#i am the captain here

[shivunin]

🙤 Unusual OC Associations 🙧

Tagged by @greypetrel---thanks for the tag! This is so cool :) I also might do this for all of them gradually---I enjoy this unique way of thinking about these characters. I added Arianwen under the break here, and I'll likely make a separate post for my bounty of Lavellans. (Also--I'm just putting this out there--I'm adding a Tarot section for mine because I kept thinking about cards for them as I was writing these, but it wasn't part of the original list c: )

Maria Hawke

Seasoning: Something warm and sharp, like ginger or cinnamon. The kind of thing you can add to a hot drink when it's cold outside.

Weather: Snow that falls in big, puffy flakes that make you feel grateful to be inside and warm. Not a storm, but snow that makes everything feel a bit closer than it was before.

Colour: The crimson of heart's-blood, vivid and unmistakable

Sky: When it's very cold and clear outside and there are ice crystals shining in the air. You can only see them when they catch the light, but they're there nonetheless, like clouds scattered at ground level

Magic power: Fire that soothes and sears: a healing heat that is like knocking back a finger of whiskey in the bitter cold, or a blush on a first date.  The agonizing pain of reaching for a pot too fresh from the fire or overlooking the burning candle you've just tipped over in your negligence. 

House plant: Aloe vera: you can forget about it, it can withstand too much sun or rain for a time, and as long as it’s cared for every so often it’ll keep taking out the sting of your hurts

Weapon: A staff made of dark wood and bronze, polished to a gloss by decades of use and her father’s hands. 

Subject: History—but mostly the salacious or embarrassing bits. Hawke loves a good story, and she definitely tells the bawdy ones when she’s tipsy.

Social media: Despises it. Has a hard time reading tone on the internet. Probably runs a personal blog about her life Kirkwall that she never updates, and rarely responds to comments; she’s too impatient to work to understand a format or website culture. 

Make-up product: An anise oil treatment she rubs into her hair before she sleeps at night to keep it glossy and tangle-free

Candy: Chocolate-covered roasted almonds; a study in contrasts, with the sweet, melt-in-your mouth richness of chocolate and the crunchy, faintly bitter and salty almonds. 

Fear: Failure; that it was actually her fault that Malcolm and Bethany died, and that it will happen again if she isn’t quick/clever/good enough

Ice cube shape: Perfectly square, rattles nicely when you shake it in a glass

Method of long distance travel: Carriage; she can nap, read, and take in the sights exactly as much as she’d like to. 

Art style: Impressionism; trying to capture the fleeting through the suggestion of detail, but ultimately only capturing the impression of what it once was. The finished result is still beautiful, if full of nostalgia. 

Mythological creature: A church grim; guardian of its domain and foreteller of death. 

Piece of stationery: Handmade paper with pieces of dried rose petal or herbs pressed into the paper itself; slightly ragged around the edges but thick and sweet-smelling. 

3 emojis: 👀 💅🏽 😶

Celestial body: The harvest moon on the horizon, golden and full and looking impossibly close despite the distance

Tarot Card: The Hanged Man; Intuition, trials, and self-sacrifice

Tagging: @star--nymph @zenstrike

(and really, anyone who wants to do this--I know these things have the power to make one feel like the kid picked last for dodgeball, but I feel like I'm overstepping if we've never really interacted. Tell me if you want to do these things and I will tag you forever. Really.)

(I put Wen under the break, insert "nobody puts Baby in the corner" joke)

Arianwen Tabris

Seasoning: Oh, salt, hands-down. No elaboration.

Weather: Gathering cumulonimbus on the horizon, with that especially purple-grey tinge to the bottom that tells you it’s going to be a really brutal storm. There are streaks of lightning every now and then, and you can see the streaks where rain has already begun to fall in the distance. (It leaves destruction behind, but come back in a season or a year---the fallen trees grow moss now, and house animals, and the fields have grown back all the greener for the rain)

Colour: Gunmetal grey; dull at first glance but lustrous and brutal nonetheless. 

Sky: Red at first light

Magic power: Reopening hidden hurts and forgotten wounds

House plant: Cactus in a terracotta pot. Sometimes you wonder why you’ve still got it on the shelf there, when all it does is poke you and look menacing. But then you look at it after a multiweek depression fog and it’s still there, unwilted, kicking ass. 

Weapon: a throwing knife, painted matte-black, all but invisible at night until it hits you

Subject: Applied physics; she likes the practical reality of numbers, and the application of an object in motion can really only benefit her. 

Social media: Has a private Youtube account where she saves all her favorite Lockpicking Lawyer videos. If anyone posts a picture or video with her in the background, she hunts them for sport. 

Make-up product: Cover up/foundation; if all your scars and tattoos are covered, it’s more difficult for people to identify you

Candy: Rebanaditas (watermelon chili powder candy) (and hey, this is how I found out that lucas powder contained high levels of lead and that’s why it was discontinued?? If you ate a bunch of it like I used to, just a heads-up.)

Fear: Loving someone as much as her father loved her mother (as much as she loved her mother) and losing them anyway.

Ice cube shape: Circle K ice (the little crunchy ones people like to chew on)

Method of long distance travel: Foot. No chance she’ll have to climb off or down from something and get taken by surprise. 

Art style: Charcoal sketches; they seem straightforward, even simplistic at first glance, but are capable of unexpected depth and dimension

Mythological creature: Cŵn Annwn; a hound of the Wild Hunt in Welsh lore. Their howls were a death portent that grew quieter rather than louder as they approached. Sometimes regarded as guides to the afterlife.

Piece of stationery: Scrap of paper torn off a larger text for convenience

3 emojis: 🔪 🤨 🐺

Celestial body: Mars

Tarot Card: The Tower; a symbol of abrupt and violent change, for better or worse

[ratbaby15]

Got inspired, made something, hope you enjoy.

Pretty accurate if I do say so myself.

[jazzandpizazz]

i may have started watching star trek…

[peachviz]

sometimes Star Trek mental health awareness episodes really hurt

[soliloquent-stark]

all for bucky.

marvel parallels 31/?

chris evans in captain america: the winter soldier (2014) and captain america: civil war (2016)

[vozart]

when your sergeants make you dress up as video game characters

[reclusivesapphire]

[cosmicwhoreo]

*realizes I haven't posted my silly blacaviar propaganda here* I must right this wrong now.

[giotanner]

Where are you cod fans? 🫵

[thresholdbb]

I’m now realizing I could never be in Starfleet. The spoons are too weird

[carpe-mamilia]

Ghosts’ Larry Rickard Explains Why They Chose the Captain’s First Name

Photo: Monumental,Guido Mandozzi

It couldn’t be a joke. That was one rule laid down by the Ghosts creators when it came to choosing a first name for Willbond’s character. Until series five, the WWII ghost had been known only as The Captain – a mystery seized upon by fans of the show.

“It was the question we got asked more than anything. His name,” actor and writer Larry Rickard tells Den of Geek. “Once we got to series three, you could see that we were deliberately cutting away and deliberately avoiding it. We were fuelling the fire because we knew at some point we’d tell them.”

In “Carpe Diem”, the episode written by Rickard and Ben Willbond that finally reveals The Captain’s death story, they did tell us. After years of guessing, clue-spotting and debate, Ghosts revealed that The Captain’s first name is James. At the same time, we also learned that James’ colleague Lieutenant Havers’ first name was Anthony.

The ordinariness of those two names, says Rickard, is the point.

“The only thing we were really clear about is that we didn’t want one of those names that only exists in tellyland. It shouldn’t be ‘Cormoran’ or ‘Endeavour’. They should just be some men’s names and they’re important to them. The point was that they were everyday.”

Choosing first names for The Captain and Havers was a long process not unlike naming a baby, Rickard agrees. “It almost comes down to looking at the faces of the characters and saying, what’s right?”

“We talked for ages. For a long time I kept thinking ‘Duncan and James’, and then I was like ah no! That would have turned it into a gag and been awful!” Inescapably in the minds of a certain generation, Duncan James is a member of noughties boyband Blue. “Maybe with Anthony I was thinking of Anthony Costa!” Rickard says in mock horror, referencing another member of the band.

Lieutenant Havers wasn’t just The Captain’s second in command while stationed at Button House; he was also the man James loved. Because homosexuality was criminalised in England during James’ lifetime, he was forced to hide his feelings for Anthony from society, and to some extent even from himself.

In “Carpe Diem”, the ghosts (mistakenly) prepare for the last day of their afterlives, prompting The Captain to finally tell his story. Though not explicit about his sexual identity, the others understand and accept what he tells them – and led by Lady Button, all agree that he’s a brave man.

Getting the balance right of what The Captain does and doesn’t say was key to the episode. “It wasn’t just a personal choice of his to go ‘I’m going to remain in the closet’,” explains Rickard. “There wasn’t an option there to explore the things that either of them felt. That couldn’t be done back then – there are so many stories which have come out since the War about the dangers of doing that.

“We wanted to tell his personal story but also try to ensure that there was a level at which you understood why they couldn’t be open, that even in this moment where he’s finally telling the other ghosts his story, he never comes out and says it overtly because that would be too much for him as a character from that time.

“He says enough for them to know, and enough for him to feel unburdened but it’s in the fact that they’re using their first names which militarily they would never have done, and in the literal passing of the baton”.

The baton is a bonus reveal when fans learned that The Captain’s military stick wasn’t a memento of his career, but of Havers. As James suffers a fatal heart attack during a VE day celebration at Button House, Anthony rushes to his side and the stick passes from one to the other as they share a moment of tragic understanding.

“From really early on, we had the idea that anything you’re holding [when you die] stays with you. So it wasn’t just your clothes you were wearing, we had the stuff with Thomas’ letter reappearing in his pocket and so on. And the assumption being that it was something The Captain couldn’t put down, it felt so nice to be able to say it was something he didn’t want to put down.”

Rickard lists “Carpe Diem”, co-written with Ben Willbond, among his series five highlights. He’s pleased with the end result, praises Willbond’s performance, and loved being on set to see Button House dressed for the 1940s. He’s particularly pleased that a checklist of moments they wanted to land with the audience all managed to be included. “Normally something’s fallen by the wayside just because of the way TV’s made, it’s always imperfect or it’s slightly rushed, but it feels like it’s all there.”

Rickard and Willbond also knew by this point in the show’s lifetime, that they could trust Ghosts fans to pick up on small details. “Nothing is missed,” he says. “Early on, you’re always thinking, is that going to get across? But once we got to series five, there are little tiny things within corners of shots and you know that’s going to be spotted. Particularly in that very short exchange between Havers and the Captain. We worried less about the minutiae of it because you go, that’s going to be rewound and rewatched, nothing will be missed.”

The team were also grateful they’d resisted the temptation to tell The Captain’s story sooner. “We’d talked about it every series since series two, whether or not now was the time, but because he’s such a hard and starchy character in a lot of ways you needed the time to understand his softer side I think before you had that final honest beat from him.”

“What a ridiculously normal name to have so much weight put on it for five years,” laughs Rickard fondly. “Good old James.”

From Den of Geek

[aimmyarrowshigh]

::heavily exhales my 19th cigarette in an hour::

the entire mcu

it's about mothers

it's about unconditional love being so powerful that sometimes that power manifests as amazing, superhuman feats

whether good or tragic

it's all about ::lights another cigarette:: the mothers

[leviraaaaaa]

“I hate it.”

You looked up at him, gritting your teeth through the words. You were angry, so so angry. Furious, enraged, aggravated. Who does he think he is, that fucking Jaeger?

Eren’s last letter finally came through. The one where he says he was going to raid Liberio and asked the scouts for help. Or did he? With or without help, he said. The audacity.

After all the shit you and the others had to go through, the huge reports trying to explain why he went missing, answering the higher ups about his disappearance, trying to justify it, seeking up excuses. Then he has the fucking nerve to send these letters.

You had stormed out right after Hange read out the words, not even bothering to ask to be excused. You were tired of dealing with that emo teenage brat.

But Levi gave no reaction to the sharpness of your tone, already aware of the cause of your temper. He was there in the room, his expression had tightened just as yours had. And he must’ve followed you right after.

He always does.

Without a word, he lowered himself down on the step beside you.

“This is filthy.” He scrunched his nose. “Couldn’t have found a better place?”

“I didn’t ask you to sit here.” You grumbled, rolling your eyes. You just kind of took the first isolated corner you could find. Sure, the stairs were filthy, but that was the last thing on your mind.

“Why did you follow me anyways?” You asked.

“I didn’t follow you.” Levi sighs, stretching his leg to kick a piece of rock. It flew all the way over to a wall, making soft little sounds on the pavement as it impacted. “I needed air. He pissed me off.”

You let out a noise in agreement. That’s one thing you can both agree on. Eren Jaeger was an absolute piece of shit with a talent to irritate like no other.

“Next time I’m seeing him,” You mumbled darkly. “I’m breaking a couple bones, I swear.”

“That was actually my plan, but I’d let you have the honors as well.”

“You should’ve hit him harder all those years ago, back in the courtroom.”

“Definitely.”

That made you smile.

But it was the absolute seriousness of his expression that made you crack. The stony face, with an even more stoic tone. He actually seemed to be considering the idea. As if you and him were merely discussing the weather instead of the best way to beat up an adolescent boy. Without even meaning to, you were grinning, a snort escaping you making Levi glance at you with the side of his eyes. He frowned.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” You smiled. “That’s why it’s funny.” Poor Eren, he’s had it coming.”

Finally, you felt the anger go down.

It’s always like that. You get angry, you get emotional, but when you turn around, Levi’s always there, in his own strange little way, a hand on your shoulder and shooting you a look. Or times like this when you’re upset and pissed, and he just sits with you and goes along with everything you say until you feel better.

You leaned back, letting yourself fall back on your arms, kicking your legs and stretching them. Your shoulders hurt from how stiff they’ve been from the tension until now. You tilted your head to look at him.

“Look at us, making plans about how to beat up a kid half our age. What have we come to?”

“Our fucking limit.” Levi grumbled, but the scowl lessened, his brows straightening slightly at your calmer tone. His own shoulders relaxed. “He deserves it at this point.”

You grinned. Sure, you can’t really hit Eren right now, but the idea does make you feel better. For the time being at least, you’ll have to cope by daydreaming.

But you were so tired, you think. Very so.

Why is it that you could never stop running?

Eren’s shit was only the least of it, but it’s been so hard. Being a scout was never supposed to be easy. But ever since Erwin and the others died, nothing's been the same. You could hardly celebrate the success at retaking wall maria when the price to pay was the blood of everyone you knew. Even witnessing the wonder that is the sea for the first time hadn’t been as thrilling as you thought, how could it when you know there’s a whole other world beyond it, and that they want you dead? Stepping in Marley and realizing all that you’ve been kept away from, a life you couldn’t even imagine. It must be nice to live without being so terrified, scared for you and scared for your friends, you had thought. Must be nice to live without having the rest of the world label you as devils and to take the peace for granted.

You wished you could just catch a fucking break. Maybe forever.

You sighed.

“Levi.”

He gave a lazy glance. “What?”

“Let’s run away.” You muttered softly under your breath. Eyes focused on the ground. “Me and you. And Hange, if they want to come.” You sighed, pausing a little. “I hate it. I hate all of it. I’m sure you do too.”

With that, you turned to look at him, right in those silver eyes of his. They looked almost blue here in the moonlight. Was it just you or was even the wind holding its breath?

“This isn’t what I signed up for Lev. I thought I was going to fight titans, not humans.”

“What..” He asked, staring at you unblinking, almost confused. And surprised. And something else you couldn’t quite place. “What are you on about?”

“So, let’s go.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. Somewhere far away. We could just get up and leave right now.”

“..now?”

Levi gaped, struggling to find something to say. Your light tone indicated that it was a joke but yet, there was something in your eyes. A glimmer of something. That made him think that maybe it wasn’t a joke after all.

You grinned. “Leave this to the kids. They don’t listen to us either way. Let’s go and start another life.”

And for a moment, there was silence. You stared at him as he did the same, eyes boring into each other, unspoken words and unconfessed truths thrumming in the air between.

And just for that moment, you considered it. You really, really considered it. Just saying it out loud.

To tell him what you never did. What you’ve been hiding from him for so long.

Would that be so bad?

What if you did run away after all?

You sighed.

“Jeez, Levi.” You finally looked away, peeling your eyes off of him. “Relax. You look like I’m about to drag you from here at gunpoint. It was a joke.”

Levi was quick to duck his head away as well. “I know.” He mumbled. “I know. I’m not that fucking dense.”

“Were you hoping I was serious?” You pulled your knees up to his chest, letting your head rest on them to look at him, a grin forming.

He did. But he couldn’t say that, could he?

“You are the last person I’d willingly choose to spend my life with.” He scowled.

“That’s cruel.” You gasped dramatically, feigning hurt and giving him a mock glare. “We get along fine.”

“You’re missing the part where I want to choke one or two dozen times a day.”

“Kinky.”

“Fuck off.”

“Okay, but, think about it,” You pressed your lips together with the effort to hold the grin together, trying your best to look serious. How could you when he looked so incredulous? It only made you want to fuck around with him a little more. “You could be a farmer or some shit. I could be the pretty housewife. Some peace and calm.”

“You as a housewife?” Levi snorted, amusement gleaming in his eyes at the thought. “Peace and calm at the same place where you are?”

“Well,” You shrugged, “You could be the pretty housewife then. I won’t mind.”

“I think I'll stick to being a squad captain, thanks.”

"You're no fun."

"Shut the fuck up.''

The giggle finally escaped you, unable to hold it in any longer. And little after, you were laughing, clutching your sides, making the mistake of looking at his very offended face and then you were laughing so hard you could hardly breathe. Soon, even Levi’s face softened, the corners of his mouth quirking up just a little.

“HEYYY YOU TWO!”

Hange yells, appearing out of nowhere and startling the shit out of the two of you, making you almost choke. They flopped themselves down between you, wrapping their arms around both of your shoulders, squeezing hard and letting their head drop. “Nice of you to leave me alone with those children. Gave me a headache.”

“You’re the commander after all.” You said coughing, trying to get your breathing back to normal.

“Next time, can you at least say hello before you proceed to crush us to death?” Levi grumbled, squirming under Hange’s grasp.

“No.” They reply to Levi. “But jeez.. I say one word and Mikasa gets all defensive. Why is everyone acting like it’s my fault?” Hange pouts.

“Aw Hange.” You pat their back, laughing.

“I want to smack Eren.”

“Don’t we all?” Levi muttered quietly under his breath.

“Me and Levi booked him first.” You said. “You can have the rest if anything remains.”

“Aw man. No fair.”

Hange pulled a face. And then they pulled the two of you closer, until all 3 of you were practically squishing against each other.

You let your eyes fall shut, soaking in the warmth. And Levi, even Levi— who’s always complaining about Hange’s very physical manners—didn’t complain anymore. And the three of you just stayed like that, leaning against each other in silence. The presence of the other was enough itself.

Then Hange spoke, so quietly you would’ve barely heard it if you weren’t so close.

“How long do you think until it’s over?”

You pondered over the question a little while, thinking about it. Then you sighed.

“Who knows? Will it ever really be over?”

Hange exhaled softly, pausing. They looked up, the moonlight glinting off their glasses. There were a lot of stars tonight.

“Think Erwin’s getting amusement watching us be miserable?” They muttered.

It was Levi to answer this time.

"Yes."

[erinlindsayy]

professor || carol danvers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ . ┊ You're Carol's designated note taker, and usually the one teaching her a few things. What happens when you give her the wrong set of notes?

➺  warnings: dirty talk, spanking, edging, violent use of straps, carol danvers tops (but I fully believe she's a switch now), umm... general unholiness, bratting, etc.

✧   a/n: surprise... I'm back... more content coming soon... I promise I've got a val/carol/r fic coming soon, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist... JOCK COLLEGE CAROL, OK? JOCK RUGBY COLLEGE CAROL.

↬ like this work? let me know! comments help encourage writers to write more and let them know that you liked what they wrote :)

★ requests are open–I write for a number of fandoms! just ask :)

☆ comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated ☆

“Can any of you attempt to discern meaning from this week’s assigned reading? Why might I have selected this particular work for you all?” asks Professor Valkyrie, starting class for the day. Your hand immediately raises, and she nods in your direction. 

“Well, was not Beckett’s entire point to find meaning in the absence of conventional meaning?” 

Professor Valkyrie, nods. 

‘Interesting thought,” she says. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” you begin. “Beckett created a landscape for us that is so alien and foreign, and unlike what we know. The play does not include any symbolic elements, and it does not really go anywhere. You might try to make meaning out of the carrot that Didi and Gogo share, or the leaves appearing on the tree, but they literally mean nothing. At the end of the play--we, as well as Vladimir and Estragon, are all still waiting for Godot. So, in a sense, there is no meaning, but perhaps there is meaning in the fact that there is no intended meaning.” 

“Good,” replies Professor Valkyrie. “As always, a carefully articulated and thoroughly crafted response. Excellent work as usual.” 

You smile politely, and fall back into your seat as Professor Valkyrie continues to lecture about Samuel Beckett and the wonderful nature and reality of Waiting for Godot. 

Meanwhile, you’ve jotted at the top of your notes, in big bold letters ‘I hate this play!’ 

After all, the ability to just to understand and converse about a work of literature does not mean that one has to enjoy it. 

After class, you’re stopped, as usual, by the one and only  Carol Danvers. Resident jock, captain of the division one team, aspiring pilot, rumored sex god extrodinare, Carol Danvers. She’s quite the legend around campus, but not exactly for her work ethic as it pertains to academic pursuits, which are... lacking, to put it politely. 

“Do you have my notes for me,” she asks, holding her hand out. “I need to at least act like I’m going to study tonight, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “Carol, why do you ask for my notes if you never use them? You do realize that mere possession of the notes will not translate into you understanding the material, yes? You have to actually read them in order for the information to enter your head.” 

Your reply is snarky, short and snappy, but you’re fed up with Carol at this point. She asks you for notes in all the classes you share together (which, granted, is not many,) but never seems to read them or take any of her classes very seriously. Carol narrows her eyes at the response. 

“I’ll just sleep on them? Os--” 

You cut her off, finishing her sentence. 

“--mosis does not apply, Carol. You know that. You cannot absorb the material through the pores of your skin. Read the notes, and actually try for once, or stop bothering me. I could be taking notes for myself, rather than focusing on summarizing all of the lectures so that you can stuff them into your bag, never to see the light of day again. Don’t ask me for notes again unless you’re ready to be serious.” 

With that, you hastily pull out a few papers from your bag, not bothering to double check if they were the correct ones or not. You shove the papers into Carol’s and turn away sharply, not bothering to look back. Granted, you were headed in the completely wrong direction, but you weren’t about to give Carol the satisfaction of seeing your face again. 

Of course, Carol knows that you hardly need notes for your own purposes. Summarizing the lectures for her provides you with the information you need to keep your own mind sharp, with years of literary study and reading filling in the blanks to broader context for you. But still, you love to hassle her. Carol does feel guilty occasionally, knowing how much work you put into the notes you take for her. They’re always organized, and you write important little tidbits down in the margins. She always glances at them, but can never bring herself to actually study the notes. 

Tonight is different. Carol is inspired, reenergized by your scathing talk. She sits down at her desk, and finally pulls out the notes you gave her. She reads the first line, and laughs to herself. 

These definitely weren’t the notes she meant to give me, she thinks to herself. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re startled out of your evening study session by a loud ding from your phone. Normally, you wouldn’t check your phone in the middle of studying, but you’re intrigued. 

Your jaw drops slightly when you notice that the text is from Carol. 

8:57 hey. I’ve got a question about the notes

You’re shocked. Carol actually... read the notes? 

9:00 Shoot for it. How can I help? 

9:01 Well. The notes weren’t really on Waiting for Godot

9:04 Oh. Did I give you a repeat copy of last weeks’?

9:05 Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that they’re standard academic notes

You roll your eyes at her comment, typing out a harsh response before deleting it and sending a far more cordial reply. 

9:06 Oh? 

9:07 Well, for starters, I don’t think that Waiting for Godot has anything to do with sex. 

Attached to her text is a picture of your recent exploration of the things that turned you on, or as you aptly named it “An empirical study of the things that make me wet.” 

You’d never meant for anyone to see it, ever. It was purely a list of the things that you desperately wanted to try, things you enjoyed watching and reading, various things that interested you. 

You’d written the list mostly as a joke, as a way to get the ideas out of your head. You wondered how it even found your way into your backpack, and you’re ready to curl up into a ball and cry when Carol texts you again. 

9:13 I could help you, you know

9:14 I have a few things that I could teach you

9:15 What do you say we make a deal? 

You swallow thickly, intrigued. 

9:17 What sort of deal? 

9:19 You teach me literature. 

9:21 I’ll fulfill your deepest fantasies. (And take you out on a date ;) )

You blink slowly, unable to process the words appearing on your screen. A date? Lessons in sex? It all seems to be far too much to handle, and you’re not sure if Carol is serious. The prospect is alluring, however, and you can’t help but admit that you’ve had the tiniest (largest) of crushes on Carol ever since you saw her in that signature leather jacket of hers, kicking her legs up against the desk in front of her, even if your feelings were against your better judgment. You knew she was aware of this fact, and the way you were always angry around him for some odd reason. 

9:24 If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Carol. 

9:30 I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Be ready. We’re getting pasta.  

__________________________________________________________________________

“So. You want to be a pilot, but now you’re here playing rugby and studying literature?”

Carol shrugs. 

“My best friend Maria and I were supposed to enlist together, but some shit happened and he needed me to stick around. I’ve always been good at rugby even though my dad hated that I played sports, and so I stuck around here. Got a full scholarship for rugby, and put the dream of flying aside. The academy will always be there. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what Maria needed. I couldn’t just leave her when she needed me most.” 

You smile softly at Carol, shocked by her sudden display of emotion. She’s clearly conflicted, and her eyes drift up to the sky, staring wistfully at the dimming horizon. 

“I think that’s very brave of you, Carol. You’re a really good friend,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop hers in a sudden burst of confidence. The evening had been oddly pleasant, and conversation flowed between the two of you. Granted, Carol was still somewhat of an egotistical jerk, but she was obviously emotionally conflicted, and she had sacrificed her biggest dream to help her closest friend when she needed it most.  

Carol looks down at your hand, tensing up for a second before flipping her palm to meet yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m alright, ok? I don’t want you worrying about me.” 

You nod. Carol smiles, and moves to stand up. 

“What do you say we get out of here, and head back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?” 

You smile, nodding at Carol. “I’d like that a lot,” you whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Carol holds her hand out to you, helping you up out of your chair. You move to pull your hand out of hers, assuming she meant to just assist you up, but she holds on firmly as the two of you walk back to her vintage red Mustang. 

The drive back to her apartment is filled with throwbacks from the 90s, widows open and hair wild. You’re both singing the words of the songs obnoxiously, relishing in the sweet freedom of the open night. 

When you finally reach her apartment, your eyes are bright and your hair is messy. You look over at Carol, messy hair strewn about. You begin to laugh uncontrollably, with Carol joining shortly after upon seeing your own windblown look. 

When the laughter finally succeeds, you look over at Carol to find her gazing at you intently. You laugh apprehensively, but Carol’s gaze does not falter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” she asks. 

You nod your head slowly. “Not really, no.” 

“But you had a boyfriend?” 

You nod. “It wasn’t really the best of situations. I’ve since come to many realizations about myself since then.” 

Carol smiles. “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you as many times as I possibly can to make up for the lack of times you’ve been told that.” 

“Carol, I don’t even know how to respond to that,” you sputter out. 

“So don’t.” 

Carol leans in over the middle of the car, hesitantly pressing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. You’re surprised at first, but you lean into the kiss, melting against her mouth. Your hands tangle in her already messy hair, and you smile against her lips. The kiss intensifies as your hands begin to roam down Carol’s back, fingers itching to explore. She pulls her hands off of you, smiling softly. 

“Let’s head inside, Princess. We can have a lot more fun in my bedroom than we ever will out here.” 

You nod your head, eagerly anticipating the next steps. 

When you reach her apartment, he leads you past the kitchen, flipping on various light switches as she heads through the living room, finally reaching her bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, with framed photos of her and a woman that you guessed was her friend Maria. There’s a small pin shaped like a sort of star resting atop her desk, with a framed photo of an adorable orange kitten. Her bed is neatly made, and the room is incredibly put together. 

“You like it, huh?” 

You jump, startled by Carol’s voice. 

“Yeah. Um, it’s very nice,” you reply. “Super neat.” 

Carol laughs. 

“Yeah, for all my disorganization at school, I do like to keep my apartment pretty tidy.” 

Carol walks over to her desk and picks up your list. 

“I think this belongs to you, my darling. We don’t have to do anything with it, or even speak of it again should you so wish that to be the case.” 

You bite your lip, considering your options. 

“Were you really serious, Carol?” 

Your heart is beating fast, and your palms are beginning to grow clammy. 

She laughs. 

“Of course I was serious, Princess. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?” 

You look down, mumbling your answer out. 

“I didn’t really think someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me, honestly.” 

Carol laughs, walking over to you. She gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. 

“Hey. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you drive me up a wall when you’re yelling at me to fucking finally read your notes, as you so kindly put it in your own words. Of course I would be interested in a girl like you. You’re incredible.” 

She kisses you softly, slipping hers hands underneath your sweater. Breaking away for a second, she whispers to stop her if anything is too much. Green for go, she says. Red for stop. 

Her hands roam up your body, making their way up to your neck. She gently squeezes at the column of your throat, whispering in your ear. 

“I noticed you had this on your list, Princess. I did read your notes this time, and I did study up. I know all the things that could make you tick. And yet, I still want to hear you tell me what you want. You want me to choke you? Squeeze your throat till you’re begging me to stop?” 

“Yes, please,” you moan out. 

“Then use your words, Princess. Mmm... and what else should we do today? What other things from your little list do you want to try? I know you don’t want to start off simple... You even said so yourself. Tell me with your words, Princess. Tell me what you want.” 

You gasp, head tipping back as Carol’s hands resume their exploration of your body. 

“Cat got your tongue, Princess? Normally you’re so vocal during class... Why change now?” 

You moan again, unable to speak properly as Carol’s fingers find your nipples, gently pinching. He pinches harder when you are unable to answer her question. 

Moving hers hand to cup your jaw, he harshly tilts your face to look at him. 

“Answer me, Princess. I’m growing impatient and I don’t have all day. Normally you’re so quick to answer. What a shame.” 

���Put me in my place, please,” you gasp out, voice breaking. “I want you to edge me and spank me and punish me and tell me what a naughty little girl I’ve been, touching myself to the thought of you. I want to eat you out while I’m forced to touch myself, unable to cum without your permission. I want you to choke me as you pound me into the mattress with your cock, reminding me of my place. I want to be your good little girl, moaning only your name as you show me who I belong to.” 

Carol smirks. 

“I’ll be honest—I always knew you had a thing for me. You weren’t exactly discreet. The secret is, I had a thing for you too. I wasn’t expecting you to write about me in your notes, though. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to write something like that ever. Our little teacher’s pet, our good little girl, the smartest girl in class—and such filthy thoughts! Didn’t take me long to figure out who the mysterious blonde figure was. You wrote some pretty explicit stuff in there, Princess. You’re such a filthy little whore... So many dirty thoughts! Imagine if those notes had fallen into the wrong hands...” 

Carol’s hands dip to the edge of your sweater, swiftly pulling it off of your body. She cocks an eyebrow at you upon seeing the lacy navy blue bodysuit underneath that you’d specifically selected for tonight. 

“Did you wear this just for me?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl. I like the way you think. Now, take off those pants for me. While you’re at it, get rid of that lacey little thing. It’s pretty, but you’re prettier.” 

You obey her quickly, shedding every stitch of clothing from your body. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation, and you’re nervous as Carol’s eyes rake up and down your body. 

“Stunning,” she says, never taking her eyes off of your body. “You’re absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to teach you how to be a good little slut for me... you’re such a good learner. Wonder if that translates in the bedroom?” 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you shut up and find out already?” 

Carol laughs condescendingly. 

“You sure you want to mouth off like that, Princess?” 

You nod. “You seem to be all talk right now, and no action.” 

Carol growls. “We can change that. I don’t tolerate brats around here. Brats get punished. If you’re a good girl, you get rewarded. Which is it going to be tonight, Princess. I need an answer.” 

You roll your eyes without even thinking. “Just fuck me already, Carol.” 

Carol tangles her hand in your hair, pulling your head back. “I told you that brats get punished. It looks like you've selected the brat role tonight. Get on your fucking hands and knees. I’m not going to ask you a second time.” 

You quickly obey, scrambling onto your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass slightly, but Carol firmly holds it in place. 

“Stop. Now, since this is your first time, I’m going to take it easy on you. We are only going to do ten, but mark my words, if you pull this sort of bratting on me again, I can and will increase that number. Now, I want you to count.”

The first strike comes faster than you were expecting, but it does not hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“One,” you gasp out.

Carol strikes again, harder this time. 

“Two,” you gasp out again.

He continues, hitting a bit harder each time, and your ass is red by the finish. 

“Good girl,” she whispers in the shell of your ear. “You took your first punishment so well for me—it is almost like you were made to do this...” 

She ghosts her fingers lightly over your neck, drifting down to your collarbone before moving her hands to gently massage the soft tissue of your breasts. 

With a gentle slap to your aching ass, she gives you a new set of instructions. 

“Now. For our next lesson, you’re going to suck me off. The better you do, the less edges I’ll give you tonight. I hope you’ve been studying, Princess. Either that, or you just better wish that this comes naturally for you.” 

Carol swiftly pulls her pants and boxers down and throws her shirt to the side, revealing her toned abs and muscled back. You can see her muscles ripple as she stretches her arms above her head to take her shirt off. Your jaw goes slightly slack at the sight of her perfect nude figure.

“Close your mouth, Princess. You’ll catch flies.” 

You blush. “Sorry, Carol. You’re just so beautiful.” 

Carol winks. “I can tell, Princess. Your eyes haven’t left my torso.” 

You giggle, but quickly stop when Carol moves directly in front of you. 

“Test time, Princess. Hope you’ve studied. But, if you haven’t, I’ll allow for retakes. Think of this one as a pretext, if you will. How much do I need to teach you when it comes to this particular subject?” 

You moan at her words, mouth salivating. You’re desperate to touch her, to run your tongue over her strap. Carol leans down to press a quick kiss upon your lips, immediately guiding your face to her strap after. You’re unsure of what to do at first, the feeling foreign upon your tongue. Eventually, you begin to find your rhythm, head bobbing as you introduce a hand to match your rhythm. You continue your tiny kitten licks, timing them with the thrust of your fingers. Carol is silent for the most part, but every so often she breaks her stoic silence with a loud moan or gasp when you hit a particularly sensitive spot against her body. You grind against the pillow that Carol has placed between your legs, annoyed with the lack of friction you got, but thankful to have anything at all. Your tongue continues its way along Carol’s strap, body quivering with pleasure. 

It isn’t long before she’s moaning continuously.

After all, you have always been a very quick learner. 

Carol pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of contact. She messily kisses you, groaning at the taste of herself on your tongue. 

“For your first time, that was surprisingly good.”

You beam in satisfaction.

“However, I’m still going to edge you at least five times.”

You whimper. 

“But Carol—“

“No buts, pretty girl. It’s for your own pleasure, alright? It’s good to practice delayed gratification. Now, get over there on the back of the bed for me. Spread those legs as wide as you can. I want that dripping cunt of yours on display.”

You move off of your pillow, following her instructions. Carol walks over to you, hovering over you on the bed as she cages your body with her arms. 

“I want to hear every moan you make,” she growls. “Don’t hold back on me, Princess.” 

You nod. 

“Yes, Carol.” 

Carol smiles and strokes a single finger through your dripping folds. You shudder. The feeling of her soft fingertips against your throbbing core is heavenly, and you’re unable to hide from the breathless moan that escapes your mouth. 

Carol continues to slide her fingers through the folds of your cunt, relishing in the puffy texture as she explores. Her fingers trace small circles here and there, dipping into your soaking hole when she feels like doing so, pinching your clit, edging you into oblivion. 

You ask her to cum numerous times, but she always pulls away. Finally, she pulls away for the last time. 

“You can cum this time, Princess. But I want to cum on my cock for me like a good little slut, alright? I want you to scream my name for me. Let the whole world know you’re mine now.” 

You nod, moaning at her filthy words. She carefully lines up with you and thrusts in quickly, giving you a chance to adjust to the size and foreign feeling of the cock inside of you. 

When you nod at her, she begins to thrust her hips at an ungodly pace, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. She moves one hand to your clit, rubbing tight little circles over the throbbing organ, and her other hand moves to your throat, lightly pressing down. She’s pushing you into the mattress, firmly grinning the column of your neck as her hips thrust faster and faster. 

“You like it when I choke you? When your brain starts to go a little bit foggy and you can’t tell if it’s from the sex or lack of air? You like it when I tell you what a good little slut you are, taking my cock like such a good little Princess, showing how well you learn and how well you take instruction?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out in between moans. “Please, fuck me harder.” 

Although it seemed humanly impossible, Carol managed to fuck you harder. The relentless snap of her hips grew faster, thrusts hitting further and further inside of you each time. The hand rubbing your clit runs faster, harder, and just before you’re about to rip over the edge, Carol whispers in your ear. 

“Cum  for me, Princess. Cum like the good little girl you are.” 

You scream out in ecstasy as you tip over the edge, collapsing against the mattress. Carol pulls out, falling into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses to your neck and collarbone, drifting up to your forehead. 

“You did so well, Princess. You’re such a good learner. Looks like you’re just as good in here as you are in a classroom.” 

You smile. 

“I try my best. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do.”

Carol smiles. 

“A good attitude to have. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

A few snacks, some water, and one blissful shower later, you’re dressed in Carol’s old sweatpants and sweatshirt as you climb into bed beside him. She’d invited you to stay the night, and you hadn’t been able to resist. Carol flips the lights off, pressing a delicate, featherlight kiss to your forehead. 

As you lay in bed however, you remember an important fact. 

“I still have to teach you all of literature,” you mumble. 

Carol laughs softly. 

“And I have many things to teach you still, darling. But for now, sleep.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you feel Carol’s grip on you grow stronger. 

Literature could wait until tomorrow.

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

rewatching 8x04 and realizing how absolutely garbage buck is at golf (affectionate)

what even happened when they got onto the course because there is no way babygirl got one single shot in 😔🙏

[biscuitboba]

My number one weakness: their soft smiles...