to protect? She has no clue yet. She can only know when the moment comes.

They stay like that for a long while, until the chill starts to seep in too much, and she shivers despite the blanket.

“Time for bed, I think,” Nicky says softly, and she nods sleepily. They hold hands all the way inside, past Andy on the couch (and Nile is sure she sees her crack an eye open, and then close it again, smiling slightly), until they reach the bedrooms.

“Grazie,” Nile says. Nicky looks at her with those pale eyes, and she is relieved he stays as he is, no flash of blood, no emptiness. There is only warmth and affection, and one of those small smiles that seem to hold the world.

“Buonanotte,” he replies, squeezing her hand before letting it go. She watches him open the door and step inside, hears Joe’s sleepy voice say something unintelligible, and Nicky tell him to go back to sleep in English, before she heads to the other room.

She crawls under the covers, sets her head on the pillow, and sinks into a rare dreamless sleep.

[microwavesaferat]

I've seen multiple hcs of English Teacher Jason Todd, I've also seen multiple teacher aus in general. I would like to propose a 3rd Option:

Secret Day Jobs

All the Robins and Batfam extended universe (aka, until I get bored) have started doing day jobs as they get older, but they are all worried Bruce will bench them if they find out they're burning the candle at both ends, so they keep it secret.

We all know Dick is a cop in some comics, but I would like to propose they all go into teaching in some way. They don't tell the others, and gradually all end up transferring to the same school. We're also assuming they are all adults here.

We have:

Jason Todd - English Lit Professor. Doesn't like dealing with college kids, so moves to high school literature. Sometimes covers drama lessons if it's Shakespeare plays.

Dick Grayson - Health and Wellbeing (don't know if this is just a UK thing, sometimes called PSE). Basically teaches kids the dangers of smoking and how to stay healthy mentally and physically. He also runs the schools gymnastics club and helps at some other sports clubs.

Tim Drake - Computing. One of those teachers that doesn't care if you swear or call him the proper title. Does not care if you are misusing the school computers. He figured out the others are all teachers and hacked himself onto the payroll cause he thought it would be funny. Hacking emails to change names to see how long he can keep the others from figuring out they all work in the same place.

Damian Wayne - Biology. He kind of wishes he went into chemistry, because he despises the giggles and childish behaviour whenever something mentioned in the course is even mildly sexual. Refuses to do the frog dissection and nearly gets into a physical fight with the head of department. This event is what clues Dick into his presence, "Did you hear the new biology teacher threatened to kill Mr Smith over something? Apparently had a Katana or something in his desk".

Cassandra Cain - Guidance Councilor. Very good at interpreting the body language of the kids. Also does some work with ASL interpretation when needed. Thought everyone was aware of each other and isn't really trying to hide. Tim still has no idea she's here. Dick gets jumpscared when Cass shows up to one of the after school clubs he helps at.

Stephanie Brown - Somehow in a different position everyday. She appears as a janitor one day, then she's doing the school bus run the next. On Fridays she works in the Canteen cause the food is good on Fridays. There explicitly to annoy Tim who knows she's there, but can't find her in the payroll.

Duke Thomas - Politics/Modern Studies. The sort of teacher to say he's putting on a documentary, then pauses every 30 secs to go on a tangent about something. Disagrees with half the shit in the curriculum, so does his own thing. The projector in his classroom hasn't worked for months, but no one needs to know that.

Also, the moment they all figured out they are all there.

Dick hears about the frog incident and very quickly catches on.

Duke goes to the office to pick up jotters and Stephanie is working there.

Jason used the guidance councilor's room to take a minute and chill. Cass was on top of a cupboard for 10 mins before revealing herself.

Dick goes to grab the first aid kit after a kid falls at gymnastics and Stephanie is the Custodian in today.

Damian needs some supplies and the lab tech is Stephanie.

An Arkham breakout happens during a parents night and all of them run to change into costume. Issue is they all hid their costumes in the janitors closet.

WE runs a scholarship fund for students and Bruce has to show up to the awards ceremony for successful students. He gets a tour of the school only to slowly run into all of his kids. To start with, the tour is run by Stephanie who is refusing to break character.

Stephanie: Thank you for coming Mr Wayne

Bruce: Stephanie wha-

Stephanie: Please, Miss Brown, Stephanie was my father.

Steph: Anyway, here is our lovely new labs that WE do graciously funded.

Damian: *Yelling at a child to follow safety procedures*

Bruce: What? Dames?

Stephanie: and down to the left is our English department.

Jason Todd: *Animatedly discussing the influences of Romeo and Juliet in modern culture*

Steph: This is our lit teacher Mr Todd Peters

Bruce: *makes a note to remind his kids on good undercover names*

Well I'm tired but will probably add to this at some point.

[hashiruchan]

Headcanon: What subjects would Primarchs teach in high school?

(Based on subjects I had in high school or am familiar with)

This is my first Warhammer 40k headcanon, I hope you like it :'3 It comes with some quick sketches

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Roboute Guilliman – Economics/Business Administration He is usually strict because it is his duty but he helps his students from time to time, everyone loves him

Vulkan – Civics and Ethics His class focuses on kindness, responsibility, and community service. Everyone gets an A, but he expects you to do your best.

Konrad Curze – Student Supervisor (Hall Supervisor/Dean of Students) No one dares break the rules when he is around. His office is dimly lit and no one knows how he always catches the students before they even think about misbehaving. What could you expect from the Night Haunter?

Corvus Corax – Physics He would make any class interesting, he is sad to fail students and he loves them like they are his children

Lorgar – Religious Studies Somehow, every lesson becomes a sermon and 20 ways to pray to the Emperor

Mortarion – Chemistry The lab always smells funny. An expert in handling toxic gases, the students suspect he is immune to all dangerous substances. Strict

Leman Russ – Physical Education "You're not tired! You're just weak! Keep running!" Gym class is less about fitness and more about survival.

Fulgrim – Philosophy Every discussion ends with an impassioned monologue and the students leave questioning their entire existence thinking what perfection really is. Typical handsome but ruthless teacher

Perturabo – Workshop The assignments are almost impossible. If your project isn't reinforced with adamantium and designed to withstand artillery fire, it's not good enough.

Jaghatai Khan – Biology He loves explaining evolution and animal physiology, he likes to talk about horses a lot, he would be a very funny teacher.

Rogal Dorn – Law/Government Studies He follows everything to the letter, very calculating and always remembers everything he and his students say in every class. Every assignment must be structured like a legal document.

Ferrus Manus – Engineering Very practical. "If you can't build it with your own hands, you don't deserve to use it." Students who present blueprints without actual prototypes are judged harshly.

Angron – Math No one understands why he is so angry when explaining basic algebra, He throws chalk at students who can't solve equations fast enough, don't blame him deep down he is good.

Magnus the Red – Psychology He knows what you are thinking before you say it. "I understand your trauma better than you do" he says. There are very intense debates in class and to calm them down the students leave with mild headaches.

Horus – Language and Literature (English/Literature) Charismatic, good, helps his students and motivates them to be better every day, everyone's favorite without a doubt.

Alpharius – Substitute teacher for any subject "Wait, weren't you teaching biology yesterday?" No one knows how many of them actually exist, I'm actually Alpharius

Lion El'Jonson – History Classes about wars always have a suspicious lack of details about his own past. "We don't talk about certain events. Let's move on…" he doesn't stop talking.

Sanguinius – Fine Arts Every class feels like a divine experience. Students often leave inspired… or in tears. No one wants to disappoint him, he always strives to make his classes relaxing, stimulating and creative for them, he would spend all night cutting out paper flowers to hand out the next day.

[he4dlin3]

Hey could you do a Louis fic where the reader is normal and like an English teacher and all his fans and family love her?? Thanks 🤩 x

“A Lesson in Love — L.T ”

Pairing ; Louis Tomlinson x Fem!Reader

Synopsis ; Louis and his english teacher girlfriend that his fans and family grow to adore. This takes place during 2014-2015.

Material List | Navigation

════════════════════════

You were never one for the spotlight.

Your life was filled with lesson plans, red ink pens, and the comforting scent of old books. Teaching English at the local secondary school wasn’t the most glamorous job, but you loved it. The rhythm of the classroom, the challenge of engaging sleepy teenagers in Shakespeare or modern poetry, and the way your students lit up when they actually got it—it all made your heart full.

Dating Louis Tomlinson had never been part of the plan.

You met by complete accident at a charity football match your friend dragged you to. You were there for the snacks and the sun, not the players. But somehow, Louis ended up sitting next to you during halftime, sweaty and charming, offering you a bottle of water and a grin that disarmed you instantly.

You didn’t know who he was at first—not really. You’d heard of One Direction, of course you have they were one of the biggest boy bands in the world at the moment, but you didn’t live in that world. When you asked if he played for Manchester United professionally, he nearly choked on his drink laughing.

He liked that. That you treated him like a person and not a pop star. That you were unimpressed by fame, more concerned about the world of literature and your students’ GCSE results.

And from there, it just… happened.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Now, nearly a year later, you were standing in the middle of his family’s kitchen in Doncaster, stirring tea with his mum, Johannah’s recipe book open beside you.

His sisters adored you. Lottie always asked for your advice on books, Félicité loved talking about school and gossip, and even the twins, Daisy and Phoebe, would light up when you walked into the room, immediately pulling you into some arts and crafts project or dance routine they’d rehearsed.

His mum once told you, “You ground him. I’ve never seen Louis this settled, this at peace.” You didn’t know what to say to that, only that you felt the same.

When you weren’t with his family, you were home, grading essays while Louis lay across the couch, strumming his guitar or scrolling through Twitter. Sometimes he’d read lines from your students’ writing out loud, laughing with you at the funny ones, or offering heartfelt praise when something genuinely moved him.

It wasn’t long before his fans discovered who you were.

At first, you were nervous. You didn’t want their approval, but it terrified you that they might hate you. You were ordinary. A teacher. Someone who couldn’t sing or dance or walk red carpets. But Louis wasn’t worried.

“They’ll love you,” he said simply.

And they did.

They called you “Miss Honey” from Matilda and made sweet fan edits, that they had of course posted on Youtube, of you two together. Some even sent you notes thanking you for making Louis happy. A few of your students—once they figured out you were dating The Louis Tomlinson—nearly fainted in class. It was overwhelming, but oddly… beautiful.

Still, you made a point to keep your worlds somewhat separate. You didn’t post about Louis often, didn’t show up to every event. You supported him quietly—cheering in the crowd, holding his hand backstage, making him tea when he was exhausted after a long tour day.

He appreciated that. The simplicity. The stillness.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Later that night, curled up in bed in one of his oversized t-shirts, you watched him brush his teeth, humming to himself, hair sticking up in all directions. He caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.

“I know I’m a lot,” he said, suddenly quiet. “The noise, the travel, the attention…”

You got up and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle from behind. “You’re not too much. You’re exactly enough.”

He placed his hands over yours, leaning his head back on your shoulder. “Promise me something?”

You nodded.

“Don’t ever let this become something you think you have to survive. If it ever feels like that, we slow down. We do things our way.”

You held him tighter. “Deal.”

And that was the thing about loving Louis.

It wasn’t the fame or the fans or the flashes of public attention. It was Sunday mornings in bed with poetry books and records playing. It was the way he lit up when you graded a brilliant student essay. It was how he carried your school tote bag when you were tired, how he made tea exactly the way you liked it, how he left love notes in the margins of your lesson planner.

You were the calm to his storm. And he was the music that gave your quiet life a beautiful rhythm.

Together, you were just two people—one who lived in the spotlight, and one who preferred the shadows—but somehow, you met in the middle and created a home in each other’s hearts.

And everyone, from his family to the fans to your students who saw the sparkle in your eyes when you spoke about him—they all knew.

You were meant for each other.

Even if the world didn’t expect it.

Especially because the world didn’t expect it.

And that made it all the more magical.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

a/n : Okay this was so cute, i loved writing this, and i loved that it was something unique and different to write about, off topic but louis’ sisters are literally so beautiful. Don’t be afraid to request, or even talk to me, i love talking to people and answering requests, anyways i hoped you enjoyed this!

[ohbabydollie]

currently imagining a jaded, deadpan lit teacher!schlatt. super intelligent, incredible teacher that all his students adore and love to learn from, but they all swear to god they’ve never seen him smile once

then comes along absolute ray of sunshine teacher!y/n, probably teaching some kind of fine art, and it is just like a moth to a flame. he cannot stay away from you!

you meet for the first time in the teacher’s lounge and he’s a little taken aback, he doesn’t know what it is about you but something makes his little brain flip a switch and it’s all sunshine and rainbows. not much longer after that, you start becoming friends, sharing cool little things about your interests or the subjects you teach.

he does a pretty good job of hiding these feelings from the kids, just because he wants to keep that side of him private from his students, but one day he slips up. you sneak in during a class of his during your free period to return a book he recommended to you. when you walked out, he had no idea that he was smiling but apparently the students noticed.

“mr. schlatt, were you just smiling?”

“finish your essay.”

also am i allowed to be 🥥 anon

ofc, welcome 🥥 anon

before you came along schlatt was the most obviously exhausted and stressed teacher, but his students loved him.

from stapling mcdonald’s job applications on failed tests to talking about his cats. his students very clearly loved him and adored him, but he just seemed so sad in a way, especially when one of them got him to talk about his dating life.

single, with multiple failed dates under his belt

then you transferred to the school after the last art teacher had quit.

he had heard about you from his students, the new young single art teacher making sure to emphasize on the single part, but he always told them to focus on getting their assignment done over focusing on the teachers dating lives.

he really didn’t care for you, probably would be done in a few weeks if you couldn’t handle how rowdy and rough some of these kids could be. he gave you a month at best.

then you came into the teacher’s lounge getting snack after snack out of the vending machine as he watched in silence. not out of judgement, but he was just mesmerized completely

the concentration on your face as you punched in number after number watching the snacks fall before grabbing a cardboard box to place it all in was all so adorable to him, he didn’t even realize he had been staring until you looked over at him with a big smile.

“hi, i don’t believe we’ve met!” you chirp, “i’m y/n the new art teacher” you say extending out a hand for him to shake. he politely takes it, giving you a semi-awkward smile

“i’m jay, i teach english in b103” he says feeling himself turn red

“oh wow! i’m only down the hall from you, my room is c102” you say parting from the hand shake and picking up your box “well i’ll see you around” you say pushing the door open

and just like that you were gone as soon as you came

and schlatt had a new goal in mind, you

the next period he had came back better than ever. his normally deadpan and tired voice had more excitement and life to it and his students noticed for sure, waiting until the lesson was over to pry into him, but they all got the same response.

“jus added a shot of expresó into my coffee this mornin” he says starting to grade the assignments from his last class.

they had assumed that was it, nothing more to it until the next week where he seemed to be radiating with joy, when they pried into him again all he said was, “jus had some coffee from my favorite spot this mornin, nothin else”

he hadn’t mentioned it was with you.

over the next few months they noticed more and more change, fixing his hair more often, wearing his nicer clothes and whatever he could to look better.

as a student asked “so who’s the lucky lady?”

you had walked in holding a book, causing the room to fall silent. you practically floated to his desk as everyone watched you.

“hey, thanks for letting me borrow your copy, it was really good” you say handing him the book

“oh..it’s no problem, anytime” he says softly as you smile

“ ‘kay, well i’ll see you later, oh and your glasses are a little smudged” you say heading to leave as he watches in awe.

once you’re out, he’s taking off his glasses, smiling to himself with a small chuckle as he cleans them off, basking in the moment, completely forgetting his students were there until someone speaks up.

“mr. schlatt, are you smiling?” he asks teasingly before schlatt immediately drops the smile and goes deadpan again

“finish your assignment before i fail you”

[cheynovak]

Bella notte

Summary: Y/N is alone on valentines day with Ben. Who decides to take romantic lessons from her favourite Disney movie.

No warnings just fluff

English isn't my first language

Wrote this Valentine one shot for @cevansbaby-dove 🥰 hope you like this "romantic" story with Soldier Boy.

--

Y/N sighed as she stepped into the empty compound, the usual chaos of The Boys' headquarters eerily silent. It was Valentine’s Day, and every single one of them had somehow managed to make plans—except for her and Soldier Boy. Even Butcher, the last person she’d expect to celebrate romance, was off somewhere, leaving her with the worst babysitting duty imaginable.

The moment she entered, she noticed something unusual: the kitchen door was closed. That never happened. Before she could question it, a familiar gruff voice rang out.

“Go shower and get dressed,” Ben barked from somewhere inside.

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he grumbled. “And wear the damn dress near the bathroom. You know, the one Annie left for you.”

She opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. She was too exhausted to argue, and if Soldier Boy wanted her to shower and change, whatever he was planning couldn’t be worse than their usual antics. With a tired sigh, she complied, slipping into the soft fabric of the dress. It wasn’t overly fancy, but it was nice enough to feel like a small effort had been made.

When she re-entered the main room, she was met with the sight of a dimly lit table in the kitchen, candles flickering on the counter. Soldier Boy stood there, arms crossed, looking as grumpy as ever, but there was an almost imperceptible hint of awkwardness to him.

“What the hell is this?” Y/N asked, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

Ben scoffed. “What does it look like? We’re eating."

Her eyes fell to the table. Spaghetti. And—her breath hitched slightly—a single plate with two forks.

A memory from just a few days ago resurfaced. She and Annie had been watching *Lady and the Tramp*, laughing at the cliche romance while secretly loving every second. Y/N had offhandedly mentioned how much she adored the way the Tramp shared his food with Lady.

Her gaze flicked back to Ben. “You… set this up?” She noticed the take out bags in the corned of the kitchen, but still really liked the effort.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbled, avoiding her eyes. “You said you liked that stupid dog movie. Figured if I gotta be stuck with you tonight, might as well make it… I dunno, tolerable.”

A small smile crept onto Y/N’s lips as she took a seat. “This is actually kinda sweet, Ben.”

“Shut up and eat,” he muttered, twirling some spaghetti onto his fork.

Y/N couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up. She leaned in, taking the other fork, their noses nearly brushing as they met in the middle over the plate. It was absurd. It was ridiculous. And yet, her heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks,Ben.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just eat your damn food.”

---

After dinner, Ben took her coat and handed it to her. Confused, Y/N took it, glancing at him for an explanation, but he simply held the door open. With no further words, they stepped outside, walking side by side through the quiet town.

The streets glowed softly under the warm streetlights, leading them to a nearby park. The romantic ambiance was undeniable—couples strolled hand in hand, whispering sweet nothings, some even stealing kisses under the trees. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms over herself.

Ben eventually sat down on a bench near the lake, stretching his legs out as he watched the water ripple under the glow of the city lights. Y/N hesitated before taking a seat beside him, though she left a small space between them.

He noticed how her eyes lingered on the couples, a mixture of wistfulness and quiet longing in her expression. A few of the nearby lovebirds stole glances at them, perhaps wondering about the weird dynamic between them.

Casually—though not without a purpose—Ben stretched his arm out and draped it over her shoulders. Y/N's breath hitched slightly as she looked up at him, her cheeks warming under his touch.

"You don’t have to pretend for them," she murmured.

Ben smirked. "It’s not for them. It’s for you. And I don’t mind."

Her heartbeat stuttered at his words. Slowly, she let herself ease into his side, the warmth of his presence oddly comforting.

As they continued walking, the sound of a street musician caught their attention. Y/N slowed her pace, tilting her head as the soft strumming of a guitar filled the crisp night air. She smiled, her eyes lighting up as the musician sang an old love song.

Ben stole a glance at her, watching how effortlessly she found joy in such simple moments. The way her lips curled into a genuine smile, how she swayed slightly to the rhythm, and how her fingers absentmindedly tapped against her coat—it was mesmerizing.

Without a word, he stepped away for a moment, returning with a small bouquet of roses. When Y/N noticed, her eyes widened in surprise before softening with gratitude

"You didn’t have to," she murmured.

Ben shrugged. "Yeah, well, I wanted to."

They walked home in silence, his fingers brushing against hers more than once. Each accidental touch sent a flush to her cheeks, and Ben didn’t miss the way she shyly glanced away. He smirked but said nothing, letting the quiet tension between them build.

By the time they reached home, the air between them felt charged, unspoken words hanging heavily. Ben watched as Y/N hesitated at the door, her gaze flickering to him, unsure of what came next.

He stepped closer, voice low. "You really don’t get it, do you?"

Y/N swallowed, heart pounding. "Get what?"

Ben reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. His usual cocky smirk softened just a fraction.

Y/N's breath hitched, the warmth of his touch spreading through her like fire.

Ben leaned in, his lips brushing against hers with an unexpected gentleness. But it didn’t last—his need for her, his possessive nature, took over. The kiss deepened, rougher, more demanding, as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before he effortlessly lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. A small gasp escaped her lips, swallowed by another heated kiss as he carried her through the dimly lit hallways.

His bedroom door slammed shut behind them. The air between them was thick with tension, desire crackling like a live wire. Ben’s hands roamed, tracing the curve of her back, fingers pressing into her skin like he was afraid she’d disappear.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, voice rough with want.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, breathless.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he laid her down on the bed, hovering over her. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her beneath him, completely his.

But tonight, he’d make sure she knew it.

---

taglist:

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @writtenbyhollywood @spnaquakindgdom

[rose24207]

hey lovely! can i please request more nerd!lando? not anything specifically except the nerd!lando but maybe lando slowly getting more confident however he still has his shy and insecure moments? have a lovely day!

Sounds fun

Summary: Lando, the shy and self-doubting "nerd" at school, slowly gains confidence as he bonds with you over shared interests, despite his moments of insecurity.

Genre: nerd!Lando, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: I received many messages, saying that they love nerd!Lando! So there you go!! Thank you for all the kind words and support 🫶🏻. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando had always been the quiet kid in class, the one with his nose buried in a book or his laptop. Sure, he had a natural charm that made people like him, but he preferred staying under the radar, not drawing too much attention to himself. His oversized glasses, a few sizes too big for his face, often slipped down his nose as he scribbled notes during lessons or solved problems on his laptop during free periods. He liked it that way, focusing on his passions—whether it was math, science, or his latest obsession with racing simulators.

You first noticed him in your shared history class. While the rest of the class struggled to keep their eyes open during the lecture, Lando sat at the back, completely absorbed in his notes, writing with a neat, precise hand. His concentration was almost admirable. He was, undoubtedly, the smartest kid in the class, but he never boasted about it. In fact, if anyone noticed, he’d often downplay it.

Today, you saw him sitting by the window during lunch break, his laptop open in front of him. His headphones were in, and he was completely lost in a racing game, tapping furiously at the keys. You couldn’t help but smile. Lando was cute when he got like this—totally immersed in something he loved. You’d been wanting to talk to him for a while, but whenever you did, he always seemed a little shy, like he wasn’t quite sure how to handle attention.

With a bit of hesitation, you walked over to his table, your shoes softly tapping against the floor.

“Hey, Lando,” you greeted him, making him jump in surprise.

His eyes widened behind his glasses. “Oh! Hey, uh, hi,” he stammered, quickly pausing his game and adjusting his glasses, though they slid down his nose again.

You grinned, leaning against the desk. “What’s up? You in the middle of a race or something?”

“Uh, yeah. Kinda,” Lando said, his voice still a little flustered. “I’m just… well, practicing for a race. You know, like a simulator thing.” He gave a nervous chuckle, clearly uncomfortable now that he wasn’t hiding behind his game.

“Sounds fun,” you said, your voice soft and teasing. “You always this focused?”

Lando nodded, his cheeks tinging pink. “Yeah, I guess so. I really like it. It helps me… focus on stuff, y’know? It’s like, my thing.”

You smiled, watching as he fidgeted with his hands, clearly a bit shy. “That’s cool. You’re really good at it, aren’t you?”

Lando shrugged, glancing at the screen, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “I mean, I guess? I’ve been practicing for a while, but it’s nothing special. I’m just a bit of a nerd about it.”

“No, I think it’s awesome,” you said, sitting down next to him. “I can barely figure out how to drive in the game. You must be a pro.”

Lando’s face lit up a little, but the shy smile quickly faded into self-doubt. “Nah, I don’t know about that. I’m probably not as good as, you know, some of the other guys.”

He said it so softly, almost like he didn’t want to be heard, but you caught it. He always downplayed his skills, as if he was too afraid of seeming too confident.

“Lando,” you said gently, nudging him. “You’re amazing at it. Seriously, you could probably race professionally if you wanted to. You just need to believe in yourself a little more.”

His eyes widened, and he looked at you, caught off guard by your words. “You really think so?”

You smiled warmly. “I do.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away, adjusting his glasses again. “Well, thanks. I, uh, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You watched him for a moment, realizing that while Lando had all the potential in the world, he still had his moments of uncertainty, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved the praise or the attention.

“Okay, next question,” you said, changing the topic to keep the conversation going. “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

Lando grinned a little, his confidence coming back in small bursts as he warmed up to you. “Super speed, obviously,” he said, his tone a little more confident now. “I mean, I could race anywhere. And I’d be unbeatable.”

You laughed, teasing him gently. “Just don’t get too cocky. You might run into trouble if you get too fast.”

“Pfft,” Lando said, playfully brushing it off, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “Who could catch me?”

The two of you spent the rest of the lunch break chatting, Lando slowly becoming more comfortable as the conversation went on. He still had his shy, insecure moments—like when he’d second-guess himself or nervously adjust his glasses—but with each compliment and bit of encouragement from you, Lando grew just a little bit more confident.

By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Lando’s smile was genuine, and his posture a bit straighter.

“Thanks for hanging out,” he said as you both gathered your things. “I don’t usually… talk much. But it was nice.”

“You’re welcome, Lando,” you said, giving him a warm smile. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, totally,” he replied, his voice still a little shy but much more confident than when you first sat down. “I’d like that.”

As you walked to class together, you couldn’t help but feel that, while Lando still had a lot of growing to do in terms of his confidence, he was well on his way. And maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one to help him get there.

Thank you for reading!