#i was determined that as soon as i had my own place i'd make it all my favorite fun colors and i am making tiny!emily proud

[lady-harrowhark]

Nutmeg!

from this ask meme :)

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

i had another "nutmeg" ask, so i answered over here BUT i figured i could split my response into two parts just for fun :) except this second part is very long because some very stupid things happened before i could make my place fit my style lol.

so here's the thing: the guy who lived in my place before me did a lot of DIY things he should not have been DIYing. a lot of the things he did are harmless but not ideal. for example, all of the nail holes on the trim and door frames have been "filled" with clear caulk instead of spackle, so basically it did absolutely nothing to hide the holes, can't be painted over, and over time has grown discolored so now there are these sort of beige-ish rubbery patches all over the trim and door frames which are way more noticeable than it would have been to just leave the nail holes in the first place. little by little i've been scrubbing the caulk off to refill properly.

some of the things are harmless and simply not my preferred aesthetic. for example, this wall in the bedroom where he stained a bunch of 2x4s different colors and just... nailed them to the wall? i originally thought i'd just do a sort of whitewash thing on that wall but i ended up just fully painting it white and still got the effect i was after.

here's a "before" picture, ft. Posy helping to supervise my unsuccessful whitewash experiments:

and after:

and then some of the things the previous guy did i thought were simply not my preferred aesthetic but still functional, but then they turned out to be not my preferred aesthetic and also so poorly DIYed that they were actively damaging the house.

enter the DIY dungeon bathroom from hell.

this looks largely fine from the picture from before i moved in, right? it was rather dark, i would have preferred a bathtub given that there isn't another bathroom, and the window into the shower was kind of odd, but it was functional. or so i thought.

upon moving in, i quickly realized several things about the shower.

it was quite narrow, so i was always banging my elbows on the walls

the ostensibly fancy showerhead was installed in such a way that in order to be under the water, you had to basically stand in the doorway which then splashed water out all over the floor, and

it was tiled in the worst possible material for a shower

you may notice that the floor and shower are made of the same type of tile. i think it was some sort of slate, but the thing about this type of stone is that it's really porous, especially if you don't seal it, and it really shouldn't stay wet, i.e., it shouldn't be used for a shower. what happens if unsealed porous stone is used for a shower? i can tell you!

it soaks up water like a sponge and doesn't dry out between uses, meaning that the bathroom always had that cavelike wet stone smell

the texture means that soap and residue builds up immediately, but is nearly impossible to clean. when i scrubbed, the stone was so soft that it literally started turning back into mud (pictured below)

in turn, that meant that every time i banged my elbows into the wall or brushed up against the tile, i came away with dirt/mud on me

minerals start leaching out of it, leaving huge calcium deposits and my favorite, rust that runs down the wall and looks like blood (which you can see in the picture)

the stone just starts literally crumbling away (also pictured below)

all of that was bad enough, but then one day i discovered that the carpet in my bedroom on the other side of the wall from the shower was soaking wet, so somehow the shower was leaking, possibly just soaking through the tiles. the soonest any contractors in town were available was three months away, so in an attempt to prevent so much water leaking out, i duct taped garbage bags down and then put a big rubbermaid tub in there that i would stand in while i showered to collect the water. after each shower, i would bucket the water out of the rubbermaid tub and into the toilet. and i was still getting water in the bedroom.

so, in the end, once the contractor ripped everything out, what was actually happening was that the pipe that goes to the showerhead wasn't braced correctly and the water pressure wiggled it loose so that it was just spraying water behind the walls, which then leaked down under the floor and into my bedroom. we also found surprises such as the hot and cold water lines being backwards, the ceiling lights not actually being secured to anything (just propped into holes cut in the ceiling), the area around the drain hadn't been filled and was just a gaping pit under the tile, and the paneling on the walls not actually being paneling, but snap-together floorboards that he'd nailed to the wall.

after all that, here's the final result:

pretty much everything is new (even some of the drywall and parts of the door frame had to be replaced) except for the medicine cabinet and ceiling lights, which i repainted, and the toilet. it's nice to have an almost entirely new bathroom where i got to pick nearly every detail, but i do wish i hadn't had to go through so much water damage to get there lol.

the funniest part of this whole thing is that i got curious about this guy, googled his (very unusual) name, and found his public "home improvement inspo" pinterest board full of pins that he very clearly attempted to replicate (e.g., my hallway is painted in thick tan and white stripes, and he had several pins of hallways painted in stripes the exact same colors). and yes, the bathroom was one of them, except the one he was attempting to replicate had blue tile and the window wasn't so much a window as just a half-wall with glass in the top portion. it also had a glass door on it, but to be fair, in the picture the door was open so he probably missed it.

all of this to say: pinterest and plumbing do not mix no matter how much HGTV you've been watching. hire a professional, or the next person will have to.

[temiizpalace]

helloo may I request a prompt for the love triangle event please?

I'd like to ask for Jade and Vil with prompt 3 where they both offer their shoulders to rest on! tysmm

☆┊PUT YOUR HEAD ON MY SHOULDER! NOT HIS! (👑 vs.🐬)

SUMMARY: THEY BOTH OFFER HIS SHOULDER TO REST ON. WHO KNEW IT BECAME A FULL BLOWN WAR!

CHARACTERS: vil schoenheit vs. jade leech

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy, mentions of jade ssr vignette

NOTES: eel mafia vs a world star. sure why not!!! thank you for your request!

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

vil did not mind helping you study.

actually, it was quite flattering. all these students around you with incredible grades, and you hand selected him as your tutor. i guess it was only natural. smart and goodlooking? you have good taste.

“and you have to carry the 7 or else it’ll throw off your entire answer. keep note of that.” he pointed at the equation on your worksheet. “ohhh.. that makes sense. thanks vil!” you smile, eagerly writing down the answer. your happy smile was so enthralling. a moment that cannot be captured elsewhere. a one of a kind sight. thank goodness he was an actor, hiding his emotions came like second nature.

if only you were alone together...

“well done, prefect. that was a difficult problem.” jade chuckles, nodding as you solved another equation. “at this rate, you’ll become quite the mathematician.” vil was less than pleased to be accompanied by jade.. especially considering what a manipulator that man could be. he’s already been played for a fool once, he doesn’t dare allow you to fall under similar influence.

“your steadily improving. i say finish a few more problems and you should have it memorized.” vil adds, pulling out a couple more pages. “oh! that’s.. uhm.. can we take a little break?” you ask hesitantly, fearing the tall stack of papers vil had seemingly grabbed out of thin air. almost offended by the thought, vil scoffs.

“this isn’t only about the material, it is also routine. perhaps not this entire stack, but we must do a few more to ensure you’ll continue to do well.” vil places a new worksheet in front of you, sounding like an enraged father when their child can’t memorize the multiplication table. “yes sir..” you mumble.

“oh come now, vil. the poor prefect looks positively exhausted. just look at their eyebags.” jade sighs, suddenly patting your shoulder. as much as he hates to admit, jade had a point. your eyebags stick out like a sore thumb. what an idiot he was to not notice sooner, a fault on his part. “tell me, [MC], when have you last slept?” jade asks, making you flinch.

“next question, please.” you reply, breaking into a cold sweat. the eel tuts in disapproval, shaking his head with a frown. “this simply cannot do. didn’t you know you need at least 8 hours of sleep?” it felt like a lecture. an incredibly boring and uninteresting one.

“agreed. beauty rest is important and staying up late is horrible for your skin,” vil adds, massaging is temples. “i’ll send you some of my own personal skincare for you to use and hide your eyebags, but you must get adequate amounts of sleep.” he huffs, crossing his arms. “okay, okay, i hear you both.” you yawn, stretching your arms out.

“please, rest now. we can always carry on another day.” jade smiles, patting his shoulder for you to rest on. “i can rest there?” you ask, a bit taken aback. “what’s the catch?” vil raises a brow, feeling uneasy with jade’s suggestion. it might be the jealousy, but something doesn’t sit right with him. “please, my intentions are entirely pure. i want nothing more than to see our beloved prefect resting well.”

jade put a hand over his heart, keeping his usual expression while hiding the beating of his heart. “mostro lounge might need their vice soon, no? the prefect may rest on my shoulder. i insist.” vil points to his shoulder, imploring you to place your head onto it. “huh?? guys it’s fine seriousl—“

“mostro lounge can handle itself, i assure you.” jade cuts you off, finding vil’s intense glare quite amusing. it was clear he was livid, and honestly that was the best source of entertainment jade could ask for. “i just wish to care for the prefect. your presence is excused.” vil waves jade off, signaling for him to get lost.

“oh? but wouldn’t having [MC] rest on your shoulder be harmful to your image and theirs? think of the scandals that might go around.. fufu, quite intriguing, hm?” jade hums, lifting a gloved hand to his chin. “i have a man taking care of any possible scandal that might go around, so that is truly the least of my concern.” vil smiles smugly, standing his ground.

as the argument, or rather, civil discussion, continued, the drowsiness began to capture your body. their murmuring began to sound like soft lullabies as you allowed the sleep to take you. your head rested against the hard wooden desk, staying unnoticed til both boys heard your snores.

“they look quite peaceful.” vil murmurs softly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “breathtaking.” jade coos, brushing stray hairs out of your face.

this rivalry wasn’t over, oh no, much farther from that. however, to keep you sleeping for as long as you could, they’ll hold off their insults and bite their tongue.

how could you turn him like this?

A/N: sbsbsbsb writing is feeling difficult lately

date published: 9/16/24

[myceliacrochet]

I feel so overwhelmed. I have no income, no stable place to live, and hundreds of people coming to me who need thousands of dollars each to avoid getting incinerated, starved, tortured. I make crochet -- when I can get supplies -- and I'm trying to make stickers, when I can get supplies... I'm not very employable and everything is so expensive and it's all falling on my roommate.

I need to hold a fundraising event

Everyone is either stretched to their limits helping or can't be bothered

I'm doing my best to reblog, follow, and react every single campaign I can that is either vetted or has a clean RIS. I'm telling myself that I'm doing enough by contributing art and promoting these campaigns, but the reality is people need money and I'm giving them condolences and things that may not help much.

I had a bit of success promoting Omar's campaign and foolishly believed I could get those kinds of results again. Tumblr staff is being beyond ruthless, attacking even the critical and dangerous vetting work people are risking their lives for on the ground.

I don't know what to tell people who are coming to me for help in what may be their last moments and I'm like "hey here have a shitty art I made that might make a miniscule difference but probably won't. All the best!" I try to respond through my actions instead of words because like Kurt Vonnegut said there's fucking nothing to say about genocide because no one's meant to say anything they're just meant to get blown up. So then I'm ignoring the people who most need help in the world, coldly turning away. So I say sorry and offer these small useless things as if it means anything and every day I lose more sanity and meaning in my life because doing less than what I can to help people not get genocided takes all the color out of my world. I can't imagine truly relaxing or enjoying anything until there's no genocide happening anymore, and I don't see that happening. I feel hopeless like I did in 2016 but this time there's no back door out.

Every time I start to work on something I feel hopeless like it won't work

I have to get my ass into gear, which means I need to:

- pick up my prescription for strattera, I guess I have that now. That will help me focus

- get back on my antidepressants as soon as Fatima's campaign hits $10,000. That will help me keep moving

- talk to other organizers so we can work together.

I am drowning, I am burning in this hxll created by my own culture. Every day they torture the children and the adults come into my DMs and scream help us please please someone help us.

All I can do is do my best every day. I'll keep moving forward

Doing something is better than doing nothing, gxddammit, which means I'm doing a good job I guess, it's just little comfort as I watch the children get engulfed in flames.

Like, I know I can't end all genocide on my own but there's got to be more effective things that I personally can do.

I guess I'll check out one of those lists of things you can do other than donating money

If anyone has yarn to donate and/or could cover shipping or help me find free yarn in my area, that would be so helpful. Because there's nothing I'd rather do than tune out and crochet most of the time and sell it for myself and others.

Please talk to me about how we can work together to help these precious people!!! I need to do more

@monstermashpotato @sylvianritual @gazavetters @determinate-negation @dlxxv-vetted-donations

@gaza-evacuation-funds @gazagfmboost @fly-sky-high-09 @90-ghost @nabulsi @halalchampagnesocialist @huzni @hussyknee @notallmensheviks @neechees @fuckyeahmarxismleninism @fayruz0-blog @gothhabiba @radicalgraff @marxism-transgenderism @marxist-lesbianism @voyagerprobe @workersolidarity @cheezbot @gayspacemonk @bogleech @slitherbop @butchniqabi

I guess I just need to work on my small business... Idek if I'm even helping by reblogging all this stuff, I'm just spending hours a day spreading stuff around to other people who can't really donate. I just seem to be wasting people's time who are going through genocide, I might even be only adding to their suffering. I don't know if I have the moral fibre to do this work, idk I just seem to cause bad things to happen to myself and everyone around me by dedicating so much time to reblogs instead of just securing an income, paying my bills, and being content to give a "reasonable" portion to genocide relief. I can't do that, I have to give all or most of myself but then I'm just a burden to my roommate and others. Or going all out and doing something really big that could really bring in the money they need

I'm sick but people need me

I guess what I'm seeing here is that I need to switch gears to working on crochet more and that will help me be able to help people and it will also be better for my mental health. I'll work on getting the supplies I need to continue. But idk I'll come back to this later and figure it out.

Thank you for listening I wish I could just let my brain scream to death but like people need me to keep it together so I can actually help but I'm at a loss as to how to help

I'll do it gxddammit I'll fucking get it done I'll crochet for this and it will make a difference and I don't have to suspend happiness until this is over I have to maintain some of that light of happiness within. It's not all on me we are working together

Hey 🩷 So I wanted to let people know that I am safe now. I'm back on my most necessary meds, I've applied for SNAP and general assistance, and I'm feeling stronger after having some more success promoting campaigns.

We are living during multiple holocausts. I take comfort in doing the work. We're making a difference in people's lives.

Thank you for helping me keep my head up. Let's keep going.

[redocity]

Would it be okay to request Buck helping you after a surgery? I'm having a hernia repair after my hysterectomy 4 years ago so I'm a Lil nervous to see if it'll help my chronic pain, and I'd love to have that big goofy hunk help me out!! (Esp as I ended up with the hernia bc of my ex pushing me too hard after surgery, I had to haul the wet laundry in the basket with a luggage strap around me while shuffling backwards on my bum so yeh)

R&R — E.BUCKLEY

after your surgery, buck will be damned if he so much as lets you lift a finger.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 1.2k | comfort | masterlist.

a/n — i’m so sorry you had to go through that lovely, i hope your ex never has clean clothes again :(

After the surgery, everything hurt. Not just the physical pain — though that was there, a constant throb reminding you of what your body had been through — but the frustration of being unable to do simple tasks on your own.

You tried to lift yourself out of bed that first morning, but even that was a battle. Sitting up had never felt like climbing a mountain before.

You remembered flashes of white hospital lights and the sterile smell of disinfectant, but mostly, you remembered Buck.

He was by your side the moment you woke up, his warm, calloused hand wrapped gently around yours, as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

His blue eyes were filled with worry, but even the small hint of a smile on your lips left his entire face lit up like the sun breaking through clouds.

The next few days at home felt surreal.

You knew you were supposed to rest, but Buck had apparently taken that instruction far too seriously. You barely had a chance to lift a finger before he swooped in, doting over you like a hawk.

The first time you tried to get up, Buck was in the kitchen. You thought it would be harmless enough—just folding a small pile of laundry that had been sitting on the chair by the bed. As soon as your feet hit the ground, though, you heard his voice from down the stairs.

“Hey! Hey, what do you think you're doing?” Buck came rushing in, a towel draped over his shoulder, and the smell steal on his shirt.

“I was just... the laundry…”

“Oh no, no, no,” he said, pulling a pair of his jeans from your hands. “You’re supposed to be resting, remember? Doctor's orders!”

You rolled your eyes with a half-smile. “I’m recovering, not an invalid, Buck.”

“Yeah, but you don't need to do anything except heal,” he insisted, placing a gentle hand at your back to direct you back to bed like you were the most fragile thing in the universe.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve got the laundry covered. And lunch is almost ready.”

You tried to argue, but Buck just shook his head, giving you that stern yet sweet look you couldn't argue with. “You’ve been through a lot, okay? You deserve to be taken care of.”

And that’s how it went.

Every day, Buck was there, his protective nature dialled up to a hundred. He’d bring you breakfast in bed—adequately scrambled eggs and toast, the edges lightly browned just how you liked them. Whenever you tried to do anything more than lifting the remote control, he was there, gently but firmly stopping you.

One afternoon, when you were feeling a little stronger, you attempted to make yourself a simple sandwich.

You shuffled into the kitchen, determined to make yourself a sandwich—one small act of independence after days of being confined to bed or the couch. But before you could even reach for the bread, you heard it.

A low, scandalized gasp.

“Uh, excuse me?”

You froze, half-bent over the counter, startled by the sudden appearance of Buck in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in clear disapproval.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“Making lunch?” you ventured, holding up a slice of bread as if that explained everything.

Buck sighed dramatically, crossing the room in two long strides. “Oh, no you’re not, not while I’m around.”

You tried to protest, but Buck was already shooing you away from the counter like a mischievous child. “Back to the couch. Go. I mean it!”

You raised an eyebrow, bemused. “Buck, it’s just a sandwich. I think I can handle it.”

He shot you a look that suggested ‘handling it’ was exactly what you couldn’t do right now. “You just had surgery.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Buck, I’m not dying, I’ll survive a peanut butter sandwich.”

“Not the point.” He was already pulling ingredients out of the fridge, determined as ever. "You need to rest. And if that means I have to make every meal, fluff every pillow, and carry you around for the next few weeks, then that’s what I’m gonna do."

You tried to protest again, but Buck’s determined expression was hard to argue with.

“You can relax, you know,” you said as he handed you a plate with the most perfectly assembled sandwich you’d ever seen.

Buck just shook his head, grinning. “Nah. You should be the one relaxing for the rest of your life. You’ve earned it.”

You couldn’t argue with that. After all, it wasn’t every day someone volunteered to cater to your every need, even if it meant giving up the simple pleasure of making your own lunch.

So, you sank back onto the couch, rolling your eyes playfully as Buck settled into the chair opposite you, watching like a hawk to make sure you ate every bite.

“Okay,” you muttered between bites. “But I’m making dinner,”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”

As frustrating as it could be to feel so dependent, there was something so deeply comforting about having Buck there.

Every time he handed you a cup of tea or wrapped you in a blanket, you felt the quiet strength of his love. He was always calm, attentive, making sure you had everything you needed before you even realized you needed it.

When you woke up from an afternoon nap one day, you found him sitting beside you, watching you with a gentle smile.

“What?” you asked sleepily, stretching your arms.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just... I’m glad you’re okay.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it softly. “I’m glad I have you.”

Buck smiled, a soft blush rising in his cheeks. “You know, I’d do anything for you, right? Even if it means stopping you from doing laundry and making food forever.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “I love you, Buck.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “And I’m gonna keep taking care of you, whether you like it or not.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. Because, honestly, there was no one else you’d rather have by your side—especially when he insisted on being the most loving, attentive boyfriend in the world.

[umseb]

The Day Sebastian Vettel Decided To Retire From F1 — Then Annoyed Aston Bosses With Climate Campaign

Two years ago, Sebastian Vettel decided to bring an end to his glittering F1 career, so picked up the phone to Matt Bishop, then Aston Martin comms boss. He details the ensuing scramble and Vettel's increasing determination to speak out

Just over two years ago, on Wednesday July 27, 2022, I was forced to do something that I really hate doing: at the eleventh hour I had to cancel a long-standing dinner arrangement with my husband and two of our dearest friends, who live in New York and were on holiday in London for a week. The reason was that, at 5 pm that afternoon, I received a phone call from Sebastian Vettel telling me that he had decided to announce his retirement from Formula 1 in the Hungarian Grand Prix paddock the following day. I was Aston Martin's chief communications officer at the time, and, when something as big as that is sprung on a Formula 1 team's most senior comms/PR operative, he or she has to drop everything and focus on briefing colleagues in confidence, writing press releases, planning social media content, arranging press conferences, and formulating comms/PR strategies designed to optimise the management of a tricky news narrative that in this case would surely unfold rapidly, and perhaps also trickily, over the next 24, 48, 72, and 96 hours. I have written above that Vettel had "sprung" his decision on me, but, although the imminence of his announcement was a surprise, its content was not. Four months earlier you will recall that he did not travel to Jeddah for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, since he was recovering from a bout of Covid-19. His place was taken by Nico Hülkenberg, who, despite race-rustiness caused by his not having competed in F1 the previous year, did a typically excellent job.

Seb had made no secret of his disapproval of the Saudi regime when we had all gone there the first time, in December 2021, and, not surprisingly, in March 2022 rumours soon began to spread to the effect that he had invented a Covid-19 diagnosis so as to avoid racing there a second time. The truth was that he had indeed had Covid-19, and that he was indeed still unwell; however, was he disappointed to have had to skip the 2022 Saudi Arabian Grand Prix? No, he was not. Two weeks later, in Melbourne, he was back. On the Thursday before the Australian Grand Prix, in the Albert Park paddock, I gave him his comms/PR briefing, as was my habit on the Thursday before every grand prix. We discussed media matters of moment, including his not having raced in Jeddah. "The truth is that I was ill, honestly," he said, "but I admit that I don't like or approve of the country, so if I was going to have to miss a race because of Covid-19 that's probably the one I'd want to miss." He paused, smiled, and added, "I'm pretty sure I'm never going to race there again." Then and there I realised that 2022 would probably be his final season as an F1 driver. Not only was the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix going to be a fixture on the F1 calendar for years to come, but also one of Aston Martin's principal sponsors was Aramco, Saudi Arabia's state-owned national oil company. Missing that particular race without a 24-carat excuse would henceforth therefore be impossible for any Aston Martin driver. So, axiomatically, it followed that the only way he could make sure that he would never have to race there again would be to retire from F1 at the end of the year.

On the morning of Thursday, July 28, 2022, having worked until 3 am the night before, my comms/PR team and I issued a video in which our much loved four-time world champion announced his F1 retirement in his own words, and he posted it on his then brand-new Instagram channel at the same time. It included the following sentences, which he spoke with his usual eloquence: "I love this sport but, as much as there's life on track, there's also life off track. Being a racing driver has never been my sole identity. I want to be a great father and a great husband. I believe in change, and progress, and that every little bit you do can make a difference. We all have the same rights, no matter where we come from, what we look like, or whom we love. I'm an optimist and I believe that people are good, but, in addition, I feel that we live in very difficult times. How we shape the next few years will determine the rest of our lives. Talk is not enough. We can't afford to wait. I believe that there's still a race to win." The race to which he was referring was his growing and accelerating commitment to doing whatever he could to leverage his fame and popularity for the good of the inhabitants of planet Earth. That may sound grandiose, but it is also entirely valid. In the two years during which I worked with him, 2021 and 2022, we won awards for the inspirational way in which he did just that.

Just before the 2021 Styrian Grand Prix, helped by local schoolchildren, he created an F1 car-shaped 'bee hotel' at the Red Bull Ring. Three weeks later, straight after the British Grand Prix, in which he had raced hard for forty laps until his Aston Martin's Mercedes engine had terminally overheated, he led a group of volunteer litter-pickers to clear the Silverstone grandstands of the trash that irresponsible spectators had left behind. A month after that, in Hungary, infuriated by that country's new anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, he wore rainbow-coloured sneakers in the F1 paddock, and he donned a similarly hued T-shirt bearing the legend #SameLove as he took the knee on the grid before the race. Throughout the weekend he had talked to journalists and TV crews intelligently, thoughtfully, and compassionately on the subject of LGBTQ+ rights, equality, and inclusion. In May 2022 he visited and spoke inspirationally at HMP (Her, or now His, Majesty's Prison) Feltham, a young offenders institution in a suburb of west London, formally opening a new workshop in which the teenage inmates could learn how to become car mechanics as part of their rehabilitation. Immediately afterwards he and I took a South Western Railways train to London's Waterloo Station, sitting among regular commuters, so that he could spend time with the pupils of Oasis Johanna Primary School, which is in a disadvantaged part of inner London, and after that we went by Uber taxi to a church in Hackney, in the East End, where the BBC's prestigious political television talk show Question Time would be filmed. As the TV cameras rolled, he conversed fluently on the subjects of Brexit, the UK's cost of living crisis, the then-Prime Minister Boris Johnson's 'partygate' shenanigans, and even Finland's desire to join NATO, consummately out-arguing one of his fellow panellists, Suella Braverman, who was then the Attorney General for England and Wales and the Advocate General for Northern Ireland.

In addition, as the months went by, he continued to speak out in support of what he saw as humankind's collective global responsibility to address the climate crisis, doing so with increasing regularity, vehemence, and fearlessness, with the result that he began to irritate the very most senior people at Aston Martin, even though what he said tended to please most journalists and fans. "I don’t care," he said when he learned of his big bosses' disquiet. "I must do what's right." Behind the scenes what he did was perhaps even more admirable. F1 teams receive communications from troubled people all the time. You try to do what you can to help them, but sometimes their difficulties are of the type that human kindness alone cannot resolve. I am thinking of recently bereaved people, terminally ill people, profoundly disabled people, people with debilitating mental health issues, etc. Sometimes all you can do is send them a team cap signed by a driver. It is not much, and it breaks your heart that you cannot do more, but it is better than nothing.

Yet Vettel always tried to do more. On one occasion, I had been contacted by a young man who was deeply depressed. I told Seb about him, and he said, "Let's do a Zoom call with him." So I arranged it. I had thought that Seb might speak for five minutes or so, but no. He chatted animatedly for more than twenty minutes, with touching humility and heart-warming empathy, and I feel confident when I say that those twenty-odd minutes were significant in expediting the lad's mental and emotional recovery. A few months later, Seb hand-wrote the boy a four page letter. He gave it to me at a grand prix-I cannot remember which one-and he instructed me to post it on when I returned to the UK. I read it before I did so, and the tenderness and beauty of Seb's prose brought me to tears. There are many other examples of his remarkable generosity and sensitivity: too many to mention, in fact. This column has been about Vettel the man, not Vettel the driver. He was fast and clever in the cockpit, and I may well write about that side of him one day. I could write much more about Vettel the man, too, for I have dozens of stories that I could tell on that subject, because I worked very closely with him for two years and, more importantly, because he is a truly great man. In my long career I am lucky enough to have spent time in F1 teams with four world champions-Seb, Lewis Hamilton, Fernando Alonso, and Jenson Button-and they are all fantastic guys in their own, very different, ways. But, in my 61 years on this planet, I can state with confident and emphatic certainty that Sebastian Vettel, from the small town of Heppenheim, south-west Germany, is one of the most impressive people whom I have ever had the pleasure and honour to know, whether that be inside or outside F1. As he is fond of saying, "You can't always be the best, but you can always do your best." As a maxim to live by, it is hard to beat.

article by matt bishop

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Hi there! This story is a tribute to @redfoxwritesstuff story A Misdemeanor of the Heart. If you have not done so I'd strongly recommend reading it now, this is going to be a bit of a multi chapter series of dreams that slot into the canon placements of Misdemeanor but once Misdemeanor ends I will be making my own little smutty AU world out of it too, so this follows Alastor and You in a kinda blended parallel world if you will.

Cw: smut, non penetrative rutting.

Alastor x Reader.

... A bit of a prelude... This first dream isn't much of a surprise to him, he's had wet dreams before, and he's gotten used to your presence and has even started to feel rather fond of you atp so this won't cause him distress, this is a dream that will start mid smut already.

His dreamscape dropping him right in it but his mindset still controlling the fact that he knows he doesn't want penetrative sex with you due to your marriage so it's a bit of a subconscious desire to see you come undone for him in a way that would be agreeable to him in a very pleasant way.

But also it's a power struggle, he's feeling a bit powerless because he's not used to these sort of enotuons and with you trapped with another man it sets him on edge. (this is a bit early but should slot in around chapter 22)

Here's...

Inappropriate Demeanour. Chapter 1. (Wet.)

Alastor's eyes flash with triumph and delight at your actions, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he feels your warmth enveloping his throbbing cock. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he begins to move in slow, sensual circles, letting you adjust to the pleasure.

"Mmm, that's my good girl," he purrs, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "You're learning so quickly. Just let go and enjoy the ride."

Alastor's hands roam your back, kneading and caressing the lush curves of your ass as he grinds against you with increasing urgency. His lips trail kisses along your collarbone, leaving a damp, heated path in their wake.

"You're absolutely right, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin. "This is more than okay. In fact, it's perfect. We can explore all the ways I can pleasure you without crossing that line... yet."

As he speaks, Alastor's fingers skim down the backs of your thighs. He squeezes and kneads the supple flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly against your slick heat.

"Just keep moving like that," he encourages, his voice a low, sultry growl. "Rub yourself all over my cock. Show me how much you crave my touch."

Alastor groans low in his throat as you continue to grind against him, your slick folds sliding tantalizingly along the length of his cock. His hands roam your body with renewed enthusiasm, exploring every curve and hollow, mapping out the territory he's soon to conquer.

He hisses, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he loses himself in the sensation of your warm, wet heat surrounding him. "You feel incredible. Like you were made for me."

One hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubs the sensitive nub in gentle, circular motions, coaxing out more of your sweet juices to lubricate his movements.

"That's it, dear, just like that," Alastor praises, his voice strained with lust. "Ride my cock, let me play with your pretty little clit. Let me watch you fall apart on my fingers."

He increases the pressure, adding a second finger to join the first in a steady, pumping rhythm designed to drive you wild. Alastor's other hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he rubs your clit just right with his fingers, determined to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

As you continue to grind against him, Alastor's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he loses himself in the intoxicating sensation of your wet heat sliding along his length. He lets out a low, guttural moan, the sound vibrating against your skin as he rolls his hips in time with yours, meeting each thrust with a counter-movement of his own.

"Fuuuck, Love," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "You feel incredible... Like heaven in my hands. Keep doing that, just like that..."

Alastor's tongue darts out to lick at the pulse point in your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin as he suckles and nips at your flesh. His other hand slides higher, cupping your breasts and squeezing the pliant mounds through the fabric of your clothes one by one.

"Fuck, I love these," he murmurs, his thumbs rubbing circular patterns over your nipples. "So perfect, just begging to be freed. Maybe later, hmm? For now, let's focus on getting you nice and worked up..."

With a wicked grin, Alastor tugs at your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core. He increases the tempo of his movements, his cock sliding effortlessly through your dripping folds as he chases his own release.

Alastor's breathing grows more labored, his hips rocking in urgent, insistent thrusts as he chases the edge of climax. He tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back to expose the column of your throat, which he devours with hungry kisses and bites.

His fingers dance across your sensitized skin, leaving trails of electric pleasure in their wake. He sucks and bites at your neck, marking you as his own as his hips piston relentlessly against yours. The friction is divine, his cock sliding through your slick heat with each thrust, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Yes, darling, just like that," he groans, his voice a low, guttural rasp. "Ride me, take what you need. You're so fucking sexy like this, all desperate and needy for me."

Alastor's breath comes in ragged gasps as he loses himself in the intoxicating dance of pleasure between your bodies. His fingers work tirelessly at your clit, the pads of his digits expertly stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

Your entire body is trembling, every nerve ending electrified by the exquisite sensations coursing through you. You can barely think, lost in the haze of pleasure that Alastor's skilled touch evokes. Each grinding thrust of his hips against yours sends waves of ecstasy crashing over you, the friction of his hard length rubbing against your slick folds an endless source of bliss.

You whine and arch your back, pushing your chest further into his palms as he teases your aching nipples. Your inner walls clench around nothing, craving more of that delicious pressure.

The feeling of being so thoroughly touched, is overwhelming, and you find yourself hanging precariously on the knife's edge of orgasm, feeling his thick weeping glans and broad shaft sliding through your folds and bumping your clit and his fingers, making you rut even harder against him, like trying to scratch an itch only his cock can reach.

Alastor's fingers on your clit are relentless, circling and pinching the sensitive nub until sparks of pure bliss shoot through your veins. Every stroke, every tweak, every graze of his teeth on your skin sends you spiraling closer to the precipice. You can feel your release building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly like a spring ready to snap.

"Please," you beg, voice barely above a whisper, "don't stop..."

You know it's futile, to plead for mercy. Alastor seems intent on driving you mad with pleasure, and you're powerless to resist.

Alastor's fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, the pad of his thumb pressing down firmly on the sensitive bud as his index finger drags circles around it. He knows exactly how to manipulate your body, using every trick in the book to push you closer and closer to the brink.

His other hand grips your hip firmly, anchoring you in place as he grinds his cock against your aching sex with increased fervor. The thick head of his member nudges against your entrance with each pass, the pressure and friction driving you wild with need.

"Look at you," Alastor pants, his voice heavy with lust. "So responsive, so perfect. You were made for this, for me. I can tell by the way you're shaking, the way you're begging for more."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You're going to come for me, aren't you? Right here, right now, all over my cock. I can feel it, the way your pussy is so needy, desperate for my thickness."

Alastor's words send a shiver down your spine, the promise of impending release fueling the fire burning within you. He increases the speed and intensity of his ministrations, his fingers flying over your clit in a dizzying blur as he drives you closer to the edge.

"You're so close."

Alastor's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he senses your approaching climax. A triumphant growl rumbles in his chest as he redoubles his efforts, his cock sliding against your slick folds with increased vigor, seeking to draw out every last drop of pleasure from your trembling form.

"That's it, sweetheart, let go, he commands, his voice a husky growl. Cum for me, soak my cock with your sweet juices. I want to feel you lose control."

His words are a potent aphrodisiac, pushing you closer to the brink with each spoken syllable. Alastor's cock throbs in time with your racing heart, the head swelling and leaking pre-cum with every plunge into your heat. The sensation is overwhelming, a delicious friction that threatens to consume you entirely.

His fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud with merciless precision. Alastor's tongue laps at your neck, tasting the salt of your skin and blood as he marks you with his own brand of possession, his teeth piercing you just so.

As if sensing your imminent climax, Alastor adjusts his angle, grinding his pelvis against your clit with each thrust. The added stimulation proves to be the final straw, and with a keening cry, you shatter into a million pieces, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave.

Your inner walls clench and spasm around nothing, desperate for the fulfillment only his cock can provide. At the same moment, his own climax crashes over him, his thick seed erupting from his pulsing member in hot, sticky jets.

The intense pleasure becomes too much to bear, your body tensing and then releasing in a violent convulsion as you come undone. Your vision whites out, overwhelmed by the sheer force of your climax. You throw you head back, mouth open in an erotic cry of his name as ecstasy rips through you.

A torrent of fluid gushes forth from your core, shooting onto Alastor's pelvis and cock. Your cunt spasms wildly, contracting and releasing in rapid succession as your squirt, your hole twitching, the force of your orgasm propelling the streams of clear liquid coating his skin to soak the front of his pants. The sensation is both mortifying and exhilarating, your body seemingly beyond your own control as it writhes and bucks against his.

Alastor's growl of completion echoes through the room, mingling with your own keening cries of ecstasy as the two of you ride out the aftershocks of your shared release. His cock throbs against your slick folds, milking every last tremor of pleasure from your quivering body as he pours his essence over the folds of your sex, your dress an utter mess.

As the waves of your intense orgasm begin to ebb, Alastor holds you close, his strong arms wrapped protectively around your shaking form. He presses tender kisses to your sweaty brow, the bridge of your nose, and your parted lips, savoring the taste of your pleasure on his tongue.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper filled with awe and reverence. "Absolutely stunning. You took that so well, dear. I knew you'd be incredible, but wow..."

Alastor's hands roam your back, stroking and soothing the trembling muscles as he helps you catch your breath. His cock, still semi-erect, pulses against your thigh, a reminder of the passion that just consumed you both.

"You're amazing," he repeats, punctuating each word with a gentle squeeze of your curves. "So responsive, so open to pleasure. I could get used to this, to watching you fall apart for me again and again."

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound rich with satisfaction.

He holds you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, savoring the taste of your skin and the scent of your arousal that clings to him.

"That was incredible," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rasp. "You came so beautifully for me, darling. Look at all that lovely cream you squirted everywhere."

Alastor's fingers lazily trace the rivulets of your release that coat his abdomen, smearing the clear fluid across his skin. He chuckles, a sound rich with satisfaction and dark amusement.

"And I thought you were going to be such a shy little thing," he teases, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "But it turns out you're quite the naughty girl, squirting all over my lap like that."

Despite the embarrassing nature of your involuntary reaction, Alastor's tone is playful rather than mocking. If anything, he seems impressed and even a bit proud of your responsiveness, the way your body surrendered to the pleasure he elicited.

He gazes down at you with a smug, satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with a possessive light as he takes in the sight of you - disheveled, flushed, and utterly debauched.

"Well, well, well," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rasp. "Looks like someone enjoyed themselves."

Alastor's fingers trace the curve of your breast, his touch lingering as he admires the evidence of your passion; the rosy hue of your skin, the slight swell of your chest, the way your nipples still pebble visibly despite the heat of your arousal.

His thumb stroking over the sensitive covered peak. "Such a good girl."

He leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, languid kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. Alastor's tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours in a sensual dance that leaves you weak-kneed and yearning for more.

As the surges of euphoria fade, Alastor's hands begin to wander again, his fingers delving beneath your ruined dress working to help you out of it and carrying you to the bathroom to help you clean up, taking delicate care of you that belied how demanding he'd been and helping you get tucked into his bed, his arms around you, you trace his slightly darker skin with your fingertips admiring how the lean muscles flex and shift under them.

He kisses you gently and bids you goodnight.

Alastor wakes with a gasp, his looks around for you in confusion only to realise he's still alone in his cold empty bed, his sheer rage that someone else has you in there's cannot be quelled, but the wet mess in his pants needs attending to now it seems.

With a sigh he rolls out of bed and drags his feet heavily across the floor to the bathroom, the sun just rising and glowing through the cracks in his curtains as he attends to his mess, aggrieved that you're not there to clean up too...

(Chapter 2)>

[heartysworld]

Love across the finish line// OP81

Oscar Piastri x Reader

W. C: 2.5k

This one is a request!

MASTERLIST

It was during the small hours of the night when the Piastri family home echoed with celebratory screams and sounds of glasses clinging against each other. Earlier, the same day, some inexplicable force had made you cancel your plans for the next day and join your boyfriend's family to watch Oscar's race in Hungary. Now, hours later, you were jumping around Oscar's sisters and his parents as they hugged each other, celebrating their boy's maiden win in Formula 1.

You couldn't help but tear up as memories from years ago flooded your mind. Little specs from when you and Oscar would talk about different dreams you wished to achieve one day. They all changed and varied as the years went by. However, for Oscar, once of those dreams never changed - reach F1, win a race, and become world champion. There he was now, a decade later, having achieved two out of three of those, making you prouder than ever.

As you watched the trophy ceremony, you admired Oscar's smile, it being one of the brightest you've ever seen. Despite what happened during the last minutes of the race, he was up there in P1 as the winner. A gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts. Looking up from your spot on the couch, you were met with Nicole's beaming smile.

"Honey, come take a picture of me. Can't let that moment pass without one!" She said, handing you her phone as she made her way towards the TV on the wall, waiting for the cameras to show Oscar again.

" Girls, I am happy to say we will not be attending our 6am pilates session. This calls for a celebration!" Oscar's mom said, earning a laugh from everyone.

You waited a few hours for all the commotion to pass alongside all of Oscar's post-race interviews and media obligations before you tried calling him. It took a while, and you were ready to hang up before your boyfriend's beaming face popped up on your screen, making your heart melt for the hundredth time in the past couple of hours.

"Oscar! You did it, love! I'm so happy for you! Oh my goodness, I still can't believe this happened!" You shouted, now in the confines of your own apartment where you wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. " I'm so proud of you, baby! I never doubted your talent and determination to do this!"

"Thank you, baby! I still can't believe this happened. Oh, how I wish you were here." Oscar said, a tired smile nestling on his face.

" I wish I could've been there as well, baby, but you know how it is. Duty calls in hour of the day and corners of the world." You said, earning a chuckle from the tired man on your screen.

" I'll try to come home for a few days before Belgium, love. I need to see you as soon as possible. " Oscar said, his smile faltering a bit.

" I'll be waiting for you, baby, keeping warm hugs and kisses from when you arrive." You said, trying to lighten up the mood.

" I don't know what I'd do without you, love. I miss you so much, but I think I've got to get going. Celebratory dinner is impending. I'll try to call you again as soon as we're done!" Oscar said, blowing a kiss in your direction.

" And don't forget to ring your mom! Or she'll lock you out of the house the next time you try to come back home!" You added, returning hus gesture.

" At least I'll get to spend more time with you in your place then! I love you, I have to go now! " He said, you could tell he was in a rush now.

" Love you too, bye!" You said before hanging up and laying down on your couch. While your boyfriend celebrated his first win, you were in desperate need of a nap before the Piastri family rings your doorbell in a couple of hours to go celebrate Oscar's win as well.

You didn't expect to be woken up in the early hours of Tuesday morning, but alas, it happened. As you rubbed away the sleepiness from your eyes, you made your way to the entrance of your apartment, not even bothering to use the peephole first before swinging the door open.

At the threshold of your apartment stood your boyfriend, a goofy smile on his lips ,a suitcase in one hand, and a bouquet of white roses in the other.

" Surprise!" He said sheepishly, opening his arms to welcome your tired form.

"Baby..." You mumbled as your head found its way to the crock of Oscar's neck, your arms enveloping his waist as you pulled him in for a hug. " Don't think I'm not enjoying this, but...it's 6am in the morning."

" I couldn't wait longer to see you. I needed you in my arms, badly." Oscar said before placing a gentle kiss on the side of your head.

You lifted your head from its comfortable position, heading directly for his lips.

" I love you so much." You whispered, smiling gently as you looked him directly in the eyes.

Your tired ones were met with Oscar's, which were bubbling with love and excitement from the past few days' events.

" These are for you." Oscar said as your attention fell on the white roses he held in his left hand.

" Thank you, baby. They're beautiful, just like my Formula 1 race winning boyfriend. " You grinned as you accepted the flowers, their gentle fragrance touching your senses immediately. " You are the one who won a race, and still you are giving me flowers." You said, making him laugh

"Well, I had to make sure you knew how much I love and appreciate you," he replied, his eyes twinkling with affection.

"You're too sweet," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss deepened, filled with all the longing and love that had built up during your time apart. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, one of your hands now caressing the base of his neck, makjng him yawn at the soft touches. "But we should really get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

Oscar chuckled softly. "I am, but I just wanted to be with you. Let's go to bed."

You nodded, taking his hand and leading him inside. The bouquet found its place in a vase on the kitchen counter before you both headed to the bedroom. Oscar dropped his suitcase at the door, and you climbed into bed, finding solace in each other's arms. As you drifted off to sleep, Oscar whispered, "I love you," and you knew that no matter the distance or time apart, your love for each other would always prevail.

The next morning, the two of you were awoken by the soft light filtering through the curtains. You stretched lazily, turning to find Oscar already watching you with a content smile.

"Good morning, love," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face before one of his hands cupped your cheek gently.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling back. "I still can't believe you're here."

"Believe it," he said, pulling you towards him for a quick kiss. "But we should probably get up. I think my mom will kill me if she finds out I'm back and we didn't go visit her."

You laughed, nodding. "Yes, we don't want that. Let's get ready and head over."

After a quick shower and breakfast, you both made your way to Oscar's childhood home. The door swung open to reveal Nicole, who immediately pulled Oscar into a tight hug.

"You didn't call me after your win!" she scolded, but her eyes were full of pride and joy.

"I know, mom, I'm sorry," Oscar replied, hugging her back. "but I called the most important person first." he added, glancing at you with a cheeky grin.

Nicole laughed, shaking her head. "Well, I guess I can forgive you for that. Come on in, both of you. We have so much to celebrate!"

The day was spent in a joyous celebration with Oscar's family. Stories were shared, laughter echoed through the house, and the pride everyone felt for Oscar was palpable. As the evening drew to a close, you found a quiet moment with Oscar in the garden.

"Thank you for being here," he said, pulling you close. "I couldn't have done this without your support."

"You would have done it regardless, but I'm glad I could be here for you, even if "here" means on the other side of the world." you replied, resting your head on his shoulder as you felt Oscar chuckle at your response.

Oscar pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Oscar."

A few weeks later, the buzz in the paddock was different. You and Oscar made your way through the crowd. You had finally found a possible way to you to travel for a while and spend time with Oscar while still managing your workload.

As you walked past a group of journalists, one of them called out, "Oscar, what's your secret to staying so calm under pressure these days?"

Oscar smiled, glancing at you before replying, "I've got the best support system in the world. That makes all the difference."

He said as he lifted up your joint hands for everyone to see.

You squeezed his hand, heart swelling with pride and love. Together, you faced the world, knowing that no matter what challenges came your way, you would always have each other.

And as the race weekend continued, you couldn't help but smile at the whispered conversations around the paddock, all noting the same thing—Oscar Piastri was happier than ever, and it was all thanks to the love and support you shared.

The end of the race saw Oscar once again on the podium, and as he looked out into the crowd, his eyes found yours. He lifted the trophy high, dedicating hus success to you with a simple, heartfelt gesture that spoke volumes. It was a new chapter in both your lives, filled with love, triumphs, and the unbreakable bond you shared.

MASTERLIST

[fatbiatchforever]

Lie (Part 1?)

"I'm going to miss you."

The shuffling noises from the bathroom halt, and his face peeks out. "I'll be back before you even realize."

Bucky goes back in, which makes you pout.

"Leo's going to miss you," you whine, scratching your dog's belly, who is completely sprawled out over Bucky's clothes. You hear Bucky chuckling in the other room.

You don't want him to leave. You don't feel like you've had enough of him after the last mission. It's only been a week since he got back. Just a week of random hugs anytime he walks past you, coming back home to his home-cooked meals, ranting to him about your day while he plays with Leo, some part of him touching you at all times of the night, his soft lips gently pressing onto your forehead before he gets out of bed, and everything else (especially when he walks fresh out of the shower with nothing but a towel). A week of Bucky isn't enough.

"Fine, whatever, I don't care," you mutter, walking out of the room. You plop onto the couch and pick up your book. The last thing you want to do is read, but you refuse to act more clingy. Maybe you're trying to replace the ache in your chest with anger.

As your eyes pointlessly roam around the page, you feel the dip on the couch. You are determined, though you aren't going to pay him any attention.

"Doll."

You flip to the next page.

"Y/N."

You roll your eyes, but your gaze remains laser-focused on your book.

"I saw that."

You bite your lips so you don't respond to his obvious attempt to get you to talk. Bucky is done, though. He can't take your silence any longer, so he grabs the book out of your hold, holding it away from your reach.

"Buckyyy, give it back!"

Bucky shakes his head and holds it even further away. "Talk to me."

You try to snatch it back from him, holding onto his thigh for extra support to retrieve your book, not like it helped. All your efforts go in vain as he throws the book on the coffee table and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer, placing you on his lap, his blue eyes looking at you intently.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asks so softly that you instantly melt.

"It doesn't feel right."

"What doesn't?"

You sigh, "You leaving. I don't know, I'm scared. It's not like the other times, Bucky. I mean, I'm always worried when you leave for a mission, but this time, Buck, there's this feeling that something might go wrong. It's so much more intense. I don't want to risk it."

"Y/N?"

Your vision shifts back to his face. Bucky cups your face between his palms, the coolness of the vibranium and the heat from the other providing relief. Unknowingly, you whimper into his palm. Every cell in your body thanks him for being close and making you feel safe in his arms.

"I love you."

The words roll out of Bucky's mouth so effortlessly that you don't have any other option but to believe him.

"But you have to go, right?"

Bucky nods.

"Okay," you whisper before wrapping your arms around his neck and resting the side of your face on his chest. Bucky's arms snake around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

"Promise me you'll be fine, and you'll come back as soon as you can."

Bucky presses a kiss on the back of your head. "You know that I'd rather stay here with you any day, right?"

"I mean, you came back last week, and you're going away already. Some might think you hate me."

Bucky's laugh rumbles through his chest. "Are you one of them?"

"Nah, my bet is on you having a family on the other end of the country."

"Yeah?"

"Yep, but I can also bet that your other family doesn't have a dog as cute as my Leo."

"Our Leo."

You sit back straight. "I'm not giving you guys Leo; get your own damn dog."

"As funny as you think you are—"

You pout, "You don't think I'm funny?"

Bucky pulls you back closer, AGAIN, but this time making sure you can't move away from his hold. "I do think you're funny, but not when you bet on me cheating on you."

You feign annoyance. "Okay, so that sounds like a you problem. Don't be hating on my humor."

Bucky pinches your waist, before he continues, "I promise, I'll try to be safe. I'll do everything to get back to you, Y/N."

You look into his eyes, which assure you of his intentions. "Pinky promise?"

Bucky smiles and hooks his curved pinkie with yours. "Pinky promise."

Before you can say anything, Bucky tugs at your pinkie, bringing your face closer to his. He leans in, the space between you shrinking, your breaths mingling. Your pulse quickens as his lips meet yours, soft and earnest. Time seems to slow, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in that perfect moment. Bucky gently bites your lip, asking to come in, to get closer to you and prove how much he needs you. His tongue gently moves in, tasting you like he's doing it for the first time. The moan that escapes from him has you melting into his touch even more, showing him you need him as much as he needs you.

When you both slowly pull apart, your foreheads rest together, taking in each other before he has to go.

When you slide back to the couch, Bucky looks at you, hesitating to get up and pack his bags. You smile. You do it for him, so he won't have to worry about you when he leaves—to send him off happy and relieved, instead of worrying about how you feel.

You cuddle with Leo while Bucky packs his belongings into his mission duffel bag. He's out before you can even get comfortable, patting Leo's head and telling him to take good care of you and practically begging for him to remember Bucky as his favorite.

He hugs you right in front of the door, squeezing you into him as much as he can. "If you need me, you call me, okay?"

You nod. "I will, I'll check in every day."

"Good."

Bucky doesn't move, though. He continues to hold you in his arms, his chin resting on your head.

"I'll be okay, I promise. You concentrate on bringing yourself back in one piece, okay?"

When he pulls away, he smiles, which is purely for you. "I will."

He takes his bag off the floor and opens the door. "Leo is—?"

You look at him, confused. "A dog?"

Bucky growls, "No, our dog."

You roll your eyes and do a poor job of hiding your amusement. "Fine, fine, Leo is OUR dog."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Buck."

With that, he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone but so loved that you can't even explain it in words if you try.

Bucky promised you he'd be fine, even if the ache only increases after the door closes.

[mybelovedwoo]

a day of sunshine

seonghwa x f!reader

fluff, comfort, forbidden love/ wc: 1.3k

warnings: none really :)

note:this is just a short little drabble, but yet so comforting. seonghwa is so soft, i want him around when i feel sad! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics, you can apply here!

seonghwa masterlist - main masterlist

Seonghwa found himself thinking about Y/n more often than he liked to admit. Ever since that night he escorted her home after rescuing her from an obnoxious drunk at the bar, she had been occupying his thoughts. Her laughter, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled even when she was tipsy—all these memories lingered in his mind.

One afternoon, Seonghwa received a text from Yunho, Y/n's sister's boyfriend, also one of his best friends, mentioning that Y/n had failed one of her classes and was feeling pretty down. Yunho was worried but had to be out of town for the weekend and couldn't be there for her.

Seonghwa felt a pang of concern. He couldn't stand the thought of Y/n being sad and alone. He decided he would do everything in his power to cheer her up. With renewed determination, he gathered some gifts he knew she'd love: a cute plush toy, her favorite snacks, and a small Lego set themed around Star Wars. He also decided to bring over ingredients to make her favorite comfort food—mac and cheese.

As he approached Y/n's apartment building, he felt a mix of nervousness and excitement. He wanted to make her feel better, but he also hoped this would give him a chance to grow closer to her. He took a deep breath and knocked on her door.

The door opened slowly, revealing Y/n in sweats and an oversized hoodie. Her eyes were red from crying, and her usually bright smile was nowhere to be seen. But even in her vulnerable state, Seonghwa thought she looked beautiful.

"Seonghwa? What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised.

"Hey, Y/n. I heard you were having a tough time, so I thought I'd come by and try to cheer you up," he said, holding up the bags of goodies and flashing her a warm smile.

Her eyes softened, and she stepped aside to let him in. "You didn't have to do that, but thank you. Really."

Seonghwa entered the cozy apartment and placed the bags on the coffee table. "I brought some things I thought you might like. And I thought maybe we could build this Lego set together. It's a Star Wars one."

Y/n's eyes lit up a little at the sight of the Lego set. "You remembered I like Star Wars."

"Of course I did," Seonghwa said, his heart swelling at her reaction. "And I also brought stuff to make mac and cheese. Thought we could have a little comfort food while we hang out."

Y/n managed a small smile. "That sounds perfect."

They moved to the kitchen, and Seonghwa got to work preparing the mac and cheese. As he cooked, he kept up a light, cheerful conversation, sharing funny stories from his own college days and asking her about her classes. Gradually, Y/n began to open up, talking about the class she had failed and how it had been weighing on her.

"I just feel like such a failure," she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. "I studied so hard, but it wasn't enough."

Seonghwa paused and turned to face her, his expression serious yet gentle. "Y/n, you're not a failure. One class doesn't define you or your worth. You're smart, hardworking, and capable. Sometimes things don't go as planned, but that doesn't mean you're any less amazing."

Y/n looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Thank you, Seonghwa. That means a lot coming from you."

He smiled softly and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Anytime, Y/n. We all have setbacks, but it's how we bounce back that matters."

With the mac and cheese ready, they settled on the couch, enjoying the creamy, comforting dish. Y/n's mood visibly lifted, and soon they were chatting and laughing like old friends. After finishing their meal, they cleared the table and moved to the coffee table to start building the Lego set.

As they sorted through the colorful pieces, their fingers occasionally brushed, sending little sparks of electricity between them. They talked about their favorite Star Wars movies and characters, debating the merits of different storylines and scenes. Seonghwa loved seeing Y/n's eyes light up with passion as she spoke about something she loved.

Time flew by, and before they knew it, they had completed the Lego set. They admired their handiwork, a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie settling between them.

"That was so much fun," Y/n said, her smile now genuine and bright. "I haven't felt this relaxed and happy in days."

"I'm glad," Seonghwa replied, his heart swelling with warmth. "You deserve to be happy, Y/n."

Y/n smiled, her face glowing with a newfound sense of contentment. Seonghwa, however, had another idea brewing in his mind. He remembered Yunho mentioning that Y/n hadn't left her apartment in days.

"How about we get some fresh air?" Seonghwa suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/n looked a bit hesitant. "I don't know, Seonghwa. I've just been feeling so down..."

"That's exactly why we should go out," he insisted gently. "A change of scenery could do wonders. How about we go to the Han River? We can ride a two-person bike. It'll be fun, I promise."

Y/n considered his suggestion, and after a moment, she nodded. "Okay, let's do it. Maybe a little fresh air will help."

Seonghwa's smile widened. "Great! Let's go."

They quickly got ready, and soon they were on their way to the Han River. The weather was perfect—sunny with a gentle breeze. The sight of the river sparkling under the sunlight and the vibrant greenery around it already began to lift Y/n's spirits.

At the bike rental stand, Seonghwa secured a two-person bike. They both laughed as they figured out how to coordinate their pedaling. Once they got the hang of it, they cycled along the scenic path, the wind in their hair and the sun warming their faces.

"This is really nice, Seonghwa," Y/n said, her voice filled with genuine happiness. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"I'm glad you like it," he replied, glancing at her with a smile. "It's important to take breaks and enjoy life, even when things get tough."

They continued to ride along the river, stopping occasionally to take in the beautiful views. At one point, they found a quiet spot to rest and sat down on the grass. Seonghwa pulled out a couple of bottles of water and some snacks from his backpack, and they enjoyed a small picnic together.

As they talked and laughed, Y/n felt the weight of her worries lifting. Seonghwa's presence was comforting and uplifting, and she realized how much she appreciated having him in her life.

"You know, Seonghwa, I've been feeling so isolated and down, but today has really helped me see things differently," Y/n said softly. "Thank you for being here for me."

Seonghwa reached out and gently took her hand. "You're welcome, Y/n. I care about you, and I want to see you happy. Anytime you need a friend, I'll be here."

Y/n squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth spread through her. "I'm really glad we're friends, Seonghwa. You've made a big difference in my life today."

They sat there, hand in hand, watching the river flow peacefully by. In that moment, they both felt a deep connection growing between them—a bond that went beyond friendship.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, they rode the bike back to the rental stand. The day had been filled with laughter, adventure, and heartfelt moments, leaving both of them feeling closer than ever.

Seonghwa walked Y/n back to her apartment, their steps unhurried as they continued to talk and enjoy each other's company. When they reached her door, Y/n turned to him, her eyes filled with gratitude and affection.

"Today was amazing, Seonghwa. Thank you for everything," she said, her voice sincere.

Seonghwa smiled, his heart full. "It was my pleasure, Y/n. I had a great time too."

They stood there for a moment, the world around them fading away as they shared a quiet, meaningful gaze. Then, with a warm hug, they said their goodbyes.

As Seonghwa walked away, he couldn't help but feel hopeful about the future. Today had shown him just how special Y/n was to him, and he looked forward to many more days of sunshine and happiness together.

And as Y/n closed her door, she felt a sense of peace and optimism she hadn't felt in a long time. Seonghwa had not only cheered her up but had also given her a reason to look forward to tomorrow.

-

taglist: @dinossaurz @soso59love-blog @tiredlittlevirgo @everythingboutkpop @engentiny @abibliolife @k-zuzu

[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 2 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jake wasn't sure what he had done wrong, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare Jessica off. With a little bit of help, he manages to get a few minutes alone with her again. And all she does is effortlessly make him want even more.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Jake was still perplexed the following afternoon as he listened to Maverick lecture about the efficiency of the modified fuel system in the F/A-18. He couldn't help but think that Dr. Reed would have done a much better job speaking on the topic. And looked cute while doing it. 

He'd spent most of the night thinking about her, trying to determine where exactly he had fucked things up. It seemed like she was into him while they were at the bar. The cheap beers and peanuts at Chippy's let Jake know she would be relaxed enough to hang with his friends. And the way she looked and her PhD in physics let him know she would hold his interest. If he was looking for someone to date, it would be Professor Jessica in a heartbeat.

She was so charming and intelligent. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe it only took her an hour last night to recognize that Jake wouldn't be enough to hold her interest. She really went running for her office as soon as they were outside.

"Damn," he muttered once the aviators were all dismissed for the day. When he unlocked his phone, his browser was still open to the tab of Jessica's profile on the San Diego State University website. That little photo of her wearing her glasses and a blouse with the top buttons undone was really messing with him. He practically had the About Me section memorized by now, and she'd said nothing about a spouse. He went to close out of it, but he couldn't. 

"Hey, you need a ride again today?" Bradley asked him, checking his own phone.

"Nah, I got my truck back this morning," he replied. "But thanks."

Bradshaw just shrugged and grunted in response, but then he was holding up his phone for Jake to see the screen. "My wife apparently has a message for you."

Sugar: Tell Hangman I ate lunch with Dr. Reed today. And she wanted to know if my sexy aviator husband happened to know another sexy aviator by the name of Jake Seresin.

Jake perked right up at that. "Mind if I text Dr. Tits myself?" he asked, and Bradley handed over his phone. 

"Just as long as you don't call her Dr. Tits. Jesus, I'm shocked you're still alive."

But he wasn't listening. Rather he was already texting. 

Hey, it's Jake. Did Jessica say anything else? After we had some beers at Chippy's, she kind of ran off. I'd like to see her again, but I'm not so sure she'd want to see me.

Jake sent the message and stared at the screen. "She might not be able to respond right now," Bradshaw was saying. "She's got a late lecture this evening." But the messaging app was telling Jake that she was in fact currently typing. 

"Shh," Jake said, devouring the message as soon as it arrived.

Sugar: I told her I know you. Be thankful that I painted a much, much prettier picture of you than I could have. But she didn't say much else. However... she does have office hours until 7:00 tonight. Just so you know.

Jake groaned and handed the phone back to Bradley. Of course he was relying on help from the woman he had accidentally given a vulgar nickname. He didn't know what he should do. On one hand, he'd love to show up at Jessica's office and pick up where they left off. On the other hand, there was a good chance it would be awkward. But he wanted to know what he did wrong. 

While they were at Chippy's, Jake had been thinking about inviting her to have dinner at his place one night. He thought about making her smile and laugh in his kitchen while he tried to convince her he was smart enough to keep up with the conversation. Imagining how it might feel to press his lips to her elegant neck.

"Yeah, I'm going," he grunted, checking the time. 

"Going where?" Bradshaw asked, looking at him like he had two heads as they finally exited the deserted classroom. 

"Visit your wife at work," Jake replied with a wink. 

He just rolled his eyes in response. "Tell her I'll pick her up at 9."

Jake didn't even bother to change out of his flight suit. He'd only been out on the tarmac for a short period of time today, so the jet fumes didn't seem to be an issue. He grabbed his wallet and keys from his locker and rushed for his truck. It was already after 6 o'clock. Depending on traffic, he might not even make it to campus before Jessica's office hours ended. But what did he have to lose?

"Come on," he complained, merging with the congestion of cars leaving North Island. Everyone was creeping across the bay bridge, and Jake was watching the minutes tick away. When he was finally close to campus, he tried to remember where Bradshaw had parked yesterday. He cut down a side street and came out near the math and science building, but there was nowhere to park. 

"Shit," he said, and then someone was pulling out of a spot further up the block. Somehow he managed to successfully squeeze his truck between two other cars, and he hopped out onto the sidewalk. He tossed his sunglasses onto the front seat before locking his truck, and tried to fix his hair as he walked toward her building. He could see Chippy's across the street, and he briefly wondered if she might head over there if he couldn't find her office in time. 

When he tried to open the door to the math and science building, it was locked. He jiggled all the door hands, but none of them were open. There was a card reader off to one side, but no students in sight. "Fuck," he groaned. The building was probably only left unlocked yesterday for the mini lectures. 

Jake started scrambling for his phone so he could call Bradshaw and get his wife's number. But then he saw her walking down the hallway inside, and he pounded on the door. She turned and looked at him with a cautionary glance until she realized it was him. Then she walked over and pulled the door open for him.

She grinned and said, "Just in time for office hours, I see."

"Thank you," Jake said, and he didn't even call her Dr. Tits. "I owe you one. For the information and for opening the door."

She just pointed him toward the row of elevators and said, "Dr. Reed's office is on the fifth floor, to the left when you exit the elevator."

"Thanks!" he called out as he practically ran to push the little up arrow. And now he was nervous. Why did he think this was a good idea? As the doors slid open, he registered that it wasn't too late to just go back to his truck and drive home. But as they started to close again, he found himself darting inside and pushing the number 5. 

If he got completely shot down, then so be it. And if she was already gone for the day, then maybe he'd consider stopping by Chippy's and running the risk of having her bartender friend give him the third degree. But it would be worth it just in case Jessica wanted to talk to him again. 

Fifth floor. He turned to the left and read all of the names on the doors as he made his way down the long hallway. And then he saw it on the placard on the second to last door on the left. DR. JESSICA REED, PHD.

The door was slightly ajar, and Jake let out a deep breath before he knocked. 

"Come in."

When he pushed the door open and stepped inside her small office, he smiled. Jessica was sitting at her desk, writing something down in that red notebook he saw yesterday, and when her gaze slid up his body, her lips parted in surprise when she met his eyes. "Jake."

"Dr. Reed," he drawled. "I almost missed your office hours."

Her eyes were wide, and she nudged her glasses up higher on her nose with the backs of her fingers. "What are you doing here?"

Jake took a step closer to her desk, and she slowly stood. And hell if she wasn't wearing another cute skirt today. 

She was eyeing him curiously, still waiting for an answer when he said, "You told me I could borrow your copy of the Journal of Propulsion Science. The edition with the information about Super Hornets."

"Oh," she whispered, her face falling a bit. "Right. Of course." She turned away from him and started to search along some shelves that were jammed with books and periodicals. His eyes roamed over the back of her body all the way down to her feet and her high heels. He watched as she pulled a few glossy journals out and turned to hand them to him. "Here's the Propulsion Science journal, and here are a few more that might interest you. I don't need them back. You can keep them."

Jake took them and immediately set them down softly on her desk without looking at them. "Thanks, but that's actually not the only reason why I'm here."

"Why else are you here then?" she asked carefully, and Jake wished there wasn't a large desk between his body and hers. He felt himself starting to hesitate again, but he was already in this deep. Might as well go all the way.

"Listen, Jessica. I was having a pretty great time last night at Chippy's." He was trying to gauge her reaction as he added, "You're beautiful, funny and smart, and hey, I'm only human. And I thought you were maybe feeling what I was feeling? And correct me if I'm wrong here, but I thought we were having fun? And it didn't even seem like you expected me to lay down my usual bullshit, which was really nice."

"Oh," she gasped. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth before she said, "No. You're not wrong."

He shrugged at her, heart pounding as he asked, "Then what did I do wrong? Why did you run off?"

She laughed softly and looked down at her desk. "I nerded out so hard."

Jake grinned as the sheepish look on her face. "You must have been able to tell I was enjoying myself. God, I could have stayed at Chippy's with you all night long. You know more about my jet than I do, and I have the NATOPS memorized."

She ran her fingers nervously along the top of her desk as she looked at the stack of journals he was meant to take with him. As Jake planted his hands on his hips, she glanced up at him. "It's just too good to be true."

He shook his head slightly. "What's too good to be true?"

"You."

He raised one eyebrow, about to ask what that was supposed to mean when she said, "There's always a catch with the charming, good looking guys, right?"

"A catch?"

She licked her lips and pressed her palms on the desk, leaning a little closer to him. "I've been through this before. There's always someone else. A sexy naval aviator in his uniform shows up to my lecture and then flirts with me? Please. There's always another girl."

Jake was kind of stunned. "I would never do that."

But she still looked apprehensive as she said, "As soon as you started ignoring calls and messages, you said you had to leave."

Bradshaw. He was ignoring calls from Bradshaw who was trying to tell Jake to meet him at the Bronco. And he was only ignoring him because he didn't want to leave her at all.

When he didn't respond right away, she shrugged and said, "Figured it was your girlfriend calling you."

Jake made sure she met his eyes before he said, "I don't have a girlfriend."

She barely hesitated before asking, "Wife?"

"I don't have one of those either."

Jessica slowly pushed off from her desk so she was standing at her full height, lips forming a perfect, kissable pout. She looked a little embarrassed now as she messed with her glasses. "That's all really useful information to have," she muttered, picking up the stack of journals and walking them around her desk. 

Her steps were intentional and deliberate, the little click of her high heels muffled in the small space. Even in those shoes she only came up to his chin, and she didn't stop until she was right in front of him. He could smell her shampoo or perfume. He could see gold flecks in her eyes. This time when she held out the journals, they grazed his flight suit. He took them in one hand and murmured, "Thank you."

"Mmhmm," she hummed, and Jake almost tossed the literature aside and pushed her against her desk when her fingers met the patches on his flight suit. He stood still against his desire to tilt her face up and press his lips to that pout. She looked good, and she smelled good, and Jake was convinced she would taste good, too. Then she glanced up at him, fingers still tracing his patch that said HANGMAN. 

He cleared his throat softly. "What if I decide I want to return the journals after I read them? And what if I have some questions only an expert would be able to answer?"

She smiled and said, "Then I would implore you to find me and avoid Dr. Leeland and the rest of the physics department."

Jake laughed softly, but then she removed her hand from his flight suit, and he started to reach for her. But she was already turning toward her desk, tearing a page out of her red notebook. As she bent at the waist, Jake stifled a groan and rubbed one rough hand over his mouth. Her skirt rode up along her legs, exposing so much skin, he couldn't look away. Perfect, gorgeous skin from her bare thighs down to her ankles and those stupidly high heels. 

He was definitely caught staring after she finished scribbling on the sheet of notebook paper and spun to face him. He wanted to ask her if she wanted another three dollar pint and some peanuts, but she folded the paper in half and handed it to him before he could gather his thoughts into a sentence that actually made sense.

He glanced down and saw that she'd written her office hours in her neat penmanship. 

Dr. Reed's office hours for journal topic discussion:

Tuesdays 5:30 to 7:00

Thursdays 6:00 to 7:30

"I might be willing to stay late again. For you." 

Jake looked up into her pretty eyes and tapped the sheet of paper. "Any chance you'd add your phone number for me, Dr. Reed?"

The soft smile and dreamy look she bestowed on him had him grinning like an idiot, he was certain. He wanted that phone number in the worst way. When Jessica's fingers ghosted along his patch one more time, she said, "Maybe I'll see you on Thursday?"

"Yes." Jake would make it a point to come back on Thursday. 

--------------------------

Professor Jessica thought she nerded too close to the sun. And Jake really did give off some of the telltale signs of a man who is up to no good (including but not limited to looking hot in his uniform). Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 3

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[engie-ivy]

(December time! Festive fics! Trigger warning: mentions of assault, but nothing graphic. Happy ending though🙂)

1257 words.

When his friends are forced to spend Christmas without Sirius, all they can do is hope for a Christmas miracle.

Until You're Home Again

It’s Gonna Be a Cold Cold Christmas - Dana Scallon

“Hello love,” Remus leans over and kisses Sirius’ cheek. “It's cold outside. You would be freezing, stubbornly insisting on still wearing that leather jacket of yours.”

He takes off his coat and hangs it over the chair, rubbing his hands together to get some warmth in them. Before he sits down, he trails his fingers gently across Sirius’ cheek.

“Oh, before I forget.” He rummages through his coat pocket. “Mary baked you a batch of your favourite cookies. I'll just put them here beside you, so you can eat them when… when you can, okay, love?” His hand trembles slightly as he places the box on Sirius’ bedside table.

“Christmas is coming up soon, you know? I haven't put up the tree this year.” He chuckles. “I can just imagine how you would scold me for my lack of Christmas cheer, wouldn't you, love?”

The only response he gets is the steady beep of the machine.

Lily slides into the chair across from Remus and passes over a hot chocolate. “How was he today?”

Remus shrugs, fiddling with the lid of his cup. “The same, I guess. At least it's not worse, but it's not… better either.”

Lily sighs. “I'm sorry. And any news on the upcoming trial?”

“Our lawyer has suggested postponing,” Remus replies, still staring at his cup. “She says that if we wait, maybe we can charge them with murder instead of attempted murder or aggravated assault.” He swallows. “And I want them to get the maximum sentence, of course I do, but…” He looks up and meets Lily's eyes. “I don't want to lose him. I can't… Oh god, I can't lose him, Lily.” His voice breaks towards the end.

A determined look appears on Lily's face. “She's a lawyer, not a doctor! Whatever she has to say about Sirius waking up or not doesn't matter!”

Remus averts his eyes again. “The doctors aren't giving me much hope either. All they're saying is that they had hoped Sirius would've shown more signs of consciousness by now.”

Lily reaches over and squeezes Remus’ hand. “You should come over to our place after visiting hours tomorrow. It's Christmas Day, and we're all getting together.”

“I don't know, Lils,” Remus replies. “I'm not really in the mood for a celebration.”

“Remus John Lupin,” Lily says sternly. “If you think that we're all merrily going to be singing Christmas carols around the Christmas tree while Sirius is in the hospital in such a state you are sorely mistaken!” She lowers her voice. “We're all going to be miserable. We just figured we could be miserable together.”

“I'm sorry, Lily,” Remus says. “Of course you're not…” He shakes his head. “I'm sorry, and I'd love to come over tomorrow.”

Lily smiles at him. “And who knows, maybe we'll get a Christmas miracle.”

1 year later

“Oi! Those cookies are for tonight!” Mary snatches the box away.

“Awww, come on, Mary,” Sirius pouts. “Last year I wasn't able to eat any. I have to make up for lost time.”

“Sirius Orion Black. Are you using what happened to you as a way to get cookies?”

“It depends,” Sirius says. “Is it working?”

“Dammit, yes, it is.” Mary hands him back the box.

James and Lily come out of the kitchen, just as Marlene and Dorcas arrive. “Dinner is in the oven,” James says. “And should be ready within half an hour.”

“Marls, look!” Sirius says, as Marlene kisses his cheek to greet him. He lifts up his right arm almost over his head. “I almost have full range of motion back in my arm!”

“That's amazing!” Marlene beams at him. “All your hard work in physical therapy is really paying off!”

“And I went to the supermarket on my own yesterday,” Sirius adds.

“Mate, I'm so proud of you!” James places a hand on Sirius’ shoulder as he smiles at him even brighter than Marlene.

Sirius huffs. “You two saving lives in the Emergency Room on a daily basis, acting all proud just because I went to a supermarket.”

“Our jobs have nothing to do with how hard you've been working in exposure therapy,” James says sternly. “What we do for a living doesn't take anything away from your hard-earned progress.”

“Yes,” Marlene agrees. “You're actually facing your fears, which is the most difficult thing anyone can do.”

“And he's not the only one,” Lily whispers, looking at Remus.

Remus bites his lip, because she isn't wrong. Remus has been having… not the easiest time himself.

Sirius needs to learn by exposure that it's safe for him to go outside on his own and he doesn't have to be afraid, and it won't be at all helpful for his progress if his boyfriend would prefer to lock him up inside a room where nothing bad can ever happen to him ever again. Sirius is working very hard in exposure therapy, and the last thing Remus wants is to make it more difficult for him by adding his own worries. Just like Sirius, Remus needs to learn nothing bad is going to happen when Sirius goes out on his own.

But then again, Remus didn't think anything bad was going to happen when Sirius went out for a run that one morning.

“This looks wonderful, James,” Fabian and Gideon say in unison, looking at the table covered with food.

Lily nudges James. “Make a toast, honey.”

Mary looks around the room threateningly, making Peter cower. “My make-up is on point today, so no one dare make me cry.”

James chuckles. “I'll keep it short then. Here's to Christmas Eve all together as it should be!”

Everyone holds up their glasses. “To Christmas Eve all together!”

But before they can all start to eat, Remus scrapes his throat and gets to his feet. “I actually have something to say as well.”

“I'm warning you, Lupin…” Mary says with a glare.

“Last year, I thought I was never going to spend Christmas with you ever again,” Remus speaks, turning to Sirius, who is, of course, sitting next to him. “And that made me realize I never want to spend Christmas without you ever again. Apparently, never leaving you out of my sight for a single moment is considered ‘unhealthy’ according to my therapist. So, since I can't glue myself to your side all day, at least I want to come home to you at the end of the day. Always.” Remus drops down to one knee and pulls out a square box from his inner pocket. He flips it open, displaying an elegant, silver ring. “Sirius Orion Black. Will you marry me?”

“Oh my god.” Sirius presses his hands to his mouth as tears well up in his eyes. “Rem…Really? I mean, are you sure?” He takes one of Remus’ hands in his own, the tears now streaming down his face. “I know I like to show how much better I'm doing, but the truth is, I'm still such a mess. Gods, Rem, I can barely go outside by myself! Are you sure you want to be dealing with all of that?”

“One hundred percent,” Remus replies instantly, though his voice is a little choked by the emotions. “Everything. Forever.”

Sirius searches Remus’ eyes for a moment. “Yes,” he then says. “Yes. Please, yes.” He lets himself fall forward into Remus’ arms.

“Damn you, Remus Lupin,” Mary sobs, mascara streaks running down her cheeks.

“Sorry,” Remus says, but he actually isn't sorry at all. Not with his Christmas miracle in his arms.

[zigrethsnotebook]

I'm pretty sure you could charm the socks off anyone, but I'd like to keep mine on for now.

Stan x Reader

words: 1,188

tags: sfw, fluff, breaking out of a cell together

This was supposed to be a fresh new start and look at yourself now: Your first week living in Gravity Falls and you're already spending the night in a jail cell. Just perfect.

You had been so sure that those two policemen that always stuck together were unobservant and fully incompetent at their job. And to be fair, you might still be right on that. But not even those two were stupid enough to let you go with the way they caught you red-handed.

You had spent the whole day staking out that auto yard. The one that was owned by the father of that telepathy kid. And you knew that his kid had a show that night, so you were sure he wouldn't be at that junkyard of his.

He wasn't, but he had called in to the police and arranged with them that they would patrol the place every couple hours. He must have had some more recent attempts on his property.

And it was so silly, too. You just needed a new handbrake because yours had quite literally snapped in half somehow. But the guy wouldn't sell it to you for less than 200 bucks. Who has that kind of money? So naturally, you decided to just take it when he wasn't looking.

As luck would have it, you crawled out and over the fence just as those policemen were making the rounds. They took you back to the precinct and locked you in a holding cell before you even had a chance to touch one of the cars.

So now, the only thing they could really charge you for was breaking and entering, or... just entering, you didn’t break anything. But you were determined to get out of this somehow. There really was no need for this to be the first thing the people in this town knew about you.

As the night had dragged on they found another guy that they threw in the same cell. They actually only had one so there would have been nowhere else to put him. You barely acknowledged each other. He just went to sleep, deciding to sort it all out the next day. Eventually, you did the same.

You woke up to the sound of keys jingling and immediately sat upright. When the shorter of the policemen, the sheriff, walked past you to his desk you spoke up. "You know, I didn’t stand a chance against you last night. With a guy as fit and athletic as you... I wouldn't have been able to escape you if I tried."

The sheriff blushed. "Ohoho... you really think so?" A deep and gruff chuckle emanated from the man behind you. You hadn't realized he was awake. "Of course, just look at you! You're really taking care of yourself and it shows!"

The policeman walked up to your cell with a big smile on his face. "Tell me mor-" He was interrupted when his loud deputy barged into the room with a bell, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Ooo!! Susan's holdin' a Pie eatin' contest!!"

Not two seconds later the two were out the door. You sighed in disappointment and sat back down. Guess you won't be getting out of here anytime soon. Or so you thought.

About a minute after the policemen were gone two children, a boy and a girl, sneaked into the police station and to your cell. The old man you had been stuck with got up and walked to the cell door. "There you are, kids! Good job getting Lazy Susan involved."

The girl quickly took a hairpin out of her hair and went to work on the lock. The boy looked proudly at the old guy as he spoke. "The pie eating contest may have been slightly exaggerated." The old man laughed heartily. "That's my boy!"

The girl had by now managed to pick the lock and gave the guy a million watt grin as she opened the door for him. He ruffled her hair affectionately as he left the cell. Then the old guy looked at you with a smirk. "You comin' or what?"

You wanted to protest but more than that you wanted to get out of here. So, instead of saying anything, you just followed them out of the police station.

Before you could thank them and leave the old man spoke up again. "You can crash with us for a bit. At least until those two idiots forget about us. Which should be about... two hours." He laughed again and you were beginning to enjoy the sound of it.

You agreed and took your place in the golf cart that apparently belonged to them. The old man drove and the boy sat next to him. You and the girl sat in the back. The whole drive she looked at you with wide eyes and a mischievous aura about her.

After a few minutes the four of you arrived at a wooden house somewhere in the forest. It was a tourist trap that you'd read about somewhere. Was the old guy the owner? No wonder he got in trouble with the police.

As the four of you walked up to the door the old man halted and slapped himself in the face. "Where are my manners?" He turned to you, one hand outstretched. "The name's Stan Pines, owner of the Mystery Shack!" He gave you a big grin and you shook his hand, introducing yourself as well.

On your way to the living room the children had introduced themselves as well. Mabel and Dipper. They also called Stan their 'Grunkle', which could mean... great uncle?

"By the way, I really liked what you were going for with the sheriff back there. I bet it would have worked if we didn’t have our own thing going on." Stan smirked at you as he sat down on the only couchchair in the living room.

You looked around and grabbed one of the chairs from a table in the corner and brought it over to the tv. "Thanks. What can I say, I am incredibly charming." You playfully batted your eyes at him with a smirk on your lips. It earned you another deep chuckle from the old man.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw the kids standing in the doorway to the living room. The girl was jumping up and down and shaking her brother by the shoulders as she tried and failed to suppress a squeal.

"Oh yeah. I bet. I'm pretty sure you could charm the socks off anyone," he glanced over at the kids and then leaned closer to you, putting one hand to his mouth as if that would keep them from hearing his words, "but I'd like to keep mine on for now." He smirked at you as he leaned back in his chair.

You tried to fight off the blush that was making its way to your cheeks and turned to look at the tv. Stan watched you do that and chuckled again. Oh man, what have you gotten yourself into?

[warpedpuppeteer]

Short silly Buddie mpreg drabble because I could not get the thought of Buck being obsessed with Eddie's little baby bump out of my head. And I know Buck will yap non stop at the baby bump and Eddie will simply indulge him, the love struck fool 🥹

The scratch of Buck's stubble against him is slightly ticklish but he's so used to it by now that he doesn't even move. He however does muster enough energy to pull at his boyfriend's curls. "Buck that's enough, c'mon". Buck finally stops and looks at him forlornly.

"Absolutely not", Eddie tells him sternly. Buck, the man-child that he cannot believe he's in love with, sighs sadly, places one last kiss onto his stomach and finally moves up to lie next to him, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, "can't help myself Eddie, it's so cute".

A smile tugs at his own lips,equal parts exasperated and fond. Buck's hand migrates down to his stomach, under the soft shirt he's wearing that might be Buck's actually, and cradles the little baby bump that has started to show. His hand is big and gentle, slightly possessive. Warmth curls down Eddie's spine.

"It hasn't changed in the span of five days Buck. Still the same size. You've literally done nothing but spend time obsessing over it", he reprimands him but the effect is ruined by him nuzzling into Buck's neck. He reaches down, placing his own hand over Buck's on the bump.

He had noticed it while he was alone at home, after a nice warm shower. He'd passed the mirror and had done a double-take when he realized that from the side, he can visibly see the bump. He had stood there curling his hands around it for almost an hour before he had called Buck.

Ever since, his boyfriend has been obsessed with his baby belly. Talking to it constantly and singing lullabies and placing a thousand kisses on it and even falling asleep on it, ears pressed close as if he could hear the lump of cells.

Eddie is absolutely positive their child is going to come out being a yapper just like one of her fathers.

"She's growing so fast", Buck says softly. Eddie hums in agreement. They hadn't really had much hope; tests after tests coming back saying their chances were slim to none but Buck is, if anything, determined, his freaky super swimmers defying science to knock him up soon after the multiple disappointing medical appointments.

They don't really know the gender of the baby yet, and Eddie is comfortable in not knowing but Buck swears up and down that it's going to be a girl. Eddie would love any baby equally but he can admit there's something sweet in the excitement of having a baby girl; about Buck being a dad to a baby girl.

He knows Buck would be an amazing dad already. Christopher is the living proof; Buck is always doting on him despite his teenage grumblings and Chris loves him to the moon and back.

He could't wait to see Buck cradling a baby in his big arms; one that he doesn't have to give away.

Buck has already baby proofed their home and Eddie has stumbled upon his online shopping cart filled with baby furniture, toys and cute onesies. Their baby is about to be so spoiled. It's going to be fantastic, Eddie couldn't wait.

He turns to his side and pulls Buck down for a thorough kiss. Buck grins at him. "What's that for?". Eddie shrugs. "Just because. Now shut up and stop bothering my baby bump, I want to sleep". Buck laughs and puts his arm around Eddie, pulls him even closer.

"I'd say the hormones are making you grumpy but I know that's not the case, it's just your natural state", Buck ribs him. Eddie kicks him on the shin. Buck doesn't even flinch, laughs louder, tucks Eddie into his chest and kisses his forehead.

There's a flutter in Eddie's belly, maybe the baby, maybe indigestion or maybe it's the love radiating from Buck, either way Eddie let's it wash over him in waves. Buck is here. And Chris is in his room. And their baby is growing everyday. Eddie is finally home, sweet home.

ib me going feral over his flat tummy:

[skeletboi]

Super short update because my life is a mess.

But here is part 24 of the Intridimensional Au!

First /// Previous /// Next

__________________________________________

“Impressive as ever.” Ford said as he looked at the robot arm on the work bench.

“Thanks, Stanford.” Fiddleford replied quietly.

Ford watched Fiddleford place his good hand over the arm then glanced up at Fiddleford's face and frowned.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Lots a’ things are, I reckon.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “Ya know when I went back home fer Christmas and fergot ta get Emma-May a present?”

“I recall, yes.” Ford responded, his frown deepening.

“She was already purdy darn mad at me before that. I wore baggy sweaters ta try and hide the metal cast on my arm so she wouldn't go worryin’ ‘bout it, but Tate ain't dumb and heard the hum of the components. He asked me about it, ‘cuz he's at that age where they ask a million questions, and I told him it was a metal cast. ‘Course he's an imaginative kid so he immediately started calling it a robit arm. He ran ta Emma-May ta tell her, and I thought she was ‘bout to murder me on the spot.” Fiddleford paused and picked up the arm. “He'd love this, but Emma-May would hate it.”

“I love it, if that makes you feel any better.” Ford said, placing a hand on Fiddleford's back.

“It does.” Fiddleford said with another quiet laugh. “But I can't stop thinkin’ about that. Emma-May knew how I felt ‘bout you in college, and we got in a purdy big fight ‘bout it before I came ta Gravity Falls. I love Emma-May, but our parents both loved the idea of us bein’ together more than we did. I think maybe we were more like best friends than spouses, but I promised her I'd be back ‘cause, above all else, we jus’ wanted Tate ta have a normal childhood.” Fiddleford set the arm back down and choked on a laugh that sounded suspiciously more like a sob. “‘Spose I'll jus’ hafta live with the fact that he won't. I don’ know if he'll ‘member me at all.”

“Fidds…” Ford said softly, unsure of what else to say with his own guilt and regret tearing at his chest.

“If I knew it was gonna turn out this way I prolly woulda jus’ said screw it and kissed ya as soon as ya opened the door to yer damn creepy cabin in the woods.”

Ford cracked a smile at that, but Fiddleford still looked a thousand miles away as he stared down at the arm.

“You would have stopped me.” Ford said after a moment.

Fiddleford glanced over at him in question.

“You say you would have kissed me right then, but I know you, and, if you had known this was the outcome, you would have left.” Ford clarified.

“Maybe.” Fiddleford responded thoughtfully, “But maybe not. Maybe I’m too scared in every timeline.”

“Fuck that.” Stan said, coming up behind them and dropping the last box at their feet. “I saw your face when Ford mentioned fighting back against Bill. That wasn't fear. That was determination.”

Fiddleford smiled sadly over his shoulder at Stanley.

“I thought you'd grow out of being so cheesy.” Ford deadpanned.

“Nope!” Stan replied with a smile. “But if you two are done being nauseating, we have some boxes to go through. I found a box of brown meat! It says it expires in 1993, but who the fuck knows what year it is in this dimension. My plan is to eat it now, ask questions later!”

“I believe you meant ‘die of food poisoning later’.” Ford noted.

“Or die of starvation! Might as well eat mystery food and die the fun way!” Stan laughed.

“Dysentery don't sound fun.” Fiddleford replied.

“Whatever, nerds.” Stan said, motioning to the boxes. “Just grab what you want so we can get on with life. I found a shot gun, too. You're welcome.”

Fiddleford laughed but did as he was told and put aside his arm project to start rummaging through the boxes.

___________________________________________

Sorry non-Fiddauthor fans. I needed Fiddauthor.

I originally wasn't going to write this bit in, but I wanted to give some context to the guilt they're both still feeling and the relationship between Emma-May and Fidds. Emma-May is bi in this universe, but prefers woman. Is that a cop-out to make myself feel better about how much Fidds hurt her? Yes, yes it is. But I am doing it anyway because I do what I fucking want.

I have another art piece nearly done, so I'll probably post it tomorrow. For now, enjoy. Or whatever.

[yanderes-galore]

Can we have Yan!Uppermoon!Uzui and his Yan!Demons!Wives capturing a Slayer and deciding to keep her?

Sure! Demon Hashira AU ^^ Not really the best with writing him and the wives so I'm going to warn this'll be short. I'm also having trouble being into Demon Slayer lately... I tried, I hope it was good even if it struggled with it lol.

Harem

Yandere! Demon! Uzui Tengen Short

Pairing: Romantic - Implied Poly

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Violence, Blood, Near death experience, Manipulation, Forced relationship implied, Swearing.

Everyone has heard of demons being powerful on their own. One basic demon could devastate an entire village. However, they are not the worst.

There's demons who are chosen as they are the most powerful. Sometimes they cultivate their power from experience, other times... people join them willingly.

Uzui is a strong demon who utilizes sound in his attacks. Alongside him are three female demons whom he calls his lovers. He's a demon dedicated to only them and his leader.

He also has a God complex, wishing for those lower than him to worship him.

When Uzui found you, a Demon Slayer meant to slay him, he laughed. He will admit upon meeting you for the first time he thought your determination was admirable, but laughable. You really thought you could beat him?

Uzui applauded you for putting up a fight. Unfortunately, you were fighting a losing battle. The slayers alongside you were no match. You see, even if you had a group, Uzui's much stronger.

Especially with his wives sneaking up from behind.

Uzui's shockwaves were enough to land your team on their ass before they were torn to bits. Soon you are at his mercy... Uzui's status as an uppermoon really showing in his strength.

"This mission they sent you on was suicide..." He comments, red eyes flicking towards your injured form. "You know that now, don't you?"

You say nothing, blood dribbling from your lips. Your eyes weakly look behind Uzui to see his wives. They stare at you hungrily, you're nothing but injured prey.

"It's a pity... wasting such good potential. It's like throwing a pebble at an attacking beast. You had no chance at harming me."

He steps closer, kneeling down to wrench your chin up. He thinks thoughtfully over your broken body before grinning. You could see his sharp teeth so close to your face.

"Don't you want a second chance?"

You have a questioning gaze. You're dying and a demon suggests a second chance. Of course he's attempting to use you even now....

"Poor thing can't even speak. That can easily be fixed. I think you have the potential to be my fourth."

Fourth...?

"You'd fit alongside my wives, dear. I'd treat you well and you can take your revenge. The slayers clearly see you as fodder, why not show them your true strength?"

The demon wanted you to commit treason. You either become a demon or die... a decison that held heavy consequences. You could die with honor... or-

"Look at you, thinking hard as your brain fails. What have you got to lose? You could die a human... or live as a demon. Be honest, which one sounds better?"

He picks you up as if you're a ragdoll, smiling. Charisma oozes with each word he says. You're in no place to fight him-

"I bet you were alone with the slayers, huh? No need to look so sad... you've proven to me you have the ability to fight. You'll never be alone if you join me. You can have... a family."

You feel him dig claws into your neck, causing you to sputter. Uzui looks disappointed in your silence or lack of response. He scoffs, slinging your bleeding body over his shoulder. Probably shouldn't have gouged your stomach....

"Your determination to cling to human life is sad. No matter, I wasn't going to give you a choice in the end anyways."

He turns and walks off with his wives in tow.

"If I say I think your worthy of being mine, there's no fighting it. Even if it means dragging your bleeding body where I want it to make you a demon. So sit tight, you're going to be mine, doesn't matter if you like it or not. I'm a GOD! You are foolish to even think of not joining me."

Far as the corps know, you're considered dead like the rest of your team.

What they don't know is you became victim of the infamous demon Uzui...

Forced to give up your humanity even if you were against it, all because he happened to like your fierce spirit.

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: Purrgils and a nursery rhyme from his youth have shaped Ezra Bridger's life in ways that even he is not aware of . . .

The Research Survey Mission (22 BBY)

After an agonizing hour being held up by Republic Security, he finally made it to the hangar bay where his escort was waiting. Dodging precariously between the space fighters, grimly masked clone pilots, and their long-suffering mechanics, he weaved his way through the active hangar with a desperate determination.

The war against the Separatists continued to stretch on with no end in sight, he knew. It surprised him that his scientific study had been approved by the Senate, considering all the funds being tied up in the war's progress. His sponsor, Senator Amidala, had taken an interest in the study of purrgil hyperspace travel routes for humanitarian reasons and had lobbied the Supreme Chancellor for this study to be funded.

Wheezing with the strain from sprinting - something not done since his Academy days - he finally skidded to a stop in front of the vessel assigned to the survey mission: an old, but functional looking G9 Rigger class freighter.

"I'm - my apologies for the wait," he gasped out between heaving breaths. It wouldn't make a good first impression if he vomited in front of his team here -

And speaking of his team . . .

Clutching at the stitch in his side, he peered at the two individuals selected to be his escort. First, the pilot: a young human woman about his age, with raven black hair and a feisty expression on her sun-browned face - a beautiful face, he observed, that looked better suited for a leading role in a holo-drama rather than a drab military flight uniform.

The pilot looked impatiently at the chrono on her wrist. "You're late," she remarked, sounding grumpy.

Still taken aback by her beauty, he took a full five seconds to compose himself. "Yes - I'm sorry about that," he replied. "All the new security; I wasn't expecting - "

The second individual on his team gave a sardonic chuckle. "First time on Coruscant?" asked the second person.

He nodded, looking the other team member up and down with a rising skepticism. He was a young boy with short brown hair, some of which was kept in a thin braid that trailed past his shoulders. A strong, serious face with piercing blue eyes - similar to his own - gave the impression that little escaped the boy's attention.

More importantly, he wore the traditional brown and white robes of a Jedi Knight. They fit him well, despite the boy's youth.

Smiling slightly, he asked, "And you must be . . . Master Depa Billaba?"

Amusement glinted in the youth's blue eyes, breaking through the stoic expression. He barked out a laugh. "No, I'm afraid not. She had other pressing matters to attend to. I was sent in her place."

"Ah, I see. Are you another Jedi Knight, then?"

The boy pouted. "Someday. Soon, I hope."

He stuck out his hand in greeting. "I am Master Billaba's padawan. My name is Caleb Dume."

Dume's grip was firm and steady; the skin on his palm was rough, callused from years of hard work and battle. Far rougher than I would expect any young person his age to be.

Inwardly, he felt a small pang of sadness for the young Jedi; a war was a brutal experience to go through, even for the adults who were prepared for such an event. He couldn't imagine the toll it was taking on the young.

Even if they were Jedi.

"My name is Ephraim Bridger, Jedi Dume. A pleasure to work with you."

The Jedi nodded in acknowledgement. Ephraim turned to the pilot -

"Lieutenant Mira," she answered bluntly before he could ask. Ephraim noticed the emphasis on her rank. "And I'd like to actually start flying now, if either of you don't mind."

She turned and stalked onto the freighter's lowered ramp, disappearing into the ship.

Ephraim blinked and turned to Dume. The young Jedi just shrugged. "Can't keep her waiting," he said politely. Both of them soon followed the pilot into the waiting vessel.

"Guess not," Ephraim muttered. "Oh, this is sure to be fun."

"I hope so," said Dume earnestly. "Could use a break from this war. So, what are we hunting?"

"We're not hunting, Master Jedi. We're searching for something. A creature long rumored to be nothing more than a myth, save for scattered reports from spacers over the Republic's long history."

Dume glanced at him curiously. "What would that be?"

Ephraim turned to him, grinning widely. "Ever heard of star whales, Caleb?"

The Star Whale (13 BBY)

"Alright, alright," laughed Ephraim. "Time for bed, young one."

His son, Ezra, was encased in a bear hug, scrambling to free himself. "Ah, come on, Dad. Five more minutes, please?"

Ephraim considered the offer - until he glanced over his shoulder to find his wife, Mira, giving him one of her patented glares. Her eyes - a lovely shade of violet that he always found himself admiring - pierced through him like a blaster bolt.

Deflating a bit, he whispered, "Not going to happen, buddy. The boss says no."

The child twisted in his hug until he could look over Ephraim's shoulder. Mira blew him a kiss.

With his typical accuracy, Ezra mimed to catch it and pressed the kiss to his heart. It was a time-honored ritual every evening, before bedtime.

"Okay, then," said his son. "How about a story instead?"

Ephraim laid his son gently onto the floor, feeling the aches in his lower back. "I would love that. Head up to your bedroom and choose one. I'll meet you there in a minute."

Before he finished his sentence, Ezra raced up the stairs in a flash. Ephraim snorted and turned to look at his wife. She was throwing a hooded cloak over her shoulders, obscuring her figure.

"I'm heading out now, love," she said to him, voice muffled through the thick cloth wrapped around her head.

He went to her and gave a kiss on the bridge of her nose, the only exposed skin available due to her outfit. They had been doing this for a while now . . . but the worry never faded from his mind.

Since the Empire had come to power, he and Mira had taken over an old communications tower to spread messages throughout the galaxy with other groups of people who were fighting against the growing tyranny of the Emperor and his cronies. It was dangerous work.

But someone had to do it. Someone had to light a candle in the long, vast night that had fallen across galactic civilization.

"Be careful," he said quietly. Mira smirked at him, in her typical impish way.

"I always am," she replied. "Sing me home, when it's time."

"Of course," said Ephraim. He watched her slip out the front door, biting his lip. In his mind's eye, he could see her dodging through shadowed alleyways, dashing across empty streets, finding their hidden speeder . . .

Come back safe, darling, he thought.

"Dad!" came his son's voice, interrupting his mood. "Are you coming up or what?"

Ephraim chuckled, feeling grateful for the distraction. "I'm heading up now," he replied.

_ _ _ _ _

"Star whales?" asked Ephraim. "You're sure?"

Ezra nodded. "I found some of your notes - "

Ephraim groaned. "You were snooping around in my office again?"

The boy flushed with embarrassment. He sighed deeply. Mira had noted it before he did; their son had a predicament for getting himself into trouble. Nothing serious as of yet, thank the Force.

But in these dark times, it could spell greater danger down the road.

Especially given his . . . talents.

"For the last time, there is no candy hidden in my desk. You ate all of it."

"Right. Sorry, Dad." The apology would have seemed sincere if not for the smug grin plastered on the boy's face.

He reached over and ruffled his son's hair with fond exasperation. Ezra giggled and waved his hands away.

Ephraim sat back in his chair thinking of all the stories about star whales he knew of. Finally, he said, "Do you know I saw a star whale once?"

His son's eyes went round as a moon. "Really?"

Smiling, he said, "Oh, yes. It was a scientific study. I actually met your mother on that mission. And there was a Jedi, also."

"A Jedi?" Ezra's mouth went agape. "Who were they?"

"A young human boy, actually. Not much older than you. His name was Caleb Dume." A gentle pang of melancholy went through him at the old memory resurfacing; he had not thought of the young Jedi in the long years since that mission.

He wondered if Dume had survived the purge.

Somehow, deep in his heart, he was sure that the boy had made it. Palpatine had been vicious in his extermination of the Jedi Order, but there was no way that all of them had been killed. Rumors continued to pop up from all over the galaxy . . .

He shook his head. Ezra was watching him, waiting for the next part of the story.

"Oh, yes. We spent a week in deep space, tracking down a pod of purrgils," he continued. Ephraim felt the old sense of wonder and awe grip him as he remembered the towering, majestic creatures. The pod had passed by their tiny freighter, flowing around them like river water.

Closing his eyes, he could envision the golden splotches on their skin mixing with the vivid purple - and those eyes. Those giant, glowing eyes. Being looked upon by the star whales felt like an almost religious experience with the calm, magnificent intelligence behind those eyes appraising the explorers' small forms.

"The sounds they made . . . oh, it was like they were singing," he explained. "It shouldn't be possible in deep space, but the purrgils somehow manage to do it. And they did it so beautifully."

"It sounded like music?" asked Ezra in a hushed tone. He nodded.

"Like little songs," confirmed Ephraim. "I believe it's how they speak to one another."

"Did they jump to hyperspace?"

Ephraim nodded in confirmation. "Their tentacles in the back stretched far, far out. I could see lines glowing on them, brighter and brighter and then - they were gone just like that." He snapped his fingers on the last word to illustrate his point.

"Wizard," whispered his son.

"Totally wizard," he agreed. He stroked his beard. "But then something odd happened."

Ezra sat up in his bed, gripping the covers tightly. "What?" he demanded. "What happened?"

Ephraim stroked his beard, drawing out the pause for dramatic effect. Watching his child squirm in anticipation was always a fascinating experience, which he secretly enjoyed.

Finally, he broke the pause and leaned forward. "One of them stayed behind," he said.

His son's expression turned puzzled. "Really? Why?"

"Ah, well, I have only a theory on that," Ephraim confessed. "But I feel that it is true. You see, purrgil pods are a community. They take care of each other, watch out for one another."

"Like you and Mom," Ezra pointed out. Ephraim smiled.

"Precisely. They are also the only creatures with the capability to emit noise in the deep vacuum of space via their songs. Space is large and vast and dark, Ezra. My theory is that even purrgils can get lost sometimes. So, one stays behind to sing them home."

"Even purrgils can get lost," Ezra repeated, sounding sad.

"All beings, large and small," said Ephraim, "need help sometimes."

He watched his son ponder that for a few moments. Then, Ezra said quietly, "You say that to Mom sometimes."

Ephraim frowned. "What do I say?"

"She asks you to 'sing her home' sometimes. Or you ask her. And then one of you leaves during the night."

He felt an icy fist enclose over his heart. It seemed that he and Mira's covert activities hadn't gone unnoticed by their son.

"We do say that," he confessed. "It's just a saying."

Ezra's face turned to him, with those piercing blue eyes that were an inheritance. "Do you think someday, someone will do that for me? If I get lost?"

Ephraim felt the icy fist close tighter. "Your Mom and I will do that for you."

"But what if . . . " The boy's voice trailed off, refusing to give voice to the fear that had arisen in him. But Ephraim knew what Ezra was going to ask.

It was the same question that he and Mira struggled with every night since their child had been born.

What if you and Mom aren't here anymore?

He reached forward and enclosed Ezra's hand in his own. So small, so soft, so warm - and so fragile.

"You will meet others," he said firmly, "who will love you just as we have. I promise it, Ezra."

His son just gazed at him. "You promise?"

"I do. You are so easy to love, my son. You will find someone who loves you like it's second nature to them - and if you ever get lost, they will sing you home."

The Rhyme (4 BBY)

He sat in the cockpit of the Phantom, gazing through the canopy at the field of stars. Whenever things on the Ghost got too quiet, he liked to sequester himself in there and just enjoy the mechanical ambience generated by the shuttle's machinery.

They're out there somewhere, he thought. The purrgils.

His encounter with the legendary creatures, still so recent, had left him in a curious state. Ezra couldn't shake the sensation that this was not the last he would see of them.

Unbidden, an old memory rose to the surface of his thoughts. His father, Ephraim, telling him stories of the star whales.

One stays behind to sing them home.

Ezra smiled faintly, despite the gentle sadness he felt rippling beneath the recollection. Not too long ago, he didn't want to think about his parents. Thoughts of them were a source of pain that he did not want to revisit, especially when he was just a street-rat scavenging on the streets of Capital City for survival.

But now, with his new family. he could remember his parents freely. The memories were no longer a burden; the pain hadn't lessened, but the others helped him to bear their loss a little better.

He reached into his pocket and took out the holo-recording that Sabine had found for him on his birthday a year ago. Pressing the button, the recording flared to life, showing a static image of his family - before the Empire had come to take it all away.

All beings, large and small, need help sometimes.

Ezra gazed softly at the holo-image, feeling the old pangs of loneliness. Despite his time spent on the Ghost, some nights he still felt . . . lost. Like he didn't belong.

"Even purrgils get lost sometimes," he muttered.

"Is that so?" came a familiar voice from behind. Twitching in surprise, Ezra stole a peek at the source.

It was Sabine. To his surprise, she wasn't wearing her standard Mandalorian armor; rather, she wore simple sleeping wear consisting of a plain shirt, shorts, and slippers.

She arched a curious eyebrow at him and gave a little wave. "Hey, goober," she said.

"Hey, Sabine," he replied. "What brings you here?"

Sabine shrugged. "Just checking up on you. You weren't in your room. Zeb's snores don't seem too horrendous tonight, so I was wondering why you weren't sleeping."

"Actually," he admitted, "Zeb's snores help me sleep. Guess I'm so used to them now as background noise. If he's not here, I can't sleep so easily."

She laughed. Ezra felt his ears flush red at the sound.

Play it cool, he thought firmly. Be cool.

She shuffled up to him and pointed at the co-pilot seat. "Mind if I join you?"

He gestured at the empty chair. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." She sat down, still scrutinizing him with a curious look. "So, what's this about purrgils? You still thinking about those gas pods?"

Ezra snorted. "They eat the gas, they're not - well, technically - okay, yes, I'm still thinking about them."

Sabine giggled. "I'm just messing with you, Ezra." Her face turned serious. "What does this have to do with your family?"

He blinked, suddenly remembering the holo-recording playing in the space between them. In a flash he turned it off, feeling self-conscious.

"I don't know," he replied. "I was just thinking about them for some reason."

Ezra turned to look out the Phantom's canopy again. "My dad used to tell me about the purrgils all the time when I was younger."

"Really?" asked Sabine. "What did he say?"

"That purrgils apparently mate for life. There's more myth than fact about them, but that one is true. Despite their fearsome appearance, they're also really gentle. They won't attack unless directly provoked."

Sabine sat back in her chair, absorbing this. "Wow. Surprising."

"How so?"

"Purrgils don't make any kind of evolutionary sense, goober. Far as we can tell, nothing hunts purrgils. They are at the top of their food chain. And yet . . . " She waved a hand at the stars in front of them.

"They just exist. Just travel from star to star and occasionally take a pit stop to munch on some gas," she finished.

"And to annoy spacers like Hera," Ezra added.

Sabine snorted. "True. They continue to do that, maybe Hera will become a predator to them."

That elicited laughter from Ezra. Sabine grinned at him.

When his laughter died down, Sabine asked, "What else did your dad know about the purrgils?"

Ezra thought about it, then said, "The pod doesn't jump together. Not for long distances. He saw it happen, in person: one of them stays behind."

"Why?"

He closed his eyes. "To sing them home, when it's time."

There was a silence from Sabine. Then, he heard her murmur, "Even purrgils get lost sometimes."

"Yup. You get it."

Ezra opened his eyes. "My parents used to say that to each other sometimes. 'Sing me home when it's time'. One time, I asked my dad what would happen if I got lost and they weren't around anymore."

Sabine was quiet.

"He said other people would find me someday and love me like they did. That if I got lost, they would sing me home, just like the purrgils do," Ezra said. His eyes glazed over with tears.

"Some days I feel lost," he confessed. "I'm grateful for you and everyone else here, but it's not the same as it was with my family. I miss them so much sometimes."

Ezra let out a little bitter laugh. "Sometimes, when I was younger and still on my own, I wished that the purrgils would come and take me. That I could be anywhere but stuck on Lothal without my parents. It didn’t matter where we went - they could take me to another galaxy, for all I care."

All the horrible, seething emotions whirled and twisted within him. Ezra closed his eyes again and took deep breaths, trying to enact Kanan's Jedi calming techniques -

Sabine hugged him. Ezra let out a small breath that he didn't realize was being held.

"I'm here, Ezra," she said. "I'm here for you."

He melted into the warm embrace, just allowing himself to feel the strength and surety of his friend's presence fill the deep, dark cracks that his emotions had opened in him.

"Thank you," he mumbled, his voice a little ragged.

After a long moment, she released. Looking into his eyes with an expression of utmost seriousness, she said, "Look, I'm not much of a singer but I'll do it for you."

Ezra stared at her. "What?"

"Better me than Zeb. Or Hera and definitely better than Kanan." She shuddered at the last name.

"What are you talking about, Sabine?"

She rolled her eyes. "The singing, goober! I'll sing you home if you get lost."

His mouth fell slightly open. "You . . . you will?"

"Yeah. Just don't expect opera level talent here. Give me something simple to sing."

Ezra felt his mouth widen into a grin. "I never really thought about it."

"Come on. You have to know some music, Ezra."

He thought hard for a few seconds. Then he remembered something from his past - an old nursery rhyme his parents used to sing, when he was much younger.

"You got something," said Sabine. "I saw it click in your head, judging by your expression."

He looked at his friend, his mood cautious. "Okay," he said, "repeat after me."

Ezra took a deep breath.

"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run . . ."

The Girl Who Was Broken (1 BBY)

It had been a week since Ezra disappeared.

In the distance, despite the fading light of early dusk, Sabine could still see the smoke rising from the rubble of Capital City. It would take years to rebuild to its former glory. Years that the inhabitants of Lothal would now have, thanks to her friend's courageous sacrifice.

Yes, she felt proud. That's what she kept telling herself and the others, too.

But deep down, a wound remained. An Ezra shaped hole that refused to be filled from all the celebration and praise and joy from everyone around her.

I let him go. He's gone.

She shook her head vigorously at this last thought. "He's not gone," she said aloud.

But her words were snatched away by the rising evening breeze. She sighed and leaned against the balcony railing, taking in her surroundings.

Ezra's comm-tower. His home before he came onto the Ghost.

She knew Zeb and Hera would soon be making plans to leave. The Rebellion needed their talents desperately elsewhere. The war with the Empire had tipped in their favor with Thrawn's defeat but it was far, far from over.

She understood why they had to leave - and why she was deciding to stay. Ezra had asked her to see this through, not them. Sabine acknowledged the logic behind the decision to split up the remaining Ghost crew.

That didn't stop it from hurting, however. She and Ezra had spent plenty of nights conversing about this very subject; what they would do, should the worst come to pass.

But every plan they had come up with included them sticking together. Never had it occurred to them to plan about what would happen if they were separated.

And now he was gone.

"He's not gone," she said through clenched teeth. "He's not!"

Her shout became another casualty of the wind, snatched away in a heartbeat.

He couldn't be. She would know if he was . . . no, she was sure of it. Ezra was still alive out there, somewhere.

The trail had gone cold just outside the Unknown Regions. Hera had taken the Ghost, with her and Zeb, picking up the trail of debris from Thrawn's fleet halfway across the galaxy.

They could go no further. Neither of them voiced the obvious fact aloud on the trip back to Lothal: that no one who went into the Unknown Regions returned to tell the tale.

Ezra's lost out there. He's a smart boy, she thought. He'll figure it out. There's got to be some Jedi navigation techniques he can use.

Until then, all she could do was wait . . . and watch over Lothal, as she promised.

A memory came to her, rushing through her mind like the evening's breeze.

One stays behind to sing them home.

It was a silly idea, she knew. A child's hope.

But she had promised.

Sabine turned her gaze upwards, looking up at the starry night sky of Lothal. Somewhere, in between those pinpricks of tiny, scattered light, was her best friend.

She imagined his face, letting the image of him fill her mind.

And then . . . Sabine began to sing, fighting against the rising wind on this Lothal evening:

"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run. Pick a path and all is done. Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run. The night is falling, and the dark will come. Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf flee. Follow my voice and run home to me."

Her voice wavered at the last verse. When it was done, she hung her head for a moment, letting the tears fall freely.

Had the wind carried her voice away? Maybe, in her most foolish of hopes, it had carried her song to wherever Ezra was.

That he knew she was there. That someone was trying to bring him home.

Sabine slammed a fist on the railing. "That was so stupid," she whispered. "There's no way he heard that."

It was an idiotic idea that the singing would be heard by Ezra. She wasn't a purrgil.

But Sabine knew, deep down in her heart, that she would try anyway.

I will sing you home, Ezra Bridger. Every night, until you come back to me.

~ epilogue ~

The Lost Boy (11 ABY)

He sat on his haunches, exercising his Jedi patience. Before him, a field of plain, unblemished rocks; the gray skies of the strange world he had crash landed on so many years ago threatened a downpour soon. Ezra scratched idly at his beard, studying the rocks with interest.

Finally, he picked one. With a small smile, he picked up a pebble and chucked it at one of the oddly shaped rocks a few feet away on his right.

It bounced off the rock's exterior - and then the rock leapt into the air, revealing the small, crab-like creature that laid beneath it. Or, rather, was attached to it.

The Noti - as Ezra had come to know them as - used the rocks as defensive camouflage when the nomadic bandits came passing by. Since the planet they were on had so many of them, it became a habit of the bandits to just pass them by without much attention.

The little Noti scrambled in place for a few seconds and then froze at the sight of Ezra.

"Ezra Bridger," it said in a tiny little voice.

"Hello, friend," he replied pleasantly. "The village is looking for you. It's time to make camp."

The Noti, by Ezra's estimation, was still a child. The village elder had approached him earlier that morning, babbling like crazy. He still wasn't fluent with their language, but the gist of it was that they were looking for one of their younglings that had gone wandering off.

"Ezra Bridger," said the young Noti uncertainly.

He shook his head. "No, they're not angry with you. Just worried."

Thunder clapped nearby, the sound roiling over the barren wastes. The Noti immediately disappeared underneath it's rock shell again, afraid.

Ezra sighed, walked over to it, and knocked gently on the shell. "Hey, it's going to start pouring soon. We need to start heading back - "

A gust of wind rose with the incoming storm, and, for a frozen moment of time, he heard something.

A voice, singing. As if from far, far away.

A familiar voice. A familiar song . . .

Ezra went absolutely still, his heart hammering away inside his chest. He strained to listen over the rising gale -

There. There it is.

" . . . follow my voice and run home to me."

And then the voice was gone, carried away by the storm wind.

But he heard it. Oh, yes, he heard it.

Ezra smiled to himself.

"Not bad," he remarked. "You're a better singer than you think, Sabine."

He felt a tug on the hem of his robes. Looking down, he saw the Noti clutching a tiny fistful of the blood-red fabric.

"Ezra Bridger?" it asked.

Ezra knelt down and patted the little creature. "Don't be scared. Stay close to me, okay? We need to go now."

The Noti chirped back an answer in its own native language, sounding cheerful.

"Yeah," Ezra agreed. "It's time to go home."