#i will be making more serious things of course

[royaldoge7370]

My contribution to the ultrakill fandom.

[furorsopher]

hi hello me again with additional info to court jesters in the central and west european space!

court jester in german is Narr/Hofnarr (fem version was and is Närrin) which probably originated in an old or mid high german word. Narr was (and is sometimes still) used to describe somebody “confused”, “insane”, “stupid”, etc. (like in a bible psalm which translates the latin insipiens to Narr)

but the Hofnarr is a different story at first. hofnarren were an important position in the court of various barons and kings. they had Narrenfreiheit, which just means they were allowed to shittalk their employer in front of everybody without repercussions. they criticised nobels to keep them in reality, remind them they weren’t above the average citizen and just as easy to make fun of, basically a reality check.

in the late 13th century that changed, Hofnarren were more often “kept” to amuse the audience not to criticise, and there was a distinction made between “artificial jesters”, which were the “original”, incredibly intelligent and funny people who kept their employers in check with clever jokes and tricks but had to act being confused or “insane” in order feign Narrheit and not be thrown in the dungeons bc then it would be serious criticism and we can’t have that ofc /sarcastic, and “natural jesters” who often were exploited disabled people, commonly ppl with dwarfism (like sebastian de morra) or intellectual and physical disabilities (like claus narr von ranstet), and were - like a morbid dystopia - kept like trading cards to show off to other nobles to see who had the “funniest (looking) ones” (i gaged when i read that)

but not all is bad, it was probably one of the better courses of life for a disabled person in the middle ages and early neuzeit (modern era). they were cared for 24/7, most had the absolute trust of the reigning monarch, they were protected exemptions of the law that had way more freedom than even the royals themselves and got everything they wished for, and even if they didnt, there often weren’t much repercussions to when they just took what they wanted.

that might seem like the preferable thing for your life to be, but they were still ridiculed daily, had to exploit themselves to keep their position, had to take abuse and dirty looks from everybody in the court (but the mostly oblivious monarch oftentimes)

that concludes your very condensed version of a class on court jesters! (there’s so much more to it but i don’t have the energy)

tweets like this are my pet peeve. just throwing silly words together in a way that’s supposed to sound hyperspecific but does not in fact evoke anything recognizable

[nemisuki]

Sunshine

Jealous AU | It wasn't often you spoke to those outside your class. So imagine his shock when he saw you speaking to a random extra in the hallway. A short oneshot of jealous bakugo and an oblivious girl who is unaware of a lot of things… including their romance.

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, minor jealous bkg but not toxic, aged up to third years, dense reader, mutual feelings, bkg pov, implied short reader, oneshot, bkg is mature and a softie, open ending, 1.1k word count

He had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't mistaking something. 

His red eyes are practically boring into the student's back – who had the guts to approach you. 

A random extra from another course, a guy he's never seen before. So why the hell are you talking to him? 

As much as he tried, he couldn't look away from the sight. Who knows what they might pull on you. Bakugo can tell by the way the idiot looks at her, that the guy is clearly interested. 

That pissed him off. 

And what pissed him off even more is that she's completely oblivious of it. 

The girl didn't know how beautiful she was. How blinding her smile was when she saw something she liked.

How blinding her smile was when she looked at him.

If only she recognized the significance of her own feelings.

Bakugo could tell she liked him more than a friend should. Yet the dense idiot didn't know how she felt herself. 

He knew she unknowingly developed feelings for him as they started their third year. For someone as perceptive as him, it was easy to notice the clues. 

She clings to him despite his rough demeanor. And easily laughs whenever he grumbles a snarky comment under his breath. Always following him around both in and out of class. 

At first he didn't know what to do. He wasn't one to even think about romance. But her constant proximity threw the blonde off. 

Slowly as time went on, he found himself expecting to see her by his side. Feeling a bit uneasy on those rare days they didn't spend much time together. By the time they were halfway into their last year at UA, that's when he knew. 

He liked her too. As more than a friend. 

For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo yearned for romance. Yet only with her.  

The realization only made him more agitated. Him growing soft for a girl? How ridiculous.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

He was pulled out of his thoughts a few seconds later. The reason?

The sight of the other guy lifting his hand and picking a piece of lint out of her hair. Not a second later, taking the opportunity to ruffle her hair playfully.

That's what had him speed walking over there with purpose, “Oi Y/N!” 

Her head quickly turns around at the familiar sound of his voice, “Ah Bakugo! Good Morning!” she says with a bright smile, completely forgetting about the other presence behind her. 

That response alone, almost made his stoic expression morph into a cocky grin. Almost. 

He grumbles in acknowledgment as he stands by her side, looking back and forth between her and the extra close by. A silent question directed towards Y/N. To which she seems to figure out immediately. 

“Oh this is Kai from the support course. He had some ideas for potential support gadgets I could use to regulate my quirk!” 

Support course huh. 

Bakugo simply stares at the other guy, a calm yet serious expression displayed across his face. He makes no move to greet this supposed ‘kai’ or even initiate small talk. 

A moment of silence passes between the three of them.

Kai smiles awkwardly in Bakugos direction, a visible indication of how uncomfortable he is. “Erm- well I should be heading to class now. See you around Y/N” he says but then quickly leaves as he makes eye contact with Bakugo. 

Meanwhile the blonde's ego skyrocketed from his success of driving the coward away. His shoulders slightly relax from the defensive stance he wasn't even aware he was doing. 

“Huh? What was that about?” she says looking back at Bakugo with a curious expression. Tilting her head to show her confusion. 

“Tch how the hell should I know. Now hurry up. We gotta head to class” he says, turning around and starting to walk in the direction of their classroom. He doesn't need to look back to know she's already shutting her locker.

“Or do you want to be late?” he says, loud enough for her to hear. 

“Ah, I'm going. Wait up!” she says while proceeding to run to catch up. Slowing down when she reaches his side and adjusting her bag that's draped over her shoulder. 

He occasionally glances at her as she starts babbling about random topics. Though he's not really paying attention to her words. He’s eyeing the side of her head, the specific spot where the other extra touched her. 

Bakugo doesn't know how to feel. 

He's confident in her feelings for him. Confident in his own abilities. 

Yet being a boyfriend… is something he can't comprehend. What exactly makes a good partner? Empathy? Kindness? Vulnerability? 

None of those reside with him. 

He ponders for a moment and takes a look at her cheerful expression. Full of bright joy that could rival the sun. 

His feelings only seem to grow more by the second. 

Without much thought he lifts his hand and gently pats her head. She pauses her endless chatter and hums in acknowledgement, “hm?” 

“Your hair is all messed up from before” he grumbles while fixing the random strands of hair by patting them down in place.

They both halt in the middle of the hallway as she lets him finish. Giggling at the soft sensation of his hand. He raises a brow at her sudden outburst. 

“What's so funny, idiot?” he huffs out and pinches her puffy cheek, unable to resist. 

“It tickles! Plus your hand is really warm. Agh- hey!” she whines slightly at his sudden actions. Trying to pry his hands away and retaliate. Only causing his body to tingle at the contact. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

He likes her. A lot. 

“When are you gonna realize huh” he mumbles to himself. Showing pity and letting go of her face. 

“Huh sorry what was that?” she says smiling while rubbing her sore cheek.

“Nothing nerd. Cmon pick up the pace, you're slow as hell” he rolls his eyes and continues walking to class, not waiting for her yet again. 

“Not my fault I have small legs!” she yells out and jogs after him, already falling behind.

She can't see it but his lips slightly curve up at her words. What an idiot. 

A few minutes before the bell, they make it to their classroom. Bakugo ignores his classmates as usual and makes a beeline to his seat. Sitting down and taking out his notebook. 

He can already hear Y/N chattering away in the background with some of their friends. Yet a few seconds later she's already at his desk to blab on about something else. 

Some of their friends come over as well to join in on the conversation. 

But his eyes never leave her. 

He may not know all the aspects of how to be a good boyfriend but for her, he’ll try. When the time is right. 

For now he could only wait for Y/N to figure out her own feelings. Which frankly might take awhile.

But Bakugo isn't worried. 

Because he knows she'll follow him anywhere. 

And so would he. 

[bbystark]

Heyyy <3 I have this idea about Simon and reader not being officially in a relationship and they have a fight where Simon makes it clear to her that he’s not your boyfriend so then reader has a date with someone else and he is jealous and idkkkkk

♡ jealousy ♡

simon "ghost" riley x reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

⚠︎ suggestive content, ghost being emotionally constipated

a/n: i am deeply sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for requesting anon!!

You and Simon had known each other for years. An unlikely friendship that started in competition, both of you trying to one up each other on the course, in the field, hell, even stupid shit like who can come up with the best joke. It slowly bloomed into a sort strange relationship that was mostly filled with comfortable silences in each other's presence.

Then you're sent on a mission with the 141, and it just has to go so fucking well, and Price just has to invite you along to their celebratory trip to the pub.

He won't admit that he was overindulging in cheap draft beer because the raggedy band tee with the cut off neckline you were wearing had your shoulders exposed and he didn't understand why he was suddenly looking at you like that.

It's not like it wasn't ever a passing thought, but Ghost tried not to think about that aspect of life, more happy to pretend like he didn't need the human contact. The touch.

There was just simply something about it being the first time seeing you in civilian clothes, relaxed and tipsy and smiling a whole lot. He doesn't like that it stirs something in him.

When he goes out to have a smoke, you're trailing behind him. The alcohol has his limbs feeling looser, his mouth, too.

"Cute shirt. " He takes a drag while his eyes drift over your figure. You blush, from the alcohol, he reasons.

"Thanks," You look down at your feet, nervous for some reason. "It's crowded in there." You give him a knowing look. You liked Ghost. You didn't know everything about him, but he was funny in a sarcastic way and you admired his commitment and focus. You'd like to think you're slowly getting closer the the mysterious man.

"Mm." Is all he replies, taking another slow drag. You try not to look at his exposed lips, the stubble dotting his strong jaw. He glances at you, and mistakes your stare as a silent question. "'Ere."

He takes it between his forefinger and thumb, extending his hand towards you. You're hands are full, grasping your phone in one hand and your drink in the other. In your tipsy state, you dip your head a little, grasping the cig between your lips. Then you make the fatal mistake of looking up at him, with the cigarette between your lips.

He reacts before he can really think about it. Grabs the cigarette out of your mouth, ignoring the surprised little sound you make when he pushes you against the side of the building, and kisses you.

After that night, he honestly tries to keep his distance from you, and ultimately fails. Instead he placates himself by convincing himself the little kisses shared in corners and weekend hookups after the pub doesn't mean anything serious. Just two friends, satiating the human need for sex and affection. Who cares if you spend quiet mornings staring into each other's eyes? It's normal. Not romantic at all.

Soap would call him a fucking idiot. He is one. Especially now, where both of you stand almost chest to chest, glaring at each other. He should back down, tell you you're right, that he's just so fucking scared, that he's a coward. But he doesn't.

"Doesn't mean a damn thing y/n." He spits out at you. You step impossibly closer.

"The fact that you can look into my eyes and fucking lie to me is astounding, Ghost. You know that we've crossed the boundary of friendship and that sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about it."

Ghost is panicking, but he doesn't let it show. This whole argument started because after a long night of fucking like rabbits, you had lazily laid you head on his chest, and told him you cared about him.

It's not like he didn't already know, he felt the same way. A deep pit in his stomach that churned when he thought about anything happening to you, when he thought about this thing ending between you. But hearing it out loud made it real, and it's not something he could cope with, apparently.

So now he's here, pissed off at himself and you for looking so damn kissable while you're angry.

"Jesus Ghost, fucking say something!

"'M not saying shit about this. It wasn't ever serious. 'M not you're fucking boyfriend, and I never will be. Get that through your skull." His voice is dangerously low, and he hates how his throat tightens up when he sees a flicker of hurt flash through your eyes.

It's gone almost as soon as he sees it. Replaced by a different burning. You take a step back, a sad smile on your face. You don't say anything, just turn and walk out of his room. When the door slams, Ghost lets his head fall into his hands.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

It's been a week since Ghost has talked to you. Since he's heard about the dreams you had the night before, or heard you snort over his attempt at a joke. Since he's been able to hold you, kiss you, mark you.

He's going fucking crazy.

Then he catches wind of your upcoming date, and he has no one to blame but himself. He considers sabotage, even straight up murder. Doesn't want to see you with another man and yet can't bring himself to just go to you and talk it out.

Until he sees your dress.

He leans against a pillar, smoking while he watches you get out of the car from your trip in town with one of the friends you'd made on base. You don't see him, lost in your conversation with your friend. But he sees you, and when you pull the dress out of the bag and put it against your chest, playfully giving a twirl and giggling at your friend who pushes your shoulder playfully.

It brings a smile to his face, the small moment of girlhood he was getting to watch. Then his eyes land on the dress. A dark red that compliments your skin tone. It's long, and strapless, and Ghost is fucking enraged that he's not going to be the one to see you in it.

He bristles at the idea of anyone touching you the way he does. Not just the sex, but the pure intimacy you share. The way you can look at each other and know what each other needs. The smile you reserve only for him, full of longing and want. It felt unnatural, being anywhere other than by your side.

As the evening approaches, Ghost grows more and more wary of the predicament he's caused. Before he can really convince himself not to, he's throwing his door open and making his way down the hall to yours.

As fate would have it, you open your door a few seconds before Ghost makes it there. You do a double take, hand still grasping the handle. You evade his gaze, feeling overly dressed next to him, clad in sweatpants and a compression shirt. You focus on locking your door, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

"Y/n."

You hate how you go silent when you hear your name fall from his lips. You sigh. "Ghost."

While you find it hard to look at Ghost, Ghost finds it hard to look away. He knew it, the red makes you look divine in a way that if he didn't know any better, he'd think you were some sort of ethereal being. His heart squeezes.

"Y'look gorgeous."

"Thanks." You stay silent for a beat, "I have to go, nice seeing y-"

Ghost reaches out and grabs your shoulder, reveling in feeling your soft skin and being close enough to inhale your sweet perfume.

"Y/n-"

"Ghost I can't do this right now I-," you pause, shaking your head and trying to find the words. "I like you, and it fucking terrifies me. I can't do it." You let the unspoken words hang in the air, the words that say you're heading somewhere with him that there's no return from, that if he runs at the mere confession that you care about him, how could you let yourself fall deeper? It knocks the wind out of him.

He's scared too. But something pulls deep into his gut and tells him he can't bear the loss of what could grow from your unconventional little relationship. He grabs your wrist gently, his rough hands engulfing yours.

"We can talk. Talk our fuckin' hearts out, do a whole goddamn podcast if that's what you want. I'm sorry I was a arse before. Lemme make it up to you sweet girl." His other hand hold your cheek, thumb stroking in soothing motions. You're at a loss for words, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. He chuckles.

"Now you're the strong 'n silent type huh?"

You halfheartedly shove at his shoulder. "Taste of your own medicine." You give him a small smile, resolve breaking.

His hands make their way to either side of your face. "I deserve that." His eyes stare into yours, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "But I don't deserve you, I know that."

Your smile drops a little. "We don't have to be boyfriend and girlfriend Ghost. I just wanna know I'm not the only one who feels the way I do about us, that's all. Don't wanna get ahead of myself and hurt us both." You shyly hold his gaze. He inhales sharply.

"Don't go on that date love. Stay 'ere, lemme make it up to you. Lemme show you exactly how I feel." His thumb traces your bottom lip.

You don't go. You stay right there with Ghost, who whispers sweet nothings in your ear as he unzips your dress and shows you reverently exactly how he feels.

[withwritersblock]

Blowing Smoke

~Blowing Smoke by Gracie Abrams~

Author's Note: requested! italics are flashbacks and how i met your mother is literally my favorite show of all time so when I saw this request nearly passed out. Summary: Quinn and Y/N have a complicated friends with "benefits" situation Warnings: implied smut Word Count: 4,136 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader

She sat down in the bar booth beside Quinn a groan leaving her lips. Kasey and Michael looked towards her suspiciously while Quinn was already watching her sit down. Frankie was off flirting with some girl in the bar, leaving the extra chair empty. 

“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” Kasey asked as she slid the small scotch glass towards her. Y/N immediately took a hold of it and chugged it. Quinn’s eyes widened as he watched her drink the whole thing. Michael tried to hide his smirk while he brought his own beer towards his lips.

“I hate my job,” she let out as she fought the burn of the scotch down her throat. “I swear I’m never having kids because of this job,” she slammed the glass down onto the table.

Quinn wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards his body. She rested her head onto his shoulder. Her lips fell into a pout as she met Kasey’s gaze. “What happened today?” Kasey asked.

The pair worked together for the last three years and is the whole reason why they in this booth together. Y/N was new to the area and needed a group of people to be with. Kasey was the only other person less than forty at the elementary school they taught at. 

“Three of my students got into a brawl and I got brought into the principal’s office,” she explained as she lifted her head from Quinn’s shoulder. She looked into his eye for a moment. 

Quinn cringed as he slide his drink towards her, “Maybe you need this a bit more than me,” he let out as he shifted his gaze towards around the bar. She gladly took a hold of it and chugged the remainder of the drink. She let out a hushed groan as she shook her head. “I’ll go get us another round,” Quinn offered as he stood up from the booth, tapping his hand against the table.

“You’re going to love them, it’s going to be a great group,” Kasey let out as she guided her inside the bar, the bar her and her friends hang at nearly every other night. Kasey began to guide them towards the group of three guys sitting in a booth that they seemed quite comfortable in.

Y/N held back looking towards the guy she hooked up with two weeks ago. Hooked up was a strong word but they had a lengthy make out and a romantic evening on a rooftop. He was looking at her with so much love for someone who was on a first date. She wasn’t looking for anything serious but by the way he was looking at her and kissing her; he was. She told him that she wanted it to be a one time thing and he listened and they haven’t spoken since.

“You okay?” Kasey asked as she spun around. Y/N blinked rapidly as she looked towards the three guys again.

“Those are your friends?” Y/N asked quietly. Kasey nodded, a small grin on her lips. 

“Oh god, did you hook up with Frankie? I’m so sorry-he’s-I don’t actually know why we’re friends with him,” Kasey explained while shaking her head.

“What about him?” she asked, her gaze on Quinn. Kasey followed her line of sight and her eyes widened. 

“Oh Quinn? Are you a Canucks fan? Of course you are, you’re from Vancouver-he’s harmless,” she ranted.

“No, I mean yes but we sort of-had a night together a few weeks ago. I don’t want to make this awkward, thank you for inviting me-I think I’ll just-”

“No, stay! Come on, there’s so much testosterone over there, I need someone to balance it out! Come on, he won’t make it weird,” she took a hold of Y/N’s arm and dragged her towards the table.

“I’m worried, I’ll make it weird,” she mumbled. Kasey chuckled as she walked towards the booth.

Quinn lifted his gaze and met her eye, he smirked as he squinted his eyes slightly as he brought the beer towards his lips fighting the grin. 

“Frankie, get up and get a chair,” Kasey asked, smacking her hand against his upper back.

“What? Why do I ha-” Frankie argued but Kasey smacked her hand against his back again before he stood up and walked away to get a chair. Kasey’s fiance moved and sat beside Quinn, letting the girls sit beside one another. 

“Boys this is Y/N, we work together and she is my newly found best friend so you better be nice and behave because I would like her to stick around,” Kasey said waving a finger between Quinn and Frankie, her finger staying pointed towards Frankie a little longer than Quinn.

Y/N smiled softly towards them before she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. “I’m going to go grab a drink,” she let out as she slipped out of the booth seat.

“I’ll join ya,” Quinn let out as he smiled towards Kasey, almost mockingly. 

“Behave,” Kasey whispered loudly. 

Y/N walked towards the bar, smiling towards the bartender ordering an espresso martini. Quinn leaned against the bartop, smiling towards her. She pursed her lips forward, keeping her gaze on the bartender, watching him make the drink.

“So have you changed your mind then?” he asked as he leaned his head into his hand. Turning her head, she met his eye fighting a grin forming to her lips.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Kasey when I agreed to hang out with her friends tonight,” she explained as the espresso martini was placed in front of her. Quinn gestured towards the bartender to put it on his tab. She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked into his eye.

“It’s my night for the tab,” he mumbled. The bartender placed a beer in front of him. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled as she brought the drink towards her lips, taking a small sip. “Are you okay with this?” she asked while glancing towards the table. Quinn looked into her eyes, almost searching for something.

“Yeah,” he said quite confidently, almost nervous. “As long as you don’t sleep with Frankie. You’ll be the third friend of Kasey’s to stop hanging out with us because of him,”

“Noted,” she let out laughing as the pair returned to their booth.

“I’m gonna get fired,” she let out as she rested her head into hands.

“They won’t fire you,” Kasey said as she rested her head onto Michael’s shoulder. “We’re in a teacher shortage, you know that,” she teased. Y/N rolled her eyes playful as she turned her gaze towards Quinn and a short blonde talking at the bar. He was flirting, she could tell by the way he was leaning against the bartop.

Her mood was already in the dumps but it was getting worse the more she was watching him flirt with a girl, he probably doesn’t even know the name off. Frankie stood behind the blonde, holding up a thumbs up towards Quinn. 

She felt the oxygen in her body dissipate as she continued to watch him talk with the girl. Their drinks were sitting on a tray in front of him but he was not attempting on bringing them over towards them.

Kasey turned around, “Oi Huggy bring me my beer!” she shouted. Quinn shifted his gaze towards the group, he began chuckling before he took the tray cautiously and began walking towards his booth table. The blonde girl huffed before she wandered towards a different corner in the bar.

“What if that was my future wife, Kase, you could’ve just ruined that,” Quinn expressed as he delicately placed the drinks down in front of them. He slammed the tray against his side as he looked into Kasey’s eyes.

“Sure Quinn, the girl with her tongue down Frank’s throat is your future wife. Sit,” she expressed. He spun his head around to see the blonde making out with Frankie against the bartop. Quinn laughed awkwardly as he left the tray on an empty table before he plopped back down beside Y/N. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her towards him.She rested her head onto his shoulder as she took a deep breath.

It was a common routine between herself and Quinn. If she was asked about her feelings towards Quinn three years ago, she would say it was merely attraction, but now she was not so sure. There was a handful of nights over the years that reflected the first night they met. It never went past a sleezy make out with their clothes on. It always ended with them cuddling and falling asleep in each others arms.

She brought her espresso martini towards her lips, taking a tiny sip before she rested her head back onto Quinn’s shoulder. He ran his hand up and down her arm. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered before he pressed his lips to the top of her head. 

Michael and Kasey shared a glance before they awkwardly brought their beers to their lips. Frankie soon took a hold of the empty chair, spinning it around as he sat down. “Look what I got!” he sang as he showed a napkin with the blonde’s number on it. 

He spun it around, “Vanessa,” he sang before he ripped the napkin and let it fall to the floor. “Quinny, she wanted me to give it to but I guess I lost the napkin,” he teased as he smirked before he brought his scotch towards his lips. Quinn rolled his eyes as he pulled his phone from his pocket to see a text from his younger brother Jack. He pulled his arm away from Y/N as he began to reply.

~~~

She was laying on the couch, her feet draped over Kasey’s lap as they were both scrolling through their phones. Michael and Frankie were in front of them attempting to get a new high score on Just Dance. Quinn was pacing back and forth adjusting his collar and running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. 

“My hair look okay?” he stopped behind the couch, looking down towards Y/N. She pulled the phone away from her face, looking up towards him, she hummed before she returned her gaze back to her phone. “You wouldn’t lie to me right?” he pressed further. 

“Quinn, it looks good,” she let out a chuckle leaving her lips. He nodded before he walked back towards the bathroom.

Despite being the captain of the Canucks, money everywhere at his disposal, but he still lived with his first ever roommate in Vancouver. It was only a few seconds before he stepped out of the bathroom holding two bottles of cologne. “Y/N, which one is better?” 

He held both bottles in front of her face, rolling her eyes playfully she leaned up and smelled both bottles. She smiled after she looked at the blue glass bottle, “That one,” she muttered. He smiled as he sprayed a few across his entire body. 

“You’re the best, Y/N!” Quinn said while jogging away. Y/N nodded as she raised her eyebrows while trying not to laugh. 

“What’s the name of this one?” Michael asked loudly while panting as the song finished. Frankie clapped his hands together while pointing his finger guns towards Michael, “Start it again,” he forced out.

Frankie started the game again, “Your funeral Atkins,” Frankie said completely normal, no sense of being out of breath.

Quinn remerged adjusting his collar, “Her name is Josephine and we met at that coffee place down the street. She has no idea who I am, which is great,”

“Doesn’t sound creepy at all,” Y/N mumbled, getting a laugh from Kasey. 

“It’s not because this could be it guys! I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” He let out as he continued walking towards the door. “I’ll be back!” he sing-songed before he stepped out of the apartment. Y/N shook her head while she kept her gaze on her phone.

Kasey delicately tapped her hands against Y/N’s thigh. She lifted her gaze from her phone to meet Kasey’s gaze. “Are you okay?” Kasey asked softly. Y/N blinked a few times before shaking her head slightly.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kasey pouted her lips. 

“I’m fine,”

Kasey leaned towards her, practically getting on top of her, “The love of your life just walked out the door on a date with another woman,” Kasey whispered. 

“He’s hardly the love of my life,” she shot back quietly while looking into Kasey’s eyes. “I don’t have any feelings,” Y/N expressed. Kasey huffed and stood up from the couch, dodging Michael and Frankie in the process. She walked around towards the back of the couch. 

Kasey motioned towards her to follow her. Y/N reluctantly stood up from the couch, Michael nearly smacked her in the head. “Damn, Y/N, you know not to get in the way of Mikey and Gaga,” Frankie joked as she stumbled away from the pair.

“Alright, we’re going to head home, Quinn are you coming?” Kasey asked as she started to climb out of the booth. Michael started to slide out too. Quinn shook his head as he brought his water towards his lips.

“I’ll head back in a bit,” he mumbled. Michael and Kasey smiled towards him before they started walking out of the bar. Quinn’s gaze followed Frankie who was busy chatting up a red haired girl that was definitely way out of his league. She seemed interested enough.

Quinn lifted his gaze to see Kasey talking with Y/N for a moment before her and Michael walked out of the bar. Y/N didn’t need to look through the bar to find Quinn. They sat at the same booth every time they were there. Which was nearly every night. They would only drink two nights they were there but it was their hangout spot. 

She pouted her lips slightly as she slide into the booth, the same side as Quinn. 

“Why is it every time you come here you have a pout on your lips,” Quinn teased as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Y/N rested her head onto his shoulder, he ran his hand up and down her arm. 

“It’s not every time,” she mumbled fighting the grin on her lips.

Quinn’s face scrunched while smirking, “It’s almost every time.” He leaned his head against hers as he stared blankly ahead. 

“Well you… guys always make me feel better,” she mumbled. Quinn smiled to himself before he leaned towards her, pressing his lips to the top of her head for a second. 

After a few seconds she lifted her head to meet his eye. His hand glided up her arm, running through her hair as he took a hold of her neck. “What are you doing, Quinn?” she asked softly as she rested her forehead against his. Their hearts were beating out of their chest as they felt like they were in their own little bubble. 

“Quinn,” she mumbled before he leaned towards her, delicately kissing her. She hummed against his lips as she took a hold of his t-shirt, tugging it slightly. 

“You have an apartment upstairs, we should head to your apartment upstairs,” he mumbled against her lips. She giggled.

“Let’s go to my apartment upstairs,” she teased as she slowly glided out of the booth, holding out her hand for him. He gladly took a hold of it as she guided him towards the exit of the bar.

“Oh yeah!” Frankie shouted as he saw them walking out together. 

Once they were upstairs, her small studio apartment was always there “secret” spot together. She shut the door and twisted the lock as she pressed her back against the door. He stood in front of her, shyly shoving his hands into his pockets.

She reached her hands up and delicately took a hold of the base of his neck. She dragged her thumbs across his skin as she looked into his eyes He pressed his lips together as he scanned her features. 

“What are you thinking?” she asked as she tilted her head back against the door. 

He smirked as he inched towards her, “I’m not thinking,” he mumbled as he leaned towards her devouring her lips.

Kasey took a hold Y/N’s arm and guided her towards her bedroom, to talk without the boys hearing. Not that they were listening much anyway. “Frankie said that you two left the bar the other night holding hands and that he saw you guys be all close and cuddly,” Kasey whispered excitedly as she forced Y/N to sit down onto her bed.

Rolling her eyes she pursed her lips forward. “It’s not like we had sex,” she mumbled. 

Kasey let out a dramatica groan as she sat beside Y/N yet she also laid onto her back. Kasey pretended to punch the ceiling. “So you’re completely okay with making out with him and then watching him go on a string of first dates pretending to find the one. When we all know the one is you,” she explained while dramatically using her hands to make her point. 

“I don’t know about that,” Y/N let out barely above a whisper as she laid on her back, following Kasey in pursuit. 

“Do you have feelings for him?” she asked as she turned her head to meet Y/N’s gaze. 

She didn’t want to say yes. She knew that Quinn was special from the moment that she met him but she wasn’t ready. Still didn’t feel totally ready. Because what does being ready even mean?

“I’ll take your silence as a declaration of love,” Kasey teased. 

“It’s not, it’s an I don’t know,” she muttered. 

~~~

It had been a month since Quinn’s gone on any date. Josephine ended up being a huge Canucks fan and wanted nothing more than to be involved with the captain. Quinn swore off dating after that, he was honestly terrified of the stalking that came with girls like that. 

Quinn stumbled into the apartment after a win by the Canucks where he had the game winning goal. Despite his friends having season tickets that Quinn paid eighty percent for because they insisted on contributing; they didn’t end up going to the game that night. 

Kasey stumbled out of the bedroom, her pajamas covering her frame. She threw her hands to the side, “Why do you insist on playing good when we don’t go? That’s so unfair,” she let out somewhat jokingly. She jogged towards him, pulling into a tight bear hug. 

“Then you guys need to start coming to every game,” he muttered as he chuckled. His eyes scanned the apartment, furrowing his eyebrows. “No, Y/N or Frank?” he asked softly. 

“They went out to a club or something, said that they were going to be each other’s wingman,” Kasey said, somewhat instigating. Quinn’s eyes widened as he nodded, he ran his hand across his chin.

“They went-like- together?” Quinn asked softly, meeting Kasey’s gaze. She nodded slowly, fighting the grin forming to her lips. “Cool, that’s cool.”

“One more time and I’ll believe you,” she muttered, raising her eyebrows.

“It’s cool,” he let out. She smirked as she started stepping back towards her bedroom.

“Okay, goodnight Quinn,” she teased before she slipped back into her room. Quinn nodded before he slowly walked towards his bedroom, directly opposite of Kasey and Michael’s room.

He stepped inside of his room and every hit he took during the game suddenly overtook his body. His entire frame felt battered and bruised. He took in a shaky breath as he took a hold of the hoodie on his frame, he pulled it away from his body, tossing it towards the corner of his room. 

He walked towards the small mirror hanging above his dresser, taking note of the redden and bruising jagged spot on his ribs. Clenching his jaw, he delicately ran his fingers across the top of the skin. He sighed as his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw that Y/N was calling him. 

Quinn lifted it up and brought it towards his ear, answering it. “Y/N, you alright?” he asked.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly. He furrowed his eyebrows as he felt his heart jump into his throat.

“You have a key to our place,” Quinn offered as he took in a deep breath. 

“Not what I meant,” she mumbled. He pressed his lips together as he fought a grin forming to his lips. He reached for the door and pulled it open. They both still had the phone up to their ears. He was the first to slowly pull it away from his ear, he quickly ended the call as he placed it onto the shelf beside him. 

She slowly pulled her phone from her ear, smiling softly. Her body was covered in a tight red dress and her hair was pulled awy from her neck. He scanned her frame. 

“Are you drunk?” he asked softly as he stepped back into the room. She took that as an invitation and stepped inside. Swinging the door shut, it closed quietly. 

“It’s Wednesday, I don’t drink on school nights,” she said with a grin toying to her lips.

“What are you doing here then?” he asked barely above a whisper, a small grin on his lips. 

“I am not sure,” she mumbled as she let out a sudden breath. Quinn bit his bottom lip as he took a hold of her waist as he cautiously pushed her against the door. She let out a small gasp as her eyes widened slightly. Her eyes lowered towards his frame, taking note of his bruising frame. “Oh my god,” she muttered as she delicately traced her fingertips across his bruises.

“It’s not that bad,” he said while holding his breath. She tilted her head to the side while staring into his eyes. He nodded as he stepped back.

“Got my ass handed to me tonight,” he muttered. She chuckled as she watched him sit down onto his bed. She chuckled as she walked towards him. His gaze followed her intently.

“I can make you feel better,” she mumbled. He smirked as he scanned her frame.

“How do you plan on doing that?” he asked as he leaned back on his hands. She stood in front of him, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Y/N,” he let out barely above a whisper. She took a hold of his cheeks, lifting his head up. 

“I’m gonna-” she muttered before she leaned towards him kissing him desperately, almost as if they’ve never kissed before. He reached his hands towards her, taking a hold of her waist as he pulled her towards him. 

Her fingertips began to run through his hair as they began to devour each others lips. She slowly climbed onto his lap as his hands took a hold of her thighs. His fingertips glided along her skin as he slowly ran his hands higher and higher up her frame. She pulled her lips away from his as she pressed her forehead against his.

“I’m gonna say it,” she mumbled before she pressed her lips against his again. He hummed against her lips before he tilted his head back, slowly opening his eyes. She met his gaze as she continued to slowly run her fingers through the ends of his hair. 

“I’m waiting,” he let out teasingly before he pecked her lips.

“You know this is really hard for me right,” she muttered. He smirked before he took a hold of her thighs, and tossed her onto the bed. Her eyes widened as he started to climb on top of her. Scanning her features, he leaned down and delicately pressed his lips against her cheek.

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled as he leaned towards her, he brushed his lips against her ear, “But I need you to say it.” he pulled back and met her gaze. She rolled her eyes playfully before squeezing her eyes shut.

“I have feelings for you,” she muttered before she slowly opened her eyes. He had a grin on his face as he looked into her eyes.

“What kind of feelings?” he asked teasingly. 

“Oh shut up,” she said as she took a hold of his neck pulling him towards her. She kissed him urgently as a giggle fell from his lips.

“This feels a little out of nowhere,” he mumbled against her lips.

“If you think three years is a little out of nowhere, you are hopeless,” she let out before she kissed him urgently.

[william-t-sickofyourshit]

The nurse was unbothered, clearly it wasn’t the first time she was hit on by patients or visitors (poor nurse, she was just at work!). But Sebastian was bothered, and immediately scolded Ronald. But Ronald of course, being himself, quickly reassured that he’s serious about Sonia and he was just joking right now. “Besides… you’re the one scolding me now? Picking on my love-life?” Ronald asked with a cheeky grin. “You seduced a local priest, Seb. I really don’t think you can give relationship advice.” he snickered.

But then something clicked in Ronald’s mind, and he realized that this was probably why William was always giving such amazing advice. It wasn’t just his ‘priest skill’ of being a good listener, he actually had experience.

“Well… yeah, I guess having actual real-life experience helped me.” William admitted, answering Ronald’s question. “But of course you’re right… how can we give you any advice when our own case is such a mess…” William sighed, upset that Ronald pointed out the obvious - they were doing something wrong, the secrecy was a huge deal, and this whole thing will be an actual mess once it comes out publicly. Right now, thinking about it, on top of Sebastian’s illness, was just too much.

All their other friends noticed that this conversation bothered William, so they came to the rescue. They changed the subject, calming Ronald down, and chatted more about school, about a party they will throw to celebrate once Sebastian is cancer-free, things like that. After all, they came here to cheer up Sebastian, and to make him feel better. 

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[salsakiyoomi]

ryomen sukuna is a hopeless man.

a king? sure. he was great and powerful, one might say evil — he was the king of curses after all, the title given to him based off of the curses he bestowed upon the kingdoms unlucky and foolish enough to defy him, all of that under the decades he ruled for.

that made him a great and fearsome king.

as a man though? oh, man.

it’s not that he's meek or anything but him as a man really boils down to you.

you make him the man he is.

or rather, love, made him the man he is — your love, of course.

you started off as a new concubine that became part of his harem five years into his ruling — nothing serious, just another concubine for him to pass the time with.

but then things started getting serious, really serious.

you piqued his interest to say that least, and that made him hate you.

well, not you, just…the way you made him feel.

he hated the way his heart skipped a beat whenever you laughed, and how he couldn't look at you for more than five seconds without feeling his ears turn warm, and the way his chest tightened with jealousy whenever he saw you around other men, and the way you looked so ethereal when you were under him, looking up at him so innocently that it made his heart rise up to his throat and all his focus was to make you feel good.

could it be that he was experiencing love?

it was a feeling so foreign to him, so new and dare he say, thrilling. sure, he hated it at first but he grew to crave your company and look forward to it.

he grew to love you, even though he thought he was incapable of so, it showed I the way he caressed your skin gently, and the way he held as if you could break any second, in the way that he spent most of his time with you, in the way that he came to dispose of the harem, and eventually propose to you.

you accept, of course, after all, you've grown fond of the king of curses as well.

your love made sukuna the man he is, molded him into the perfect image of a person that he could be for you and only you.

and you? well, you were the epitome of love to him.

sukuna may have been a fearsome king, but to you? he was nothing but a devoted man.

[jackdaw-kraai]

Comprehensive Anti-Body Odor Guide

Do you stink? Do you not wish to? Do you feel like you've tried everything and are at your wit's end? Never fear, I'm going to take you through every single thing I know about reducing and managing offensive body odor and feeling better about it, because point number one:

It's Not Your Fault:

Regardless of what advertising, social media, your peers, your family, intimate partners, or anyone else has told you, you're not morally inferior for struggling with your body odor, and it's not a sin on your part. You are a human being, and therefore, an animal. A mammal specifically. Your body naturally produces scents and odors for all kinds of reasons, including to signal something socially (yes, really) or as a symptom of something being wrong in your environment or body.

You are going to smell.

The thing I'm going to help you control is whether or not, to your own nose or that of others, you smell bad.

But know that even if you follow every step and tip and trick I give you, you are never going to be scentless or naturally smell like something other than a human being. Your body, naturally, will never produce scents like those of perfumes, soaps, or other things you and others consider pleasant.

This is okay.

You are not a flower, a fresh-baked pastry, a musk gland, or anything else. You are a human. You're going to smell like a human. I know this can be difficult to deal with, but that's a fundamental thing I need you to accept and be okay with before we proceed, okay?

It's fine and morally neutral to produce the natural scents a human body does, and fundamentally, you cannot change that.

All that being said, scent is an important sense to the human experience, and plays a much bigger role in our lives than we're popularly led to believe. You may have heard of the fact that taste is mostly smell, or that smell is the sense most strongly connected to our deep memory. This is all true, but smell is also an important way to gauge health and social well-being, which is why smelling in a way we consider bad can be such a struggle. Therefore...

Accounting For External Factors:

There are many reasons other than the topics that we're going to touch on that can contribute to offensive scents. Your cleaning habits, being sick, your general environment, it can all contribute to smelling bad.

First to address the heavy and serious stuff, because unfortunately, if this guide is to be as comprehensive as can be, it needs to be addressed. Head's up for discussions of addiction, mental health, abuse, and poverty, and how it can affect a life. If you're not up for it, but still want the tips, skip to the next enlarged, bolded heading where I'll continue to address more common, less heavy causes of BO.

Without further ado.

Sickness, especially addiction, can heavily contribute to body odor, and may not always be easy or even pleasant to deal with. Infections can smell bad. Smoking can cause some serious Bad Odor in your mouth, clothes, house, ect. Depression can contribute to being unable to care for basic hygiene, which, of course, can smell bad.

I need to reiterate: this is not a moral failing.

This is your scent functioning as intended.

Bad smells can often signal that something is Wrong with the person carrying it, in this case you. It allows you and others around you to know that there may be something going on in your life which either prevents you from grooming yourself properly, or cannot be groomed away at all. This is normal. We are a social species with social adaptations. Being able to know that something might be wrong with our troop, even if no one knows how to put words to it, is a vital survival skill, even in the modern day.

If your ear, privates, or other part known for being "dirty" itches, burns, otherwise hurts or irritates, and stinks, go to a doctor, you likely have some sort of infection or other minor injury that makes you more vulnerable to infection. Fungal, bacterial, and even viral illnesses and infections can produce some of the foulest scents you've ever smelled, and often throughout history this was one of our main diagnostic tools. Even today we still use it to note that something's wrong, with me telling you this in this post as a prime example.

Again, this is not you being filthy, or morally depraved, this is you being sick. However embarrassing it is, it's part of being human, completely normal, and treatments are often readily available. These kinds of issues can arise from all sorts of normal, every day activities, even issues related to your private areas. While certain activities I won't name at a risk of being censored can and do lead to these issues, other sources can be: sweating in tight or poorly breathing clothing, walking through nature, sitting on a surface that happens to have bacteria or spores, wiping after going to the toilet, using any kind of public bathroom even if it's cleaned regularly, and many other such riveting and scandalous activities. All this can happen even when fully clothed and if you wash regularly. It's normal, and a part of being human, I promise you.

Go to a doctor and get a diagnosis if possible, even if treatments are over-the-counter. Bacterial and fungal infections often have extremely similar symptoms, to the point even professional misdiagnosis is not uncommon if the professional isn't paying attention.

Common "alternative" treatments made from household ingredients and especially essential oils can exacerbate any symptoms severely due to being in large part comprised of nutrients that feed the infection (in case of things like herbs, garlic, sugar, and honey), insufficient disinfectant (hand sanitizer, drinking alcohol, mouthwash), or outright harmful chemicals (common cleaning products, essential oils, mouthwash). Please only use certified, and well-known medical treatments when handling these issues.

Incorrect treatment can worsen the condition and sometimes hurt like hell.

However embarrassed you are, please, please seek professional experience rather than trying to go it alone if at all possible. A misdiagnosis is unlikely to kill you, but can be extremely uncomfortable and prolong the issue. Resort to self-diagnosis only as an absolute last option if you cannot get a professional opinion anywhere else. If you're unable to afford or access healthcare, you might have to risk it, but try and search for possible accredited social programs and charities first.

If you are a minor and cannot trust your current guardians to help you, try and see if you can't confide in a possible school or extracurricular employee like a certified nurse or medic, and an other trusted adult failing that.

Only self-diagnose a possible infection as a last resort, I cannot stress this enough.

And always, always alert emergency responders if symptoms seem to worsen, as any infection you might have could turn septic if left untreated.

This can kill you.

I cannot overstate this enough, an untreated infection left to go septic can and will kill you. If you suspect you have an infection and symptoms aren't alleviating after a few days, if any discomfort you experience is bad enough to even partially incapacitate you, and especially if symptoms seem to worsen or spread, ignore all other instructions and immediately visit a doctor or call your local emergency services to notify them of your status. Even if you don't have an infection, none of these symptoms are normal, and you need prompt professional, medical assistance.

Mental illnesses and addiction are other illnesses which are often ignored or forgotten about when considering why you might smell bad. Even putting aside how these afflictions can make you more susceptible to more conventional illnesses, being unable to take care of your own hygiene is another signal that something is wrong, as grooming is another way to show health. If someone is in a poor state of grooming and doesn't seem to care, check in on them, they might need help for some other issue not immediately visible.

If you are the person suffering from these issues and any instructions further down the list are infeasible, ineffective, or unsustainable for whatever reason because of your situation, it's not your fault.

You are ill and need treatment before you can tackle other issues.

Being depressed to the point of being unable to shower or do laundry is not a moral or personal failing, it's an illness and these are the symptoms.

Being a smoker and having chronic bad breath and nicotine scent stick to your clothes isn't a moral or personal failing, it's an addiction, an illness, and these are the symptoms.

Being a drug user and having physical signs of your use or regularly being in a mental state where hygiene is impossible to maintain isn't a moral or personal failing, they are symptoms.

You are a person suffering from a severe illness, and your struggles with hygiene aren't a consequence, they're a symptom. Either the root issue needs to be treated for these symptoms to alleviate, or you need help in symptom management until such a thing can be achieved, if it can be achieved at all. There are many resources out there specifically for issues like these, and if you're one of the lucky ones, your social safety net is exactly what you are supposed to rely on in times of these. Even if you feel ashamed for needing these services, or are estranged from possible loved ones who might be able to help you due to your issues, please, reach out, and ask for help if you can.

It's a part of being human.

Anyway, all of this was already heavy, but there's still two main elephants in the room waiting to be addressed, so if you're still here, good job. I'm genuinely proud of you. This isn't easy to read, and if it's immediately relevant to you, even harder to confront. So. Take a deep breath. Possibly get up to walk a bit, get a drink, snack, whatever, and let's get back to it.

It can't be avoided when talking about hygiene. Poverty is a major factor in being unable to care for oneself in too many ways to count, and I will be upfront and say I have no personal experience with it, knock on wood. Therefore, while I'll try to be sensitive to the fact that hygiene, like so many other things, is a matter of resources and time, it has to be acknowledged that some of the tips, tricks, and advice I will give can be straight-up impossible for anyone living in poverty, working multiple jobs, caring for dependents, and any other kind of issue that means there can be a strain upon both the budget and time available to tend to one's body odor.

This is not a moral or personal failure, it's a consequence of the inadequacies of our modern society requiring people to sacrifice such vital things as time and resources to devote to personal grooming and maintaining a home. Therefore, while I will try to give alternatives to anything that might be extremely time consuming or expensive, some things just have to be acknowledged as infeasible on certain budgets for either money or time.

If that's you, you are not helpless or lesser, you're just dealing with more obstacles. Pick and choose whatever seems useful or possible from this guide, and I will try and give as much foundational knowledge as I can so you can devise alternative options where possible. This issue might be harder to deal with when impoverished, but with a bit of luck, hopefully you and I can still make progress wherever possible.

And lastly, we have to talk about abuse.

People in abusive environments or relationships often don't have full or sometimes any control over their time or resources. Trying to maintain personal hygiene in these kinds of situations can be next to impossible while also trying to remain relatively safe from the wrath of an abuser. All of the advice I will give in the upcoming sections assume at least a minimal allocation of purchasing power and control over one's schedule and actions. Some people in abusive relationships may be able to make use of them, some may not.

If this is you, I'm so sorry, and I promise you, it's not your fault if you're struggling. Even if your abuser insists otherwise, I need you to hear and trust this: it's not you, it's them. You're not crazy, unreasonable, slovenly, dirty, irredeemable, sinful, damned, disobedient, or anything else they say you are, you are in pain. You're in an impossible predicament, and anyone expecting you to be able to maintain personal hygiene with this kind of pressure is out of their minds.

Find whatever allies you can, severe contact with the person hurting you if possible, and take whatever you can use from this guide that you can. Anything else that seems infeasible or impossible without invoking the wrath of your abuser is immaterial and not your fault. It's their fault, in all honesty. All strength in your struggles, and don't worry about smelling like your fought a war when you're actively in the trenches. Clean up can come after you are safe.

Now, with all the heavy, hard stuff out of the way, and to everyone rejoining us here...

Comprehending Body Odor, The Basics:

Let's start there. What is body odor, and why can it seem so impossible to get rid of sometimes?

Well, unfortunately for you, there's no one easy trick that can rid you of bad smells forever, but rather a myriad of complicated factors that range from basic biology to modern social trends all contributing to why you can gag yourself with the scent of your socks sometimes.

Humans are animals, and the trouble starts here. Animals produce scents, and anyone who's ever been near one or owned one can attest to this cosmic truth. From our poop to our breath, bad smells can come from everywhere, but some sources are more obvious than others. Not pooping or peeing our pants is generally something we learn as a toddler and get better at as we age, so that handily eliminates one of the most common sources of foul smells.

Similarly, dealing with other odors is a learned skill, and one that changes as you get older. Everyone knows the stereotype of teens that smell like gym socks, but rarely do we discuss why this is the case. So, like so many things in the human body, it all comes down to biology and chemistry.

When we enter puberty, we start producing an absolute ton of hormones, and if that's you right now, I'm so sorry, I know it sucks, and all the annoying adults telling you it will get better do so because it's irritatingly true. Just try to survive and you'll get there. As for coping with the sudden influx of unpleasant smelliness, here's the deal. Your body is currently going through a lot of growth, some of it visible, and a lot of it very much not. One of the things currently kicking into overdrive is the production of your apocrine sweat glands, not to be confused with your eccrine sweat glands.

"What the hell are those??"

A thing that will plague you for a long time to come, but, not something that's unmanageable. Let me explain.

The human body is absolutely covered in sweat glands. Just completely covered in it. It's one of the things that makes us special in the animal kingdom, as sweating to this extent is something that's actually pretty rare. Only a few other species have the kind of sweat gland real estate we have, and of them, we definitely make the best use of it. See, part of our evolutionary success comes from being pursuit predators when we're not being grumpy omnivores. It means that instead of ambushing our prey or running it down, we just follow it. For hours. Until the prey is so exhausted it just can't run anymore and, hey! Dinner! Go team, good job, time to hit the showers.

Which we'll need, because part of this strategy, mechanically speaking, is getting rid of the heat our muscles produce as fast as possible so we don't collapse before that poor deer does. Other animals do this through panting, wallowing, sitting in the shade, whatever, but our ancestors didn't have time for that. All of that is either impossible or terribly inefficient while running, so instead what we did is reduce our hair coverage so the sun can more easily reach our skin, increase sweat production to levels almost unheard of, and allow these combined factors to ensure we're basically always walking around in a microscopic cloud of water vapor that acts as our personal heat sink.

It's extremely cool, extremely efficient, and unfortunately part of why you have to deal with smelling awful after you've hit the gym. You see, most of our sweat glands are eccrine sweat glands, which is cool, because these are the ones that mostly produce sweat that consists of water, salt, and a tiny bit of proteins. No big deal, you might feel gross once it dries on your skin, but it's basically odorless, and a quick shower and change of clothes is all you need to deal with that mess, easy peasy.

Unfortunately, this also kicks in your apocrine sweat glands, which also start to produce a lot more sweat, and here's where our problems start. You see, while this kind of sweat is the cause of your problems, it isn't actually the sweat itself that stinks. Sure, it's oily, and opaque, and feels gross, but it's actually as odorless as your eccrine sweat. Modified apocrine glands are actually what produce your tears, ear wax, and even breast milk in those of you capable of it, it's all so cool! Unfortunately, this sentiment is also shared by some of our microscopic fellow earthlings, and that's where we find the culprit of our stink.

You see, while apocrine sweat doesn't smell initially, it actually is designed so symbiotic bacteria living on our skin find it irresistible and start consuming it. Gross! But the worst part isn't that they're your dinner guests in the weirdest of ways, that's actually completely normal. It's that they're rude dinner guests and the sources of the smell that terrorizes gym locker rooms the world over! Their digestion of your apocrine sweat is what causes that stink, and unfortunately, there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Well...

Nothing you can do to stop it permanently.

But you sure as hell can make your displeasure known in the mother of all neighborly disputes.

First of all, let's tackle the source. Now that we know that it's not our sweat itself, but the bacteria that are raining on our parade, the solution is actually pretty obvious: anti-bacterial soap. If you're one of the unfortunate people struggling with reducing your BO, switching over to anti-bacterial soap and shampoo can really help kill the problem at the source, reducing the number of bacteria causing your issues, and allowing for it to take longer for the issue to come back. You will never kill off your bacteria population entirely, and frankly, you shouldn't, they're doing a lot of good too, despite being such rude dinner guests. But culling the population is a great first step in dealing with the problem, and paves the way for the rest of our steps.

And if you're sitting there like "well, that's fine and dandy, but sometimes I just can't shower, you ever think of that?" and first of all, patience, young grasshopper, I'm getting to it, and second of all, yes, I have! If you're one of these people who either can't shower or would need to shower more than you can be bothered to, try using either anti-bacterial wipes or, funnily enough, hand sanitizer with a high alcohol content. Wipes or pads used for cleaning cuts or scrapes and hand sanitizer make for easy portable solutions to a lack of access to a shower or the fucks to use one.

The locations of your apocrine glands that you can safely clean this way are your armpits, the sides of your nostrils, your perineal area, and some parts of external genitalia. We'll talk about that "some" later, but for now, those are the areas safe to wipe down with either a wipe or some hand sanitizer if you can't clean yourself otherwise. Dry shampoo will take care of the glands on your scalp, and baby wipes can take care of the eccrine sweat on the rest of your body if you feel extremely grody. If any other part of your body stinks especially bad and it's not on that short list, you can wipe that down too as long as it's not near any kind of orifice or mucosal membrane (the parts of your body you can touch that feel slimy, like the inside of your nose or mouth).

Now speaking of mucus, it’s time to get back to the genitalia part. Everyone try to stay mature for this, it’s important.

Let’s come out and say it: genitals can stink. They’re actually meant to, it’s part of the whole “social scent” thing, but too much is just too much, y’know? So needless to say, you gotta clean ‘em, but for everyone out there with the whole or partial set that’s more inside than outside there’s an important message: don’t smear fucking soap in there.

“But it stinks!”

It smells. It’s genitalia, it’s what it does, it’s fine.

“But I don’t want it to smell!”

Tough titties, you still need to stop smearing soap on it.

“It stains my underwear!”

I promise you, it doesn’t. Now, everyone who doesn’t have genitalia set that’s more internal than external might be wondering what I’m talking about, and to that I say, shush, this ain’t about you, just listen up.

I’m going to call it a… let’s call it a wallet, to make sure tumblr doesn’t twig and mark this as something it’s not. Your wallet has multiple folds, and a lot of cool properties, but one that’s immediately relevant is that the secretions you always have to deal with aren’t actually ph neutral, they’re slightly acidic. What this means is that those stains aren’t stains, they’re actually places your natural wallet secretions have bleached your undies a bit.

This ph also means you can fuck it up royally if you smear soap in there, so quit it. Rinsing with water will do just fine for the inner folds, and if you really must, you can lightly soap up the outer folds. Soaping it up will do more damage than good, and make you more susceptible to infections and the like. Similarly don’t do anything like douches, or other nonsense that shoves things up in there or smears it on it in the name of “cleaning” it. It’s right next to your waste disposals, and absolutely loaded with mucosal membranes, weird smells are to be expected and are fine. Just keep it clean with water and I promise you it’ll smell less bad than if you use soap.

Cool? Cool. Moving on.

But say it's not your body that's stinky. Say it's your mouth. Well, that too is something you can thank bacteria for, but thankfully is a lot easier to fix. Just do what your dentist recommends you to do, and brush twice daily or whenever your mouth feels gross. If you've got persistent problems, ask them about it. It might be something like a tonsil stone or other foreign object stinking up the place, and they can help you get rid of it easily. Again: doctors are your friends, and dentists are doctors of a very specialized profession.

So, now you're fresh as a daisy! You've either showered or wiped yourself down, you've brushed your teeth, and everything is puppies and rainbows! But we all know that doesn't last long if you've been reading this post up to this point, so how do we keep it this way?

Well.

Deodorant, Clothing, Cleaning, And You:

So we've tackled the skin layer of the issue, and if everything has gone to plan, you're smelling a lot better now! Congrats! But, of course, the real struggle is keeping it that way, so let's get into the weeds, because this is probably going to be a lot of things that you might have never considered before. So, to ease you in, let's start with something you definitely have: deodorant.

You're gonna need it.

I'm sorry, but you do. There's ways to go deodorant-free through life, but let's be honest, if you're reading this post, you probably aren't looking for that kind of lifestyle, so let's get into the thick of it. There's a lot of deodorants out there, but how do you know which one is for you? To put it bluntly, it's gonna take some trial and error, but here's a few guidelines to get you started.

One, you're gonna want something in stick form, preferably a solid stick of deodorant rather than a roller ball like you'd probably envisioned when I said "deodorant stick." Sprays and the like are easy, but if you're struggling with odor, you're gonna want a deodorant that will stick instead of rubbing off throughout the day like most do due to friction from either skin or clothing.

Two, go for something light on the scent. Scentless, if necessary. I know a heavy scent might seem more secure in masking any potential smells, but one, it doesn't, it just blends with the scent and creates a truly nauseating aroma. If you've been in a locker room and smelled a dozen dozen different deodorants and gym sweat mixed together, you'll know the truth of this. Aside from that, perfumes often irritate the skin, and we don't want to make it easier for the bacteria to propagate like they'd do on skin that's more vulnerable to infection due to being inflamed. Go for something lighter, it'll not only be kinder on your skin, but also allow you to actually smell when it's time to clean yourself again and reapply.

Three, look for a deodorant that moisturizes as well as blocking perspiration. It's great that you're reducing sweating, but your skin still kind of needs that moisture, so if you're damming up one source, you need to provide another to make sure nothing funky starts happening. Keeping your skin healthy helps prevent curing one problem by causing another, and irritated skin really isn't any better than smelly skin.

So now you have a deodorant. Keep it with you, along with some wipes, and you'll be set! But that's only half the battle, because all that sweat still needs to go somewhere, so here's the part where you might need to take some notes.

Here's the thing: we're gonna have to talk about fabric. Specifically the fabric you wear and sleep in.

The majority of our bodily filth actually gets absorbed by our clothes and bedding, including our sweat, so if you wanna stay clean, you're gonna need some clean clothes. This is easier said than done, though, as what your clothes are made of matters too, but let's start with some basics.

Here's a rule of thumb if you have no idea where to start: any fabric that touches your skin should be washed after a single day of wear. Everything that touches that layer should be washed after about three times wearing it. Everything that touches that layer should be washed every week.

Mind you, this is a rule of thumb for things you can wash. Suit jackets, genuine silk, leather, ect. obviously goes by its own rules, but if you're struggling to know how often to wash something, don't know how to sort which fabric can tolerate being worn more often than others, or just don't have the time to sort things, this will do in a pinch. Mind you, this is will also wear out your clothes faster if you don't know which garment can tolerate what, but we'll get to that.

Starting from the skin, let's talk about each layer as we go. If you struggle with BO, I recommend switching out your underwear every single day, minimum. Twice a day if you think you can handle it in terms of laundry and the like, once after waking up, once before going to bed. Socks follow the same rules. Wash these garments at 60 degrees celsius, or 140 degrees fahrenheit to prevent any build-up of smells.

After that, we're on to shirts. Tight-fitting tshirts, button ups, blouses, and the like should be washed after every wear. Most people will say you can wear them twice or thrice before you need to wash them, but we're not most people here. We're dealing with stink, and we want to get rid of it, so swap that shirt after every time wearing it. Wash at 40*C, or 100*F for best results if the fabric can handle it.

Pants are tricky, and we'll get more into them later, but if you air them out after each time wearing them and haven't sweated profusely in them, you can wear them three or four times before needing to wash them. Skirts are similar, and if they aren't of a tighter design like a pencil skirt of similar, you can add a wear or two to that number. Wash at the same temperature as your shirts if you can.

Dresses are similarly tricky, but if you're wearing them directly on the skin and have a fitted bodice (the torso section), you need to treat it the same as a shirt, and wash it after every wear. Same washing instructions as pants or shirts.

Pajamas should be washed every two times wearing it, as you sweat in your sleep as well, and sleeping in your bed doesn't help the matter. Wash at 60*C or 140*F with your underwear and socks if possible.

Your bedding should be washed every four to seven days, depending on how much you sweat in your sleep. Yes, really. Yes, I know that's a chore. You're gonna need to do it, sorry. It's a lot of fabric you wallow in, sweat in, and sleep in for eight hours per day, and that's gonna contribute to smells if you don't clean it regularly. Invest in a mattress protector as well, so sweat doesn't seep into it and start to fester there. You'd be surprised how rank a mattress can smell if you sweat on it for eight hours a night, every night, and how that can contribute to you smelling rank after said sleep. It's the reason why you should also put said mattress on an actual bed frame instead of the floor, so air can circulate underneath it and keep it from looking like the bottom of that rock you turn over in the park after a rainy night.

And with all that said and noted...

None of this matters if you don't take note of what your clothes and bedding are actually made of. Because there are fibers that will help you and fibers that will stab you in the back by smelling awful no matter how often you wash it, and I'm gonna tell you which are which.

First of, linen. If you struggle with smells, linen is better than wool, cotton, silk, and anything else when it comes to smells. There's a reason it was the primary fabric of indo-european world since the stone age, and there's a reason I'm recommending it now, and that reason is this: it's the best when it comes to staying clean.

It wicks away sweat, making sure you don't feel icky as well as minimizing smells. It breathes, allowing sweat to actually evaporate rather than remaining trapped against your skin. It helps regulate temperature, feeling cool in the summer and warm in the winter. It lasts for actual, genuine centuries if treated right and can be boiled and beaten to clean it without suffering negative effects. And as a cherry on top, it's mildly exfoliating as well due to the structure of the fibers, absorbing even more filth that would otherwise contribute to feeding the stank bacteria and your BO.

If you learn anything at all from this post, learn that linen is the best fabric bar none to wear against your skin.

Wool is the next best, absorbing moisture like nothing else while remaining dry to the touch, breathing better than most cottons, a lightweight wool will actually keep you cooler in summer than cotton will, and you rarely need to wash it at all as allowing it to air out will take care of most scents and sweat from daily wear. Love wool, adore wool, she's giving us e v e r y t h i n g.

Cotton is third best. This is essentially your economy option if you can't afford, thrift, or otherwise get a hold of the first two. It's decent at absorbing moisture and breathability. It'll handle both heat and cold in a pinch. It won't hold on to most scents if given a thorough wash, and most relevant of all, it's the easiest to find and afford in our modern world.

Silk is kind of the odd one out here, as it's merits aren't in being a skin layer, but an outer layer. In aesthetics it's unmatched, and it's lighter weight than wool while being surprisingly warm. The downsides to it are that it doesn't breathe easily or absorb moisture, meaning it's a very poor choice to wear directly on the skin unless you're fond of swamp ass.

And last and definitely least.

Synthetic. Fabrics.

Look, I'm going to level with you. My hate for synthetic fabrics didn't start as an altruistic "it dumps microplastics in the water with every wash, is literally just plastic, and awful for the environment." It started as it just being the worst at being a fabric. It doesn't breathe at all. It cannot absorb as it is plastic. It won't keep you warm for shit, and the worst, the absolute worst.

It absorbs and holds on to smells. No matter how often you wash it.

If you sweat enough in a synthetic garment, it'll start hanging on to that scent at some point and good luck getting out at that point.

Genuinely, if you struggle with body odor, check the labels on your clothing and bedding, and see how much of it is synthetic and to what percent and then consider how easily you start to stink in them. I'm genuinely not crunchy or hippie or anything like that to most degrees, it's just not my lifestyle, but I'll die on the hill of natural fibers as being infinitely superior in everything except price, and frankly, that's because in clothing if you buy cheap, you get cheap.

If there's one thing I recommend, it's buying or thrifting clothes that are as close to 100% natural fiber as is possible, and researching what types of fabric are best for your needs. Denim, for instance, is often 90% or more made of cotton, but due to the way it's woven and constructed it's awful for wicking away sweat and breathes like shit. If you struggle with BO, consider getting pants that aren't jeans. It'll really help with odor in your more private regions, as well as swamp ass and similar. Heck, consider skirts or kilts, nothing will breathe like that, and you'll have more legroom than you know what to do with!

All this goes for socks as well. If you struggle with stinky feet, get some genuine woolen socks, lightweight ones for warmer weather too. They'll keep your feet dry and minimize the development of smells. Airing out your shoes also can help, same as your jacket.

And lastly.

The Niche Points:

If you're still struggling, and let's be honest, every single body is different, so you still might, there are some remaining things to consider.

Nutrition is one of them, as a diet heavy on meat will cause worse smells on either end of your digestive tract than one heavier on veggier. Now, I want to be clear: this is not a call to go become vegetarian or vegan or any other kind of diet. If that's your calling, that's your business, but it's important to consider that meat and fish and even mushrooms all have very important nutrients in them that contribute to your health and keeping your body healthy. And as we've discussed earlier, an unhealthy body smells worse than anything that eating meat could cause.

What I'm saying instead is that if you know you've eaten a meal heavy on meat, fish, or similar, you can opt to brush your teeth more thoroughly than you normally would, as well as perhaps using something like a mouthwash your dentist recommends (never use mouthwashes without recommendation, guys. Dental hygiene is not a joke, and just because it's sold in a supermarket doesn't mean it's automatically good for you. Bread is sold there too, and I think celiacs would have some opinions about assuming it's healthy for everyone to eat).

If you think nutrition might be a cause for either your digestive processes smelling worse than usual or you being more susceptible to things like yeast infections, talk to a nutritionist or your doctor. What you eat is more important than you think for your daily hygiene, and a change of diet can help more than you think.

On a similar point, if you've tried all of this and you still find yourself surrounded by smells that make you gag, consider giving your place of residence a deep cleaning or hiring a professional to do so. Cleaning too is a learned skill, and some people are better at it naturally than others. This doesn't mean you can't learn, but it also means there is no shame in paying or asking for assistance if you find you need it.

The Conclusion:

Body odor isn't something we often talk about as a serious factor that can affect someone's self-confidence and general happiness, nor what it actually means when someone struggles to manage it. It's often the butt of the joke, but rarely do we consider the underlying issues that we're making fun of.

Teenagers, adult slobs, college students, sufferers of mental illnesses. We all have a stereotypical picture in our minds of rooms covered in dirty clothes, dirty dishes, and of course, greasy, crusty, stained and ripped clothes with a cartoony little cloud of flies hovering around the subject's head. But think about that image and what it really is: a failure of one of the most base instincts the human species has. We are, all things considered, a clean species, and don't let stories of filthy peasants throughout history fool you.

We have a wealth of evidence of bathhouses throughout every kind of civilization, washing fabrics as a respectable profession, hygienic products older than the pyramids, and mentions of perfumes and fine clothing as old as civilization itself. Humans want to be clean and smell good, we always have. A failure to do so is, as with many things thoughtlessly ridiculed, a worrying sign of either a mind in trouble, or thoughtlessly neglected in the education of how to keep clean.

We're born as near-blank slates, and generally acknowledges as needing to be taught not to defecate in our pants. But somewhere along the line that grace disappears, and the knowledge of how to deal with smells effectively and thoroughly is assumed to be simply known. And as such, a failure of simply knowing is judged a moral or personal failing.

This is bullshit.

People need help in all kinds of matters, hell, we need to be taught how to do sex. The thing that ensures our actual species doesn't die out! If we can agree and acknowledge that even that information isn't truly inborn, but taught, we can do the same for other awkward, unpleasant, and mildly embarrassing topics.

Like what to do when you just don't know how to deal with smelling like a stinky gym sock, and are at your wit's end. So let's handle it with some grace and kindness from now on, yes? At least on this post.

And in that spirit, if anyone else here has a recommendation for how to deal with specific stubborn stanks, or has a specific kind of problem I haven't addressed, I hope you all will take such answers and questions in the respect I've given, and treat each other kind.

[sakashq]

Love Drought. jude bellingham x fem!reader

🤍 summary: After his move to Real Madrid, Jude hasn’t been the same loving boyfriend you once had.

🤍 wc: 600+

🤍 warnings: y/n usage. I HATE IT. oh and angst! sorry guys 💕💕💕

🤍 yap! this is based on my current situation i fear 🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️ i swear this is the last time i’ll bring my ex into my work💔

🤍 my girls <3 EXTRA SPECIAL dedication to @hrts4havertz because she is jude’s wife i fear. and to @ar4ujos @halfwayhearted @iovepoem @joaoflms &&. @planetpedri

Flexibility was always something you were capable of. So when your boyfriend Jude signed a contract for a team in Spain, of course you agreed to make the move for him. You loved the beauty of Spain anyway and ended up residing in the heart of the country. Besides, if things didn’t work out, you would still want to live here. You had made new friends and gotten a better job than the one back in Germany — life was just better in Spain.

Until it came time for him to actually play for the team. With Dortmund, Jude was amazing at balancing both you and his career. But now at this higher-level club, it seemed like he had just pushed you aside and only worried about his new club. It was great that he was focused on making the team proud, but that left zero time for you. Whenever he was home (he was always out with his new teammates), he’d barely acknowledge you and brush things off. Your friends called it the “Madrid curse.” Once signing with the team, they brainwash you. Obviously it was a silly joke, but sometimes it lingered in the back of your mind. Was this club destroying your relationship?

You never brought it up because you didn’t wanna seem selfish. He’s focusing on his career, he’s doing big things! That’s amazing, is it not? If you brought it up, it’d just make you seem like a jealous girlfriend. Even if you kind of were.

It got to the point where dates didn’t happen either. Someone who used to try and take you out once a week now only glanced at you once a week, every other time getting ready for football or hanging out with his new football friends. It was all him, him, him. Never any time for you.

Okay, that’s fine. He’s trying to establish relationships with his new teammates. But what about the relationship he already had? The one with his loving and loyal girlfriend that moved across the continent for him? Why was there no time for her?

For the first time in ages, the two of you were sat on the couch together. You sat away from him, sitting in nothing but silence. He looked over at you, raising a brow.

“What’s the matter with you?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t seem too fine. Talk to me,” he responded, his body now turned and facing you.

You stared blankly at him, unsure if you really wanted to talk to him right now. You sighed, deciding communication was probably needed in this situation. “You barely have time for me anymore. I get it, you’ve joined a new club and you need to bond with your teammates. But do you really need to every night?”

He looked at you, almost as if he was going to laugh. “So you’re jealous of Vini, Aurélien, and Eduardo is what I’m hearing?”

“Jude, I’m being serious.” You looked at him, your face and body language very solemn.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, hear me out. You get ready, dress and wear whatever you want however you want and I take you wherever you wanna go.”

You frowned saying, “You don’t get it. Weeks of craving your attention, and you think it’ll just be resolved by one date. It’s just gonna go back to the way it was afterwards.”

“Well what do you want me to do, Y/n? I’m trying here,” his voice raised a little, startling you. “I can’t make time for Madrid and you.”

Your face dropped, your heart going with it. If you weren’t upset then, you definitely were now. What did he mean by that? “So you could with Dortmund but you can’t now because it’s a slightly bigger club? You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“It’s a lot more draining with Madrid, Y/n. You don’t get it,” he shrugged.

“No, I get it. It’s fine, do what you wanna do. You’re gonna realize how good you had it when it’s gone.” You got up from the couch, grabbing your car keys off the coffee table and heading for the door.

Jude got up, ready to chase after you immediately. “Y/n, come on, we can talk about this. Y/n.”

You opened the door, shutting it behind you. Jude followed not too long after.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. Okay, that was a dickhead move. But you leaving doesn’t solve the problem,” he told you. He had a point, sure, but you were mad at him. No way he was gonna win. He was just worried about whether or not you’d be coming back. He loved you dearly, even if he wasn’t currently showing. You leaving upset with him destroyed him. The thought of something happening to you while you were still mad at him paralysed him. He didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself if something happened.

“Okay, what?” You turned around.

“Come back inside,” he pleaded, his brown eyes begging with him.

Not giving in to his pleas you replied, “No. I can’t get a conversation with you and now you wanna talk. I’m done trying.”

“I know, I know, I fucked up. I didn’t mean what I said, I was just… saying stuff. I don’t want to lose you.” Your heart broke seeing his face, shattering into a million different pieces. Maybe he really wanted to try, or maybe this was just a manipulative move to get you to stay. Either way, you couldn’t help but feel awful. “Please just talk to me.”

You sighed, not responding but walking back over to him. And after a lengthy conversation, everything was okay again. It wasn’t like how it was before, but things were starting to look up. You two agreed to communicate more and take days off just to spend it with each other. After all this, it ended right where it started— the two of you sitting on the coach together, this time with you in his arms.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can I please request Astarion with a flirty yet oblivious plus size Tav? In the way that they do flirt because it's fun and light like their companions/friends with benefits thing, but they think that their feelings are unrequited (because of some slight insecurity about their size) until Astarion is like I actually like you and Tav is like '???' (Idk if that makes sense lol) Thank you!

-------------------------------🩸-------------------------------

“So, Astarion, what is your actual type?”

“My ‘type’,” Astarion repeated at Shadowheart’s question as they traveled, “is such a broad prevue. I can’t think to narrow it down to just a single collection of words.”

“That’s a unique way to say you’re a trollop.”

Tav snickered at Shadowhearts retort, getting a stern glare from Astarion. “What? It was funny?”

“Pft. And here I was going to say you, my dear, but if you’re going to be so incredibly cruel.”

“Aw shucks. Always a bridesmaid I suppose.”

During their journey together, Tav had grown very fond of Astarion. He was a little shit, but deep down he was very funny and undeniably charming (although not for the ways he tried to be). The two of you had picked up a friendly banter over your time together, sometimes even flirty, but only that. And Tav was fine with that. Well aware that a handsome rake like Astarion could have his pick of the litter, and they were just happy to be considered a friend.

Later that night, while everyone was finishing their day and slinking off to bed, Astarion came over to Tav by the fire to sit with them. “You know I really meant it earlier by the way.”

“Meant what?” Tav asked. Lost, by this point, on what he was talking about.

“That you’re my….‘type’.” He seemed loathed to use the word. Even scrunched his nose. Tav just laughed.

“Yeah. Right. I’m sure.”

“No, really, I mean it.” He insisted.

“Come on Astarion, the only way you’d be interested in me is because I’m a a keg instead of a flagon.” Tav gestured to themselves and their full frame. “I have ample blood to spare.”

Astarion frowned. “Yes, your blood is certainly a bonus, but that isn’t why I care for you.” He huffed and crossed his arms dramatically. “Honestly, why does everyone think I’m not being serious when I am?” Astarion asked with a bit of flabbergast. “Is it something about my expression?”

Tav looked more than a bit flabbergasted at his remark. They didn’t really think they liked them….that way. Friends sure. Allies, of course. But romantically? “You…really have feelings for me?”

“Ugh! What is it with you new generation and wanting to put a name to everything?” Astarion bemoaned. “Feelings. Type. Can’t we just enjoy this for whatever…this is? All I know is that out of all the people in this whole wicked world I would want to be stuck with, it’s you.”

“Gee, that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” Tav teased.

Astarion frowned again, but then leaned in close to Tav so all they could see was his piercing red eyes. “I could wax poems for you, if you’d prefer. How your eyes are the stars. How your curves are roads I would never get tired of roaming. How your ample bosom feels like a place to call home. All true, but you’re so much more to me than that.” He moved back to sit in his original spot. Wrapping his arms around his knees at his chest as he looked into the fire. “You’re the first person I’ve trusted in…well ever. You mean more to me than just your body. Though, again, that is certainly a bonus. I had hoped….you feel the same about me.”

Tav blushed, but then quickly gathered their voice and told him, “yes! Of course.”

Astarion seemed relieved. Then leaned over to give Tav a simple, sweet peck on the cheek. “Good. Now, get some sleep. We’ll probably have a completely eventful day tomorrow as well. You’ll need your beauty sleep. Not that you need it, of course. I’ll keep watch until the morning.”

Tav smiled, blushed again, and then went to their bed roll. Tentative in accepting Astarion’s confession & feelings, but hopeful it was all true. Perhaps, for once, they could really be the bride instead of the bridesmaid.

[nowimjustastranger]

Just a little gift for my bestie Phoenix, aka @flame-cat, because they were in a car accident recently. But thankfully they're okay! This was actually inspired by an outline for an interaction between the brothers that they shared with me privately, so enjoy 1.5k words worth of stangst y'all!

Ford scrubbed a hand over his face with a frustrated groan, fingers knocking his glasses askew. He couldn’t afford to have his body fail him now, not when he had an exam to study for. But what he wanted didn’t change the fact that his eyes had started to outright refuse to focus on the words in the textbook five minutes ago, an annoyingly persistent migraine pulsing behind his eyes.

To make matters worse, the landline rang. The shrill sound made the bothersome migraine go from a mild three all the way up to a solid eight on his tolerance scale, which made his temper flare. Ford snatched the handset off the cradle with a growl, reluctantly bringing it to his ear.

“Stanford Pines.” He bit out, adjusting his glasses with his free hand so they sat on his nose properly. When his prickly greeting didn’t garner a response outside of what sounded like labored breathing, Ford scowled. Great, it was his mystery caller again. Just what he needed on top of an already stressful day.

“I refuse to keep entertaining these prank calls, so if you call again I’ll be notifying–” Ford began in a stern tone, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Stanford.”

Stanley. That was Stanley. Why was his brother calling him at –Ford stole a glance at the clock– two in the afternoon? What could he possibly want? Well, whatever it was, he wouldn’t be getting it from Ford. He had already given up so much because of Stanley’s selfishness, he wasn’t about to give him the opportunity to worm his way back into Ford’s life–

“…Sixer?” Stanley asked, a breathless quality to his voice that brought Ford’s anger back down to a simmer. Why did Stanley sound like that? His breathing was short like he wasn’t taking full breaths, but there was still a measured quality to each inhale and exhale like he was breathing that way on purpose.

“How did you get this number?” Ford asked bluntly, bracing his elbow on his desk before letting his forehead drop into the palm of his hand, resigning himself to having this unexpected yet long overdue conversation with his estranged brother. Maybe Stanley had realized the error of his ways and called to apologize? Yeah right, fat fucking chance of that.

“Ma passed it along.” Stanley grunted, his tone laced with pain, and Ford could certainly relate. He didn’t want to be talking to Stanley any more than Stanley wanted to talk to him, which begged the question: why exactly did Stanley call him?

“Of course she did.” Ford grumbled, suddenly feeling every hour of lost sleep hitting him all at once. He was exhausted. He was tired of trying to fend Ma and her mission to reconnect him with his brother off, tired of walking on eggshells during his monthly calls home just to avoid saying the wrong thing and causing unnecessary drama, and he was tired of putting up with the part of him that still cared about his brother.

“I… I think my ribs are broken.” Stanley said quietly and Ford’s brain shrieked to a standstill, his grip momentarily going slack on the handset as he tried to process the implications of such an ominous statement, forcing him to fumble with it until he managed to press the receiver back against his ear.

“What?” Ford barked, tone incredulous and concerned in equal measure. He resolutely ignored the way that his hands trembled, his grip white-knuckle tight on the handset.

"My ribs. I think–” Stan cut himself off as his breath hitched, a pained hiss following shortly after. Ford found himself leaning forward, blankly staring into the middle distance as he strained his ears to hear every little shift in Stanley’s breathing, trying to assess his brother’s current state. “Nevermind. Shit. Not important right now.”

“Not impor– You can’t be serious, Stanley!?” Ford seethed, lurching out of his chair, uncaring as it tipped back and crashed to the floor as he began to pace. He made sure to stay within the range that the cord allowed him, but he simply couldn’t sit still when Stanley was hurt and possibly even suffering from a head wound considering that he wasn’t making any fucking sense–

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I just…” Stanley spoke in starts and stops, his breathing strained as he spoke through what sounded like clenched teeth. “I need…”

“What? What do you need? What happened?” Ford prompted with urgency, fingers curling and uncurling anxiously. He had to know. He couldn’t estimate the severity of Stanley’s injuries without more data, right now he was left with what his imagination could produce. He needed facts in order to combat the increasingly horrible scenarios that his mind was dredging up.

“Car crash.” Stan said on an exhale and Ford nodded even though his brother wouldn’t be able to see it, pinching the bridge of his nose as his useless brain fixated on those two words.

“What else hurts? Or is it just your ribs?” Ford asked tersely, moving back to his desk with a determined stride to grab a piece of paper at random along with the pen that he had tucked behind his ear earlier. He scribbled down Stanley’s comment about his potentially busted ribs and then let the pen hover as he waited for Stanley’s –hopefully detailed– analysis of his person.

“I dunno… stomach hurts. Kinda swollen.” Stanley mumbled, sucking in a sharp breath as he presumably prodded at the area in question.

“Lightheadedness? Nausea?” Ford pressed, his heart lurching into his throat as several injuries came to mind, internal bleeding being the most likely explanation. Stanley had already displayed textbook signs of internal bleeding, such as disorientation and shortness of breath.

“Both? Feelin’ a bit sluggish too.” Stanley admitted, the muted rustle of clothes indicating that he had adjusted.

“Is the cord long enough for you to sit down?” Ford asked, looking up when the door opened and Fiddleford stepped into the room. Ford frantically waved him over, writing a message for Fiddleford in the notebook before sidestepping so he could read it when he hurried over.

“I think so? Lemme just…” Stanley huffed, Ford splitting his attention between the sound of Stanley gingerly lowering himself to the ground and Fiddleford’s rapidly paling face as the man read through Ford’s notes of Stanley’s wellbeing.

“Stanley? Stanley, are you there?” Ford prompted when there was nothing but harsh breathing for several seconds, sharing a look with an equally rattled Fiddleford.

“Yeah… yeah ‘m here.” Stanley panted, his speech slurred, and Fiddleford hurried from the room to contact emergency services with a different phone. As soon as Ford got a location, he would relay the address to Fiddleford and then stay on the line with Stanley for as long as he could before the call cut out.

“Where exactly is ‘here’, Stanley? Where are you?” Ford asked, rapidly tapping his pen on the notebook just to have something to do since he couldn’t get his hands on his brother like he desperately wanted. He hated feeling so useless.

“Uh… outside a 7/11.” Stanley said weakly, his voice barely a whisper.

“Which 7/11?” Ford demanded, his eyes narrowing. Either Stanley was losing consciousness, or he was losing his grip on lucidity. Neither were ideal considering the circumstances. Ford didn’t have enough information to confidently deduce how hurt his brother was. These could be Stanley’s last moments and Ford was wasting his breath giving him the third degree instead of saying anything of value–

“Um… I dunno.” Stanley said with the vocal equivalent of a shrug and Ford suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to scream.

“An address, Stanley.” Ford clarified in a clipped tone, impatiently tapping his foot as emotions built up in his esophagus, bubbling up despite his best efforts to stuff them back down into their vault. This could be his last opportunity to say something. Anything. Ford couldn’t squander this rare chance, couldn’t let Stanley fade away without knowing that his big brother lo–

“I dunno, s-somewhere in New Mexico, I guess.” Stanley murmured, sounding a little less strained but just as tired. Sitting down had eased some of the stress that his body was under then. Good.

“Just stay there, Stanley. You hear me? Don’t move.” Ford said sternly, speaking slowly and clearly so Stanley’s muddled brain could register the words and damn well heed them. Ford knew that Fiddleford could triangulate Stanley’s position using the phone call, but he wasn’t going anywhere until the call ended.

“M’kay.” Stanley agreed, his voice so quiet that Ford wouldn’t have caught it if his entire focus hadn’t been on his brother. Ford ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the roots and tugging as he stared down at the notebook, bloodshot eyes roaming over his messily scrawled notes.

“I’ll meet you at the nearest ho–” Ford assured, unceremoniously cut off when the line abruptly went dead. “–spital.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“God fucking damnit!” Ford snarled, slamming the handset onto the cradle with excessive force before turning on his heel to sprint out of the room and track down Fiddleford. Then Ford would take over the call with emergency services while his roommate used his skills to locate Stanley, sending an ambulance to him.

College could wait, Ford’s brother needed him.

[innorogers]

Heliophilia

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Why are you always hiding from him?!

Warning: Fluff / Fluff / Very Fluff / Comfort / Very Comfort / Sooth?

Characters: OC, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Natasha Romanoff

Also: This a new series ❤️ It's called: Burning Sun ✨

As far as Steve Rogers had been led to believe, the world adored Captain America—the symbol, the shield, the unwavering ideal. And not just the world—his teammates, the Avengers, and everyone he led—they liked him too. Sure, he was serious, but he was also kind, funny, and always a gentleman. He combined the decisiveness of a commander with the empathy of a brother-in-arms, leading not from arrogance but from an innate understanding of his soldiers’ hearts.

But beneath the weight of the shield and the praise, there was always one person whose gaze seemed to cut through the surface, treating him with an odd distance. It wasn’t disdain, though sometimes it felt close, nor was it indifference. It was something more elusive, more personal—a quiet tension that stirred between them.

Yeah that was the polite Jane Austen version.

In reality…

"What is wrong with her?" Steve exhaled after you’d given a laser-focused, perfect-in-every-way mission report, nodded politely, and walked away. Turning to Natasha, he finally voiced the question that had been nagging him for what felt like a million years: "Am I some kind of monster?"

"Who? Captain Agnes?" Natasha barely glanced up from the game on her phone, one she’d started five minutes after the briefing meeting started. "Why would you say that? Why are you picking on her… ?" Again.

"It’s just…" Steve ran his hand through his hair, a little more frustrated than he cared to admit. "She’s so… polite."

"Last time I checked, that was a good thing."

"And she’s always so… distant. If I’m standing here, she’s in the opposite corner, or hiding behind the curtains." That last part was an exaggeration, of course. You never actually hid from anything, but it felt like a metaphor for the way you always seemed far away from him.

Natasha didn’t blink. "I’ll tell her to sit on your lap next time."

"I’m nice." Steve said, walking by her side, nodding and smiling at everyone who greeted him with a courteous "Captain."

"Yup, you are."

"And respectful."

"No one like you, Cap."

"So why is she so strange to me?" Steve couldn’t understand. You’d been working together for almost two years, and still, your answers to him were: "Yes, Sir." "No, Sir." "Yes, Captain." "No, Captain."

Sometimes he ran into you in the halls or elevators. He tried making small talk—"Had a fun weekend?" "Yes, Captain." "Nice weather." "It is, Captain." But he quickly realized it was better to smile and endure the awkward silence.

You never looked him in the eye. You always looked at the floor. Sure, the Carrera marble on Level 2 was impressive, but it wasn’t that fascinating.

"So, is this a ME problem?" Steve resigned. He constantly reflected on himself, but this time, he couldn’t figure it out.

Of course it’s a YOU problem, Natasha thought, rolling her eyes. She had lost that level of her game anyway, so she pocketed her phone and shook her head. 

"Look, she’s just a tough player, alright? She likes to keep people at a distance. You can’t blame her for not being a social butterfly. And she’s like that with everyone."

"No, she’s not. She’s relaxed around Clint, Vision, and Bruce," Steve argued, he knows that because you typically confined your hair in a sleek ponytail, but when you are at ease, you start arranging it by letting it cascade, and he seems you do that sometimes when you talk with these folks. Those lucky bastards.

"She has casual conversations with Tony, talks about pilates with Maria, and she’s practically friends with Sam."

"Everyone’s friends with Sam," Natasha gave him a 'duh' look. Then, resigned, she said, "Look, just talk to her."

"Talk to her?"

"Yeah, like normal people do." Natasha gestured between the two of them. "Tell her how you feel about the way she acts and maybe that you’d like to… be closer."

"I…" Steve wanted to say he tried so many times, but then he asked himself: why his immediate response wasn’t ‘I don’t wanna be closer I wanna know what’s going on’? Maybe it is because being closer is what he really wants.

"And maybe then you’d know why…" Natasha added, shaking her head. Everyone knows why, Rogers. The girl had been in love with you since day one.

“And Steve…” Black Widow opened her mouth but then decided to shut up. She glared at him and just said it in her mind: maybe you don’t want to smile like that when you are thinking about her? It’s a little creepy. 

But she just smiled: “Talk to her tomorrow, you know, in a casual…encounter? So it doesn't sound like you are giving professional feedback about her behavior.” She waves her head in a suggestion: “You know, tomorrow's Family Day, I think it's a great chance to chat…”

“Hmm…” Steve nodded, hesitant. Good idea. 

Miss Heleana Christensen from the Data Department was a girl everyone loved. 

Silky skin, a petite figure, wavy brown hair, and dimples that appeared when she smiled. She wore large, round glasses that constantly slid down her nose, which she’d push back up with a finger now and then. When she was deep in thought, her lips would purse tightly, making the dimples on her cheeks flicker in and out of view—she was that kind of girl-next-door everyone adored, not just for her looks but because she was so damn cute.

Her job wasn’t fun—in fact, data analysis? Thank god there were professionals handling those never-ending Excel sheets and querying big data in the infinite Stark Industries database. 

But she worked hard, striving to perfect every task, because she wanted the ‘mightiest heroes, the best team in the universe’ (her words) to receive only the most accurate and flawless reports. She put all her effort into making sure everything was right. 

She actually believed she was saving lives, not excels.

Who wouldn’t like such a hardworking sweetheart?

So when Helaena asked Captain America if he wanted a coffee at Stark Industries’ Easter Charity Event, aka Family Day, with her sparkling eyes and cute dimples peeking from her smile, even Steve Rogers—who was always careful not to give any colleagues the wrong idea—found it hard to say no.

Family Day was held the Saturday before Easter every year. On that day, employees brought their families to the outdoors (the massive private Stark Industries compound) for games, picnics, barbecues, and maybe a picture with the Avengers for their kids to show off at school. 

It was a huge thing, and almost everyone attended. Though family members were encouraged to come, most attendees were single, turning the event into something of a casual dating scene.

“I would be honored.” Steve smiled, accepting her offer, and of course, he wasn’t about to let her pay for the coffee. Ever the gentleman, he bought the coffee and cake himself, but when he went to pick them up, he noticed you behind the counter.

Fuck, you didn’t have the chance to hide.

“Hey.” Steve smiled at you. A little surprised. He actually was looking for you everywhere.

“Captain.” You glanced at him once before quickly lowering your eyes, instinctively taking a small step back. Ugh…look at you: white t-shirt, jeans, and a ridiculous pink apron with a coffee stain you poured on yourself two minutes ago. You really wished you were wearing your blood-stained, sand-covered badass gear instead, but no, you had to be like a first day in work barista.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, glancing up at the booth sign. “I thought this was the data team’s booth?”

The charity event was set up like a kermesse, with each department having its own booth, and all the proceeds going to Stark’s foundation. As if that would add any zeros to its wealth.

“Um… I’m just helping out a friend,” you replied softly, forcing the least awkward smile you could. “What can I get’ya?”

“Oh, um… two cappuccinos. And… I don’t know…cake?” He blinked a few times as he scanned the menu.

“The apple pie just came out hot.” You brushed a strand of hair covering your face, feeling yourself blush. “And I think it’s low-calorie?” You say that, but what the fuck would you know? You rolled your eyes at yourself in silence.

“Sounds great.” Steve smiled warmly. “I’ll take two, thanks for the calories heads up.” 

He handed over the cash, but in an awkward moment, you missed grabbing it. The bill slipped onto the counter, and as you both reached down to pick it up, the moment your fingers brushed his skin, you recoiled like you’d touched a live wire.

“I am so sorry.” That was dumb as fuck. And you called yourself an elite soldier with these reflexes? God help this planet because you surely couldn’t.

“No, my bad.” Steve chuckled, shaking his head, and wondered—why are you acting like this, AGAIN? Was he really that intimidating? 

Just as you turned to get his change, a voice called out from behind the booth, “Yo, I’m back! Thanks for covering.” Your coworker returned with a big smile. “Hey, Cap! What can I get ya?”

“Hey, George. Got everything I needed already, thanks.” Steve greeted him with a smile and handed over the order. You were already stepping away, untying that ridiculous stupid stupid! apron.

Steve wanted to say something, but then a voice called from behind.

“Cap!” Sam appeared, clapping Steve on the back. When he spotted you, his grin widened graciously. “Oh man, did you finally make a move? Did you ask her out?”

That made you freeze. Your hands paused, still hanging up that pink thing. You held your breath, not daring to look back. Or to breathe. Damn it, Sam.

Steve exhaled in exasperation at Sam’s not-so-subtle comment. “I gotta go.” He muttered, giving Sam a warning glare. “Knock it off.”

“Oh shit.” Sam whispered, watching Steve hand the coffee to Helaena as they walked off together. Clicking his tongue, Sam shook his head. “That was awkward.” 

Then when noticed you trying to walk away unnoticed, he approached with a sigh.

“You know…” Sam leaned in a little with a knowing smirk, “You should tell him something if you want anything to happen.” He tilted his head toward Steve, who had walked off with Haelena but still glanced back at you once more.

“I’m not…” You rubbed your forehead. “Is it that obvious?”

“I mean, no… not to everyone. But I’m The Falcon, ya know? Top-tier observation skills. So yeah, I noticed.” He grinned brightly. 

“And so have Natasha, Tony, Wanda, Vision, Bruce, Maria, Clint, the Parker kid, Thor, the cleaning lady, your crew, my crew, even the bald guy with only one eye… you get the idea.”

“Great.” You were mortified. Maybe asking for a mission to Saudi Arabia tomorrow would be a great idea so you can get the hell outta here.

“Well, since we’re on the subject,” Sam added casually, “I think he knows, too.”

“What?” Nope, Saudi is not gonna do. Asgard now, sounds quite far enough.

“And I think he likes you, too.” Sam continued. “So maybe stop acting like a teenage girl, and be the badass sniper you are? Ask him out for a drink or something, I’ll bet first rounds he’d say yes.”

“I…” You didn’t know what to say. “I… I’m not…” 

And your gaze wandered back to Steve, who was walking with Helaena, his smile as gentle and radiant as ever.

That smile.

It was like sunshine cutting through clouds, golden rain filtering through the mist at dawn. Warmth that chased away the darkness, scattering any lingering shadows.

You sighed, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m not…that.” you finally said, looking at Haelena. 

Look at her: she’s cuteness in person. The kind of girl who could open her heart and arms, ask for hugs and kisses with a bright smile, make people feel lucky to have met her, bringing sunshine, and stirring feelings of tenderness or protection.

You lacked many virtues, but self-awareness wasn’t one of them. You knew exactly what you were: ashes of war, bullets cracking in helmets, blood and sweat, sleepless nights, anxiety, stubbornness, and severe insomnia.

“Exactly.” Sam smiled at you, his tone encouraging. “You’re just the most badass woman I’ve met…”

He paused.

“...after Nat, Wanda, Pepper, Maria… but you know…”

“Nope.” You laughed softly, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think I am.” At all. 

So Family Day hadn’t gone as expected. Steve had done plenty of talking, just not with you.

He hadn’t seen where you’d been all day, so his last chance was on the bus taking everyone back to the facility. He noticed you slipping into the last row. As the door closed behind him, the bus started moving, and he caught glimpses of you in the front-row mirrors.

You sat alone at the back, no one nearby. Should he move closer? This might be his chance—maybe his last one—before you returned to your usual role as the distant, official soldier, always holding up an invisible shield against him. 

Steve sighed, watching you. The sunset cast a glow on your silhouette, drawing a golden line in your contour, you looked like an ancient Greek statue, frozen in time and in eternal beauty, taking his breath away.

Then, without warning, you stood up, and Steve frowned. 

What's wrong?

The attack hit before he could even turn around. 

A missile struck from the right side of the bridge, blowing half of it apart. Fortunately, the traffic was sparse, but the explosion left a massive hole, and several cars couldn’t stop in time, plunging into the gap.

The air filled with the acrid scent of burning debris as the bus windows shattered. The bus collided with other vehicles that had braked suddenly, crashing several times before finally stopping. Instinctively, Steve threw out his arm, shielding those around him from the impact.

"Is everyone alright?" He called out, standing up and scanning the bus. His eyes anxiously searched for you among the dazed passengers. Natasha and Sam had already jumped out of the broken windows, moving into action.

"Open the door!" Maria, blood trickling down her forehead, kicked open the rear exit, supporting a nearby passenger. "Everyone out!" she urged.

"Three V65 drones." You muttered, pressing your hand to a cut near your eye as you struggled to your feet. The ringing in your ears from the explosion made it hard to focus. 

"Northwest direction... G9 missile. Fires every minute and a half, maybe two." You reported aloud while helping Maria guide people off the bus.

"Evacuate everyone," Steve sighed in relief after finally seeing you. "Everyone." He repeated, his eyes locked on you.

But, of course, you didn’t consider yourself as "everyone." You were already off the bus before he could called you out. After helping Maria get the rest of the passengers out, you returned to the back, retrieved the gear, and took cover behind an overturned car.

“I’m a minute away,” Tony’s voice buzzed through your comms, accompanied by the hum of his suit. “I’m with Sam in the air. We’ll get the people near the river out first.”

“Make it quick!” Maria ordered, firing behind the defense line Steve had set up amidst the chaos. “Who the hell are these guys?” A second missile whooshed through the air just as she finished.

Iron Man deflected it with a repulsor blast, but much of the enemy fire began targeting him in midair. He barely managed to destroy the missile that posed the biggest threat before getting hit by another shot, almost knocking him out of the sky.

The missile struck the riverbed, shattering the bridge’s support. The ground beneath you began to tilt as cars slid down into the chaos, dust and debris swirling around. But the enemy fire didn’t stop.

"Sam, break through their front line!" Steve commanded, dodging falling cars as he raced up the slanted bridge, pulling Maria with him.

“Watch out with the cars rain!” Natasha called out with a hint of amusement, also making her way upward, dodging vehicles sliding into the water. "Feels like Washington all over again."

“Washington wasn’t that fun, we weren’t even there…” Tony quipped from above, just before stopping mid-sentence. "Cap, behind you...!"

Steve spun around, but he was too late. Two gunshots echoed, and a figure appeared in front of him, taking the hits meant for him.

You hit the ground hard but got up quickly, clutching your wounded shoulder, your fingers digging into the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Before Steve could react, you had already raised your gun, aiming past him. He hesitated, stunned, but two more shots rang out, passing a hair's breadth from his skin, followed by the grunts of fallen enemies behind him. 

He couldn’t even process, and you were an all blur of motion, storming past him like a whirlwind.

You kneed the first attacker in the jaw, grabbed the second by the elbow, twisted his arm until you heard a ‘crack’, and used his own knife to dispatch him quickly. Then turned his weapon on the third, shot him down before he could even trigger the damn thing.

"Damn!" Sam muttered, watching in awe as you moved swiftly, fiercely.

Two bullets weren’t enough to slow you down. Pain was good. It kept you sharp, focused.

You surged forward like an arrow, calculating distances, the wind, mapping enemies at your sight. 

You were pissed. 

No, pissed was not even close to describing it.

You were furious. 

The thought of anyone attacking him like that, of him being hurt, filled you with a fire that made you faster, deadlier.

This was the kind of soldier you were—driven by adrenaline, pain sharpening your senses, your fury igniting your determination, making you more dangerous with every wound. And that anger... oh that was just the cherry on top.

"Enemies at my 12." You reported, spotting the last of them. But before you could act, the ground beneath you cracked, and you slid down as the bridge crumbled.

Massive chunks of concrete tumbled into the water below, the steel and iron reinforcements snapping like fragile threads. You fell along with the debris.

“Get her!” Steve’s voice broke, filled with panic. "Now, Sam!!"

"On it!" Falcon swooped down, grabbing you just in time, lifting you across the collapsing bridge. As soon as you landed, you were already moving, sprinting ahead.

"Where are you going?" Sam shouted.

"The sniper’s that way!" You yelled back, leaping over overturned cars. "VG5 ammo—they’re likely still in the same spot. South of where I was."

You were fast, crouching down, and aiming. "Wind at 30 km/h, bullet speed at 400 km/h..."

"Distance: 200 meters..." You steadied your breathing, focusing. "This shouldn’t be a problem.." you muttered, despite the pain throbbing in your shoulder. Your left arm was nearly useless, but you gritted your teeth and kept your eye on the target.

You just needed to focus. 

You’ve done this shit a hundred times and in worse conditions. 

So, focus.

Two shots, and one of the snipers fell. The others scattered, but your bullets found them quickly.

"Wow..." Sam whistled in disbelief. "Girl…I didn’t mean this when I said ‘go back into badass mode’."

He reached to pat your shoulder, then noticed the blood soaking through your uniform. "Shit, you’re hit."

"You're hurt," Steve arrived seconds later. "Let me see—how bad is it?" His voice cracked with concern. “What were you thinking?! I could’ve blocked those shots with my shield…Why..." The thought of what could’ve gone wrong—the bullet straying, Sam not reaching you in time—tightened a knot of fear in his chest.

Before he could inspect your wound, you collapsed from blood loss.

Steve caught you just in time, lifting you gently as a groan escaped your lips.

"Nice catch, Cap," Sam quipped, still finding time to joke.

"Shut up!" Steve snapped, uncharacteristically irritated, as he cradled you in his arms. The scent of blood filled his senses as he looked down at your pale face. You hadn’t completely passed out, but you were clearly in pain, biting your lip to stay silent.

As he carried you, you curled away from him, avoiding contact. 

Damn, why are you doing this again? Steve almost grunted in frustration, but then he saw your pale face and his heart just clenched.

"You’re making this hard for me." Steve sigh as giving up, he spoke as softly as he could. 

"Here, let’s..." He gently moved your arm around his neck, tucking it in place. "There, better?"

"I... I don’t want to stain your clothes with blood," you muttered weakly.

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared at you, trying to not lose his temper in your stubbornness, frowning slightly. "You saved my life. And you’re hurt."

Quickening his pace toward the medics, he added. "You could burn all my clothes and I wouldn’t give a damn."

Of course nothing happened between the two of you after that attack, Steve was too busy getting his hands on whoever the fuck that was behind the attack, he was outraged. 

Well, not only him, the whole Level 1 and above were in the same state, like…who the fuck would dare to attack the Avengers so publicly? They felt invaded and insulted, even if the whole enemy team was captured or eliminated, that didn’t take away the fact that everyone went through danger. On family day!

Steve was pissed. Not only because all the investigation took 90% of his time, but also because he didn’t even get the chance to see you while you were lying in the hospital. All that stuff he was planning to tell you in a private and emotional state? Didn’t happen, at all. 

“What do you mean she’s been discharged?” Steve demanded, after reviewing your health report on the tablet. He set it down sharply on the desk and looked at Maria, his tone serious. “It’s been three days. She took two shots to the shoulder. How could she be discharged so soon?”

Commander Hill received the “I told you to go easy on this topic” look from Sam, and scowled to Steve: “I…don’t make the rules? She is level 1, Cap, I don’t think she received the same treatment as in a regular hospital…I bet this is where Stark’s healing magic tech kicks in.”

“Shit.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Alright... fine. Do we know where she is?”

How in the world would I know? Maria thought but offered, “We could track her mobile. It’s probably on 24/7.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Steve didn’t want to do that, to intrude your privacy, but he was worried. He didn’t even know why, or…as whom was he worried, as your supervisor, your team mate, your fellow work pal? Like, you weren’t even that close. 

“Yes. Do it. Send her location to my phone.” Grabbing his jacket, he added, “I’ll be back in a few.”

“…” Commander Hill opened her mouth to say something like ‘I gotta more important shit than crashing to your crush’s mobile’, but Steve already left the room, she looked at the completely silenced room full of all the Avengers, and just did a ‘what just happened’ face. 

“Five bucks says he doesn’t get the girl today.” Tony broke the silence.

“Yeah, I’m in.” Clint was the first to respond, followed by Nat and Rhodey.

While the others were placing bets on your so-called romance, Steve was already tracking your phone. At first, he thought the GPS was glitching because it was leading him to the MET.

Actually, it was working perfectly (Tony would later smugly confirm that). You were at the Captain America exhibition, which had been relocated from Washington to New York after the Smithsonian became a crater, courtesy of a Helicarrier.

Steve slowed down when he found you in the exhibition hall, his steps halting completely when he saw you.

It was a weekday, during work hours, so the place was nearly empty. 

The natural light streamed in from the ceiling, casting large patches of sunlight that quietly illuminated your silhouette as you sat on a long bench, bathed in a soft, glowing light.

Your gaze floated, like a gentle river, to the black-and-white photograph on the wall in front of you.

It was one of the few preserved images of Steve before the serum. Back when he was a slender, delicate young man with refined features, frail and thin.

Steve barely remembered looking like that. These days, all he saw in the mirror was his current self—tall, strong, healthy. Now, standing in front of that photo, he found it almost unfamiliar, though he could still faintly recognize the determination in those unchanged, resolute eyes.

But you—he was looking at you. Your gaze was so tender, your head tilted slightly upward, a faint smile playing at your lips. The soft curve of your mouth radiated quiet contentment, and in your eyes, there was nothing but the reflection of that photograph.

Nothing but him.

That’s when Steve knew.

There was nothing else, in your eyes, but him.

All his nervousness and uncertainty melted away, replaced by a sudden warmth and joy.

Leaning against the wall, Steve realized he had the same look on his face. You were gazing at a photo of him, and he...was gazing at you.

And in his eyes, there was nothing else, but you.

You heard the soft echo of footsteps behind you and turned slightly, freezing in place when your gaze met his.

He was standing in front of you, every inch of his silhouette outlined by the backlight. Just his presence, just being in his shadow, made you feel incredibly safe. For a moment, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. But instinctively, you lowered your gaze, flustered.

You wanted to hide. You felt like a mess—a bandaged shoulder, probably some ash still in your hair, and the faint smell of the hospital clinging to your skin. But he was already sitting beside you.

“I used to get sick a lot back in those days.” Steve said, his eyes on the picture of his younger self. “Whenever the seasons changed, I’d get fevers and runny noses.. Spring was a little better, but the pollen made my asthma unbearable. And summers...” He sighed. “Brooklyn was a nightmare. Hot and humid. My joints ached constantly. Joining the army was probably the worst idea I had, but I was stubborn.”

He laughed softly. “Stubborn as hell. When it comes to what I want, the goals I’ve set... and the people I care about.” 

His eyes never left yours, and you could see your own bewilderment reflected in his steady gaze.

“I don’t buy it for a second... that you don’t know.” He said softly, pausing for a moment before you lowered your eyes again.

You wanted to hide, but under his gaze, there was nowhere to escape.

“If you were so afraid... why did you take all those risks for me?” Steve asked, his voice quiet. Why were you so fearless on the battlefield but treated him like something to fear in everyday life?

“I remember everything, you know?” His voice softened, distant as he recalled the past. “All the risks you’ve taken. Sometimes... reckless, bold...”

He shook his head, a mix of frustration and admiration in his voice. “God, I remember our first fight, you broke enemies lines, just to get my shield back…I was desperate, and then you come back with that…impeccable yet stubborn as fuck attitude ‘I’m sorry Sir but I had to do it’ shit, drove me crazy. I didn’t know what to do. You wouldn’t step back, and I knew, even if I suspended you, you’ll just go and do the same stupid and impulssive thing next time.”

You smiled faintly, looking down. Of course, you remembered. You had a scar on your back from that mission. One you wore with pride.

“So why?” Steve whispered, searching your face. “Why would you risk everything... and then hide?”

“What about you?” You asked, finally looking up at him. “On that plane, at the end of the war, why did you stay until the last moment? You could’ve escaped before it crashed into the frozen sea. I’ve seen the reports. You could’ve swam away. Why did you stay until the explosion?”

“I couldn’t,” Steve answered without hesitation. “The stakes were too high. If it didn’t explode in the sea, it would’ve been New York. I couldn’t let that happen, not even a small chance. I’d rather die than…” He stopped, getting your point.

“Right?” You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “…than having that risk?”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Your sincerity, your determination—it made his heart ache.

Goddamn it…Why do you have to be so obstinate, inflexible, reckless…loyal, brave and fierce? He would spend the rest of his life worrying as fuck, fearing for this willingness to sacrifice attitude of yours.

Almost instinctively, he reached out and covered your hand with his. His voice barely above a whisper.

“What are you afraid of?”

Your lips move, you want to pull your hand away from his grasp, but you find yourself without the strength. 

Because you wanted him. 

As a leaf growing from a seed breaking out from the ground and reaching out to embrace sunlight and warmth. To embrace life.

You want to hold his hand back, feel his palm against yours. You know that feeling him, would be enough to know that all is well in the world, that there’s nothing left to fear. You could exist freely and quietly behind him, fearless. 

This wish. So strong yet so powerless, makes you so vulnerable, you could barely exist in his presence. 

You hesitated for a long time, trying to put the words together, trying to tell him the truth yet not burden him, and finally, you speak in a low voice.

“If the ending is something you can’t bear... isn’t it better to avoid it?”

Steve stood silent for what felt like an eternity. 

“I promise you.” 

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your cheek and lifted your chin so your eyes met his.

“There will be no ending.”

You could barely breathe at these words. Yet your heart was beating so strong, so fast, so loud, you felt it was going to explode.

“I'm scared too.” He sees your expressions, your broken soul, your fear of heartbreak and the endless uncertainty to lose something you longed for a lifetime. 

“But…” He cupped your face in his hands as if you were something precious, something he had been waiting for his whole life. 

“Being with you…it’s worth it, I’d rather have you and risk heartbreak than not have you at all.” 

The sunlight bathed you both, it was so bright and dazzling that it brought your eyes with tears.

“And I know I can’t change you,” Steve continued, his voice filled with quiet resignation. “You will continue to be this… badass goddess of war, in the first row of any fight, any battle to come. But I’ll try my best to shield you, from any danger, any suffering, or any pain. I’ll do my best. With all I have.” 

“No.”

Your expression shifted, and after a few heartbeats, you slowly smiled up at him.

“There’s no such thing… as suffering, pain, or danger…” You whisper, finally turning your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes seem to shimmer with unshed tears. “Not as long as it is with you. I’ll take it all, I’ll walk on fire and…”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, his lips claim yours.

That kiss… wasn’t gentle as you imagined. Instead, it’s forceful, filled with a possessive intensity. Maybe it’s because Steve has been holding back for so long, and now, that surge of determination finally breaks free.

His urgent need to have you, the longing that had kept him restless for so long, felt like a crashing wave, carrying with it all the emotions he had hidden away. Steve’s hand cradled the back of your neck while the other wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

It was like every first kiss in the world, filled with breathless exhilaration and the glorious wonder of a starry night. 

His lips claimed yours with an intensity that took you by surprise, yet it felt natural, inevitable, as though this moment had been written in the stars long before either of you existed.

You didn’t realize it at the time, but something in Steve shifted. It was as if he’d made a silent vow in that kiss—one you couldn’t hear but could feel in the way he held you, how he kissed you like the world was ending.

In the quiet of the exhibition hall, surrounded by photographs and memories of his past, none of that mattered to him. Not the image of Captain America, not the accolades, not the expectations.

In that moment, it was just Steve, kissing the woman he loved. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t care who saw. He didn’t care if the whole world was watching.

Every poster, every photo hanging on the walls was of him, of the man everyone else expected him to be. But right now, none of that mattered. He was making a choice, and it wasn’t for show, wasn’t for the sake of his legacy. It was for you, and only you.

The world beyond the walls blurred. There were no battles, no looming responsibilities, no enemies lurking in the shadows. Just the two of you, as though time itself had slowed to witness this one fragile moment.

As your lips parted, both of you breathless, your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, feeling the shared pulse of your heartbeats.

There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but the words wouldn’t come. You were there, in wonderstruck, as standing in the middle of a vivid dream.

Steve spoke first, his voice hushed but filled with a resolve you’d rarely heard before. 

“I’m not going to let you run away again,” He whispered, his hand still gently cupping your face. “Not from this. Not from us.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze—those same resolute eyes that had stared back at you from that black-and-white photograph, unchanged by time or transformation. You knew then, with the same certainty as his, that there was no running away.

You won’t run. Or hide.

Not anymore.

End, but probably will continue ;)

Oh yeah, I love this fierce yet fragile OC. This is actually the translation of an original piece I wrote back in 2021? Originally in chinese so I'm SO SORRY if it's weird reading it in english cause...well, struggling with the words, hehe. But I loved this piece so much I wanted to share it with you, cause damn, I loved him so much in that part of my life :3 (I do love him still.)

And for my babes that are waiting on Miracle Nr. 12! I'm so sorry not posting about it this week cause I'm still trying to figure out whether continue with the angst plot, or the original angst and dark as f... plot that's leading the story to a very very sad and dark twist. Still has an happy ending, I promise. It will be there on next Friday!

Oh I'm sorry I got carried away writing so much hehe, hope you enjoyed it!!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

let me know if you want to be added! 🥰

✨ Miracle Nr. 12 ✨ Series:

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia | 8: Lull | 9: Vigil | 10: Eclipse

[isa-ghost]

I HAVE BEEN ENABLED.

(I am about to elaborate on this way more than I need to. I'm normal. I swear.)

OKAY SO I've made a metric FUCKLOAD of rpPhil headcanons and one that I have steadily (esp now over the course of Squidcraft LMAOOOO) gained infamy for is ✨ The rp!Phil Harem ✨ (or Polycule if we're being serious, which I'M BOTH /J AND /SRS, BABIEEEE).

So obviously we know rpPhil has been slutting it up over the last year and I couldn't be more proud of him for that.

I've shitposted about this polycule in the past (ie: joking that Fitza has done unspeakable things behind Fit's gym in QSMP), but then I was enabled via asks to make Actual headcanons about it, so here's the headcanons where I initially talked about the polycule existing, and here's where I actually went into detail about them.

10/10 recommend reading those, but for anyone who isn't That interested, lemme break it down simple style:

Phil's accidentally formed harem/polycule contains:

Goddess of Death (ofc. she is SUCH an enabler of this all btw)

Missa

Fit

Etoiles

By association, you Could include Pac in this (he is Strictly /r with Fit, everyone else in this polycule he is ONLY /p with. I won't break down any other dynamics in the harem here, that's what linking the headcanons I linked is for LMAOO).

And as a brand new development: Mr. Phillip.

This harem also included Forever prior to.... All Of That.

I barely know anything about Mr. Phillip since I've only just met him, but my dash has been saying he's practically Missa's other boyfriend, so I guess I'm considering him /r with Pissa (he told Phil he has a nice ass, as you surely know if you were watching SC or follow people that were) and suffice to say he Would Be /p with everyone else involved (hilarious bc this Actually Works since the other Polycule members were also in Squidcraft, but afaik they haven't interacted with Mr. Phillip to the same degree he has with Phil).

(Mr. Phillip's involvement from a /srs headcanon or Somehow Canon Compliant Fanfic perspective is complicated and currently undeveloped. If I include him when taking this headcanon seriously from a canon perspective that means Squidcraft is canon to QSMP and I'm unsure how I feel about that. But also Phil practically canonized it when he was joking with Missa on the first day anyway, so I suppose if it IS canon to QSMP then the SC deaths just aren't permanent. Because SC being canon to QSMP means scPhil is also smpe + hc + c + q Phil and that mf can't die-die and just- SEE, THE LOGISTICS GET REALLY FUCKING HARD 💀 I GET TOO SERIOUS ABOUT THIS. I THINK I'M GONNA KEEP SC NOT CANON, MR. PHILLIP IS BANISHED TO SHITPOST-&-HEADCANON ONLY LAND.)

ANYWAY.

(yeah that's right, I'm not done yet)

POV: I made those polycule headcanons that I linked when the QSMP Ender King possession arc was JUST starting to cook, so I got asked about what the polycule would do to fight possessed!Phil.

WELL.

If you look at those headcanons, you'll see IT EXPLODED INTO A FUCKING FANFIC. Currently half completed. AND I WON AN AWARD I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS NOMINATED FOR FOR IT?

SO YEAH. UH. I'M IN DEEP. The way this headcanon went from me joking about qPhil having too much goddamn rizz to ALL THIS is. Fucking WILD. I like talking about it way too much and it shows.

Enjoy being enlightened I guess. Or perhaps this was an insurmountable amount of psychic damage. I thrive off providing both. 👉🏻😎👉🏻

Also bonus polycule meme brought to you by one of my beloved mutuals

Thanks for coming to my TED talk or whatever LMAO

he what

[fear-is-truth]

can I please request some headcannons as to what you think the Evans would be like when they’re drunk? thank you!!! :)))

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans… drunk .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ frat!kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march ‧ cult leader! kai anderson ‧ austin sommers ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel ‧ warren lipka

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate would become a fucking menace. he’d pull pranks on the other ghosts, or just plain insult them. he finds endless amusement in being a little shit, glancing over at you to see if you’re laughing too.

he’d be glued to you, practically following you room-to-room like a newly adopted puppy, even if you’re just going to the bathroom. “where’re you going?” he’d stand right outside the door, waiting for you to come back, greeting you with a lazy, lovesick grin like he hasn’t seen you in hours.

drunk tate would mutter a lot—sometimes to himself, sometimes to you. it’d be of random thoughts, little complaints, or dreamy, barely coherent things like, “can’t believe you’re real…” his words would come out slurred and soft, but he’d have this intense focus on you, clearly wrapped up in his own head.

venting. a lot of venting.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

would do his best to keep himself together, reminding you both to “take it easy,” but he’d totally stumble over his own plans. kit would try holding his drink steady, only to spill half of it, laughing it off with an, “ah, whoops!” as if it was the funniest thing ever.

his sense of humor would skyrocket, and he’d be doubled over laughing at the simplest things. someone makes a lame pun? he’s cracking up. you give him a look? pure comedy gold.

his slurred boston accent would get thicker, making everything he says sound even more sexier.

would also get extra honest and sappy, letting his emotions spill out in the most genuine way. he’d look at you with teary eyes and tell you how much he appreciates you, going on about how grateful he is to have found you.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle wouldn’t get blackout drunk, he’d getting just tipsy enough to be completely adorable. his cheeks would be flushed a rosy pink, and he’d have that big, goofy grin on his face.

would start singing along to whatever song is playing.

even with a few drinks in him, kyle’s the one guy who would still keep an eye out for anyone who needs help. if he saw a random girl looking unsteady, he’d guide her to a safe spot, and if she had to throw up in the bathroom, he’d stay with them, holding her hair. then he’d call her friends to get her.

if any one of his frat brothers try and mess with you he’d literally fistfight them.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

drunk jimmy would be all over you, getting incredibly touchy, pulling you into his lap whenever he gets his hands on you. he’d slur sweet, filthy things out loud — it’s embarrassing as hell but kinda hot.

would keep drinking even after you told him to stop. “nah, babe,’m fine—jus’ one more i swear.” of course, this would end with him either passing out or vomiting.

if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way, drunk jimmy would be ready to kick some serious ass. “what’re you starin’ at, huh? you think you can just look at her like that?!” you’d have to hold him back before he got into full florida man mode.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

i think james would have crazy good alcohol tolerance.

he would be uncharacteristically handsy. insisting you to sit on his lap, arm winding possessively around your waist. he’d hold you close, running his fingers up and down your arm or resting his hand at the small of your back.

“you’re such a vision, my dear,” in that slurred, (fake) brahms accent.

james, in his drunken fascination, would suddenly become enchanted by the smallest, strangest details in the room. he’d point out the ornate carvings on the furniture or the imperfections in a painting, waxing poetic about how they contribute to the room’s “soul.” “just look at that crack in the wood,” he’d remark, “is it not beautifully flawed, just like us?” (he’s a dangerous tainted & flawed man ykwim)

handing you his cigar, he’d watch you intently, clearly enamored with the idea of you lighting it for him. he’d guide your hand, fingers lingering over yours, taking pleasure in the ritual. “steady now, darling,” he’d drawl, a pleased smirk on his face as he watches the flame catch.

would become even more extravagant with his compliments. he’d shower you with praise, admiring everything from the way you smile to the way you hold yourself. “my dearest, you bring such grace to this place,” he’d say, gazing at you with genuine adoration. “i am, as ever, your humble servant.”

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

kai would do his absolute best to act stone-cold sober, even after chugging straight vodka or something hardcore. he’d stand up straighter, make eye contact, and talk in his usual serious tone, almost daring you to suggest he might be tipsy. if he starts slurring? he’d blame it on something like tiredness to keep his ego intact.

thousand yard stare.

would get worked up over small things, flipping into-rants about whatever’s on his mind, each one more dramatic than the previous. topics vary on politics, the state of society, or how he’s totally not drunk.

when tipsy, kai would be a touch more lenient. allowing you to sit on his lap, play with his hair, maybe even cracking a slight smile at your jokes.

⟢ 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒.

austin would absolutely start singing instead of speaking after getting a bit smashed. belting out tunes or turning every sentence into a musical number, “who’s ready for a refiiiillll~?”

every drink would require a toast, and they’d progressively get more absurd and inappropriate. “to art, sex, and whatever the fuck this cocktail is supposed to be!”

would be shamelessly flirty with everyone, but his attention would always come back to you.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅.

his hyper ass would be bouncing off the fucking wall.

would steal people’s drinks mid-sip or rearranging furniture in the room for no reason.

“bet i can chug this entire keg and still run a lap around the earth. wanna see?”

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋.

colin’s drunk vocabulary would be filled with “erm” and “errr,” with every other sentence stumbling out in a mess of slurred words. “errr… what i—what i meant was… wait, i had it. it was, uh… gone now, but it was good, i promise.

if anyone tried to bother you or made a lewd comment, colin would get hella territorial in his tipsy state. “hey, buddy, why don’cha back off the milady, alright? she’s—she’s with me.”

would insist on carrying your coat, guarding your drink, or even offering to dance with you.

all in all, a total sweetheart.

⟢ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐊𝐀.

warren would be that guy at the party, jumping off rooftops into pools or climbing on furniture while shouting, “heyyy watch this!” he’d have no fear and thrive on being the centre of attention.

if body shots were happening, you could bet warren would be in the thick of it, grinning ear to ear.

would totally dominate beer pong.

his version of dancing would involve spinning you around wildly or grinding against you to whatever beat was playing.

sex in the bathroom or smoking dope. or both.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Hi can I get a birthday cake with strawberries and chocolate chips with Toji please

Sundae Tropes: Remember Me

A/N: Fic 3 of this event! I haven't really written for Toji so I hope this doesn't sound out of character. ANGST. As usual, MDNI.

Raven, thank you for your patience as I wrote this.

Sundae: Birthday Cake With Strawberries And Chocolate Chips With Toji = Amnesia/Mistaken Identity + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Lotus Position

Follow along using #sundaetropes, #300followersevent and #vee writes.

Event masterlist | Vee's Masterlists

Sunlight filters through the small apartment as you quickly prepare breakfast in the small, cramped kitchen. Megumi swings his legs as he sits on the countertop, his large eyes watching your movements as you bustle about getting breakfast ready. He’s already in his little school uniform, looking so contained and serious that you sometimes wonder how he was only 8 years old. Megumi accepts a bowl of oatmeal from you but you can see his expression is worried.

“What’re you thinking about Megs?” 

“Why do you do it?” he asks quietly.

Your smile falters at the question but you pretend to be nonchalant. You knew exactly what he was asking about. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you keep taking care of him?” You gently cup Megumi’s cheek reassuringly. 

“Because that’s what love is Megs.”

Those keen dark eyes fixate on you and you feel like you’re looking into the depths of his young soul. You try to lighten the mood. “Ah look at me saying such romantic things! You’ll understand someday. But you can’t be late for school so eat your breakfast now!”

Thankfully Megumi doesn’t ask any more questions and finishes his oatmeal before thanking you and heading off for school. Once he’s out of the house, you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Temporarily of course, but the relief was welcomed. Footsteps come from down the hall and you swallow. Was today going to be the day…? Strong arms wrap around your waist and your heart swells in his presence. He was here, he was alive-

“Mamaguro. Why didn’t you wake me up? I wanted to send Megumi off to school.” The warmth in your heart was replaced with dread. But you arrange your features into a smile and turn in his arms. “You slept pretty late last night. I figured you could use the rest.”

“Hmm.” Toji grunts and then looks around the kitchen. “You’ve been busy. Making breakfast for me.”

“For everyone. Megumi needs to eat too.”

“You’re such a good mother.” You feel your throat tightening and suddenly his embrace feels like a noose. You wriggle free, to Toji’s dismay. 

“Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom.” You lie swiftly and without wasting a second run and lock the door. In the quiet, you let your tears run free. It was the cruelest of circumstances. You knew deep down none of it was Toji’s fault but there was so much resentment in you for the man you love. It wasn’t his fault that he had accepted that job so many months ago. It wasn’t his fault that the target he was pursuing was a bigger challenge than anything he had ever seen. Money had always been tight in the household and for him, this was a way to make ends meet. For him to feel like a provider.

Who could have predicted that he had bitten off more than he could chew? That the target he had been pursuing would overpower him, break his body like a rag doll, and leave him with what the doctors had called a “chronic, traumatic, brain injury”? The first immediate concern was that he would never walk again. But thankfully that hadn’t been the case. Toji could walk, talk, feed himself, and was generally self-sufficient. Now if only his memory would come back the same way!

You try to pull yourself together, reminding yourself that Toji needs you now more than ever, and so does Megumi. Amnesia was the enemy here, not your boyfriend. But it killed you inside each time he called you by Megumi’s mother’s name. It had been months since you had heard your name fall from his lips to the point where you were starting to feel like a ghost. You weren’t Megumi’s mother but you had been the one raising him. He was as good as your son. But to be called by a dead woman’s name, a woman you had never met, had taken a toll on your being.

The first time it happened, Megumi had blinked in confusion. “Papa, that’s not Mama,” the little boy had tried to correct him. But Toji had shook his head.

“Of course it is! Look! Don’t you recognize Mama when you see her?” Megumi had stared in confusion, and you had soothed him, telling him it was temporary, that once his dad rested some more he’d remember. It had only worsened. Megumi could see the hurt in your eyes and he didn’t bother correcting his father anymore. It seemed pointless, and only seemed to disorient Toji even more, sometimes taking his frustration out on Megumi, asking him why he was saying you weren’t his mother.

Megumi was your constant companion now. He clung to you when he came back from school, and truth be told, you needed him too. The only person who remembered you now was him. His mama, yet not his mama, who had become the only constant thing in his now upended life. Megumi called you often by your name as though he worried you would disappear from his life if he didn’t. Like using your name was his way of reassuring you that you weren’t forgotten, that he would always remember you no matter what.

You cover your face with your eyes, wondering how things had gotten this way. Because in the end, it didn’t matter that money was short or that Toji couldn’t hold down a steady job. All that mattered now was that you couldn’t leave, and you were faced with the harsh reality that Toji’s memory may never fully come back. Wiping your eyes, you steel your features into a mask of composed calm and walk back into the living room. 

Toji was appreciatively eating the plate of breakfast you had made for him. As you approach he pats the space next to him on the couch beckoning you to sit. You oblige, and as soon as you do, Toji pulls you against him. To him, he’s in his own world, a world where his wife wasn’t dead, and Megumi had his mother, the perfect unit of familial bliss. “I love you, you know?” Toji murmurs against your hair and you swallow, feeling a painful lump form in your chest. 

“I love you too.” What else could you say? Because you do. You love him so much that you had willingly stayed, even as he called you by another woman’s name. You stayed because you hoped someday he would remember you again.

Exhaustion overcomes you, and you fall asleep on his shoulder, feeling his broad hand stroke your hair, listening to his heartbeat pound in his chest. He was alive after everything, and maybe that was the true miracle here; that he hadn’t died.

You don’t know how long you were asleep, but you wake up groggily to the sound of your own name being called. Was Megumi already home? That gruff voice certainly didn’t sound like him. As realization fills your being, you’re jolted awake, and you follow the voice. 

It couldn't be Toji? It can't be. It didn't feel real. Perhaps it was a dream, where Toji’s deep voice was resounding in some chamber of your brain. You get to the bathroom and hear it again, unmistakably, your name, in Toji’s voice. You crack the door open. 

There he stood, tall, proud, muscled, and scarred, his hair dripping, water droplets covering his body. And completely naked. Your eyes widened. Beyond helping care for Toji during the initial recovery you hadn't seen him bared in front of you frequently. Sexual intimacy was out of the question because you didn't think you could bear it if he moaned his late wife's name in your ear. 

“Y/n didn't you hear me?” Toji asks, not stepping out of the shower. You blink. Resisting the urge to pinch yourself, you shake your head, looking at your boyfriend in wonder. 

“What did you call me?” You look at him with wide eyes, feeling the warning signs of tears pricking the backs of your eyes. 

“Y/n?” Toji looks miffed as he glances at you. “That's your name right?”

Time seems to freeze and you nod. Swallowing the lump in your throat you ask, “Why did you call me?”

“I forgot to bring a towel. Get one for me will ya?” You hasten to bring the towel, watching him dry off his skin, your mind buzzing with questions. Toji’s behavior seemed to suggest he didn’t recall that earlier he was calling you Mamaguro. He wraps the towel around his waist, then looks at you appraisingly.

What’re you getting all teary for?” You sniff and shake your head, a watery smile blooming onto your face. 

“Nothing. Just, glad you’re back.”

“Back? I was here all this time wasn’t I?”

You laugh for the first time in months. The relief of it spreads through your chest, filling your extremities with warmth. “Yes, you were. I meant when you went to shower.”

“You’re a weird woman.” Toji steps out of the shower to brush away a tear. “But that’s ok. I love you anyway.”

You catch a whiff of the clean scent of soap and lean back to look at him. He cocks his head. “You keep looking at me like I’ll disappear.”

Your lips move, but no sound comes out. You find yourself gazing into his eyes, seeing the recognition in their depths, the tenderness that he’d held for you. Your body reacts on its own accord and you tiptoe to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Toji is caught off guard by this but a rumble echoes through his chest as his corded arms come around you, pulling you tightly against him. You savor the taste of him, his tongue, his lips. You hadn’t been this close to him for what felt like forever. His breath quickens and his fingers tighten around you, digging into your soft skin. 

“Someone seems a little needy for my attention today,” Toji murmurs against your mouth before his tongue delves into its depths. You feel yourself being scooped up into his arms and a giddy rush shoots down your spine. Your legs automatically wrap around him, enjoying the feeling of his chest pressed against yours.

Toji lays you down softly on the bed, a large hand creeping up under your T-shirt to squeeze your breast, his mouth possessively covering yours. Your feet slip under the edges of his towel, flirting with the skin just under the swell of his ass. As he starts pulling off your clothes, you feel flushed, a heady skitter of heat and tingles running under your skin. He feasts on your creamy skin, his eyes hazing over as he brings a hardened nipple into his mouth. The small sucks feel like shooting stars under your skin, bringing heat and energy with them as they fly. Your nails scratch down his back and a moan escapes your lips, eyes closing in ecstasy as you arch your back to push your crotch against the bulge hiding behind his thin towel. Toji growls, nipping your bud, then laving his tongue over it to cool the sting.

Your hands grow bold and you reach down to undo the knot of the towel, letting it fall away and grasp his engorged cock in your hand, stroking the heated velvet and sighing your pleasure as he kisses his way down your body, licking the underside of your breasts, the tip of his tongue flirting with the dip of your navel. “You taste delicious baby,” he murmurs, pressing kisses on your belly. Your hand continues to pump his length and Toji halts, eyes squeezing shut as you run your thumb over his sensitive tip, gathering the milky drops and using them to slicken his hard length. Toji pants, each swipe of your closed palm bringing forth ripples of desire through his body, and with a huge effort, puts his hand over yours, stilling your movement.

Looking at his expression questioningly, you release him, then let out a giggle of surprise as Toji pulls you on his lap, holding your body tenderly against his as his thumb gathers moisture from your fluttering core and swipes it upward onto your swollen clit. A needy moan escapes your throat and your fingers anchor into his shoulders, hips rocking with his movements to get more delicious friction. You feel alive, the blood running through your veins singing. You had never thought this was something you would experience again, yet here he was, whispering your name along with reassurances as he teased the little button that was driving you to the brink. 

“Let go for me, baby. I have you. You’re mine. Go ahead…” His movements remain consistent but quicken and you choke out a broken cry as your body explodes with orgasmic delight, your core and clit fluttering in tandem from the sensations. “That’s my girl. My sweet girl…”

Toji holds your hips and helps you align your dripping pussy over his cock, then slowly, you sink down, facing him, impaled on his lap as your feet curl up behind him. The position didn’t allow for any kind of fast movement, and the both of you gently grind against each other. The romance of the moment was palpable, your breath mingling together, Toji’s eyes locked onto yours, unmistakably aware of who he was with. He groans your name several times as you ride, his hands bruisingly holding onto you as he places wet kisses on your neck, capturing your lips as the tender motions steadily push him towards a promising climax. 

You adjust your body slightly, feeling his cushiony tip brush against your cervix, hitting your gspot on its way back down. After everything…this was right. This is how it should be. “Toji…I love you,” you whisper to him and the words are met with an enchanted smile. 

“I love you too y/n…” He manages to say before his body pushes to an edge. You feel the contractions of his length inside you and continue to move your hips and bring him to a satisfying climax. His breath tears from his throat and he moans in your ear as he empties himself into you, thick ropes of seed painting your walls white. 

When you awake a few hours later, you realize Megumi will be home soon. You quickly tidy up, putting on fresh clothes. The doorbell rings and Toji stirs, blinking groggily against the light. “Quick, put your clothes on.” You toss him his pants and T-shirt, then close the door on your way. Your smile is radiant as you greet Megumi, pulling him inside and hugging him tightly.

“You’re crushing me,” Megumi gasps and you hastily let go. Megumi immediately spots the difference in your demeanor.

“You’re happy.”

“I am. Oh Megumi you have no idea.” You close the door and Toji makes an entrance, his smile gentle as he pats his son on the head. 

“Megumi…go change and let’s finish your homework. Mamaguro needs to prepare dinner.”

You’re thankful Megumi is already walking away to his room because you felt all the air in your lungs vanish, your heart splintering into two all over again. As the tears begin to well in your eyes, Toji walks over to you in concern.

“Are you sure you’re ok Mamaguro? You’ve been teary all day.”

You nod your head, choking back your sobs as you quickly rush to the kitchen to start preparing for dinner. 

dividers by @/ cafekitsune

@that-goth-bisexual @buttercupbitches @jadedjane @hunnie-lily

@soft--cherry @estarlias

@daswanj @connorsui @kentosgirlie @dreaming-about-seireitei @byul9158 @whatshernameis @galatict3a

@mangiswig @bleachbrainrotbro @illusionaryennui @harlekin6

@pernesophe @26xidk @an-ever-angry-bi @connorsui @muzansfangs

[corazondebeskar-reads]

fall, with you: part four - thanksgiving

Joel Miller x gn! reader

main masterlist |mini-series masterlist | prev

words: 2.3k

summary: the new world may be hell, but you still have things to be thankful for.

warnings: pre- and post-outbreak, death, cordyceps, loss, grief, outbreak day, fluff weaponized for angst

note: anything in italics is either during or post outbreak. everything else is pre-outbreak. this story is not told chronologically and skips around a lot. i'm experimenting for fun.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Nate finds you exactly where he thought he would. In the kitchen of your new home, packing your backpack. 

“No,” he says bluntly. “Nope. Nuh-uh.”

You turn on your heel and stare at him. “It’s not up to you.”

“Was he abusive?” 

You’d fine back to packing and freeze to look up at him again. “No. God, no.”

“So what was it? Cheated? Ran over your dog?”

“No, it wasn’t anything. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he spits, knocking your bag off the table. 

You sneer. It’s not the first time you’ve butted heads like this. Neither of you has a great trauma response, given the whole apocalypse thing. “I decide where we go,” you snarl. “You don’t.”

“Not this time. Not when we’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere normal. I have never questioned you, I’ve never even complained. Just followed you across the goddamn country. But unless you have a good fucking reason, like he’s some psycho ex—“

“He was the love of my fucking life,” you snap.

“I mean it, sugar. I know it seems like I’m bein’ impulsive but I swear I got a ring waitin’ back home,” Joel said, thumb stroking your cheek as his hand cradled your face, thick fingers warm and gentle against it. “I ain’t ever been more serious. You’re the love of my fuckin’ life. Say yes, baby. Marry me.”

“What’ll Sarah say?” You blurt. 

He grins, crooked and fond. “See, that’s what I mean.” He kisses you, slow and tender, and you melt into it, almost forgetting why you’re sitting on the ground in tears to begin with. 

“Whaddya say, sugar? You gonna be mine? Gonna make us a family?”

As if you could say anything else. “Yeah, Joel,” you murmur, “I’ll marry you. Of course I will.” You wait a beat. “You really got a ring back home?”

“Sure do. Whole speech planned out ‘n shit, too. But I couldn’t fuckin’ wait anymore.”

You let out a shaky laugh, a crooked grin of your own. “Y’ain’t supposed to get me gifts on your birthday.”

He puts on a fake pout. “You’re my gift, baby,” he says, lip twitching as he fights the smirk. 

You shove him away playfully. “Gross. You old sap.”

He laughs, head tipped back. “What can I say? It’s all for you, sugar.” 

You’re horrified to find tears burning in the corner of your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” you mutter. 

But he’s right. He’s right, he’s right, he’s right. You can’t drag him back out into the wilderness, to another failing QZ, to inevitable death. This is a town, a community, a home.

A chill is just starting to settle over Jackson, the hint of a frost in the early morn, when Tommy Miller turns up on your porch. 

You open the door after several beats of insistent knocking, and the man stands there in the flesh and blood, looking just the same but twenty years and a lifetime older. 

“Does my brother know you’re here?” he says, eyes as wide as the early November moon.

“Who’re you? Does my brother know you’re here?” 

You let out a strangled cry and spun around, sponge raised as if it would frighten the intruder. But you recognize him from the photos all around the house and relax, grimacing as soapy suds drip down your arm. “Nah, I like to break into houses and do the dishes,” you drawl. “You must be Tommy.” You introduce yourself and realization dawns on his face. 

You fumble for a towel to dry your hand before proffering it. He takes it and matches your firm handshake before scratching the back of his neck, looking sheepishly to the side in a mirror of his older brother.

You can’t say anything. Your mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. It really is him. Not that you really doubted it, because the evidence was kind of indisputable, but there he is. The man that was to be your brother in law getting mud all over your porch. 

Finally, you just shake your head, stepping aside to let him in the house. 

He comes in and starts pacing, tracking clods around the living room. 

“Tommy Miller, you take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you scold.

He freezes and looks up at you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and suddenly you’re being smothered, stifled in the bulk of his jacket as he wraps his arms around you. “ Jesus Christ.”

Nate chooses that moment to clomp down the stairs like a herd of horses. “Is that him? Damn, he’s not your type at all.” 

You start to laugh. It sneaks up on you, silent at first, shoulders shaking, until it’s bubbling out of you. Maybe it’s a little hysterical, but you’re allowed, you think.

There’s a plan. Tommy insists. As much as you’d like to pretend you can avoid running into Joel, the fact is that this town is small and collaborative. You can’t avoid anyone. 

So. There’s a plan.

Tommy breaks the news to him gently at their weekly dinner. Ellie comes by later to swap comics with Nate and reports that Joel had stood up and left, bypassing his jacket and going straight out the door. No expression, no words, nothing. 

It could have been worse. You expect fully that he doesn’t want to see you, doesn’t want any reminders of before. Of Sarah. And truth be told, you’re not that thrilled to have been forcibly dragged down memory lane, either. 

But Tommy’s a persistent bastard, and so it happens anyway. He calls your name, flagging you down as you stand with your tray in the mess hall, looking for a seat. The man sitting across from him whips around, head turning so fast you can almost hear his neck crack. 

Where Tommy Miller has grown into the apocalypse with relative ease, the same cannot be said of his brother. Joel wears each year, each loss, each kill in the lines of his face, the cold of his eyes, the set of his jaw. You stare for a moment into the hazel eyes that used to crinkle with laugh lines, that used to darken with hunger in the deep night, that used to be your safe space. 

But there’s none of that now. The wrinkles on his face speak of more stress than a human body should reasonably endure. His eyes darken with something so anachronous to your Joel that you can’t even identify the feeling. And there’s no mistaking them for anything soft or safe. The lips that used to map every inch of your body are twisted in a scowl.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until your drink spills, knocking you out of his thrall. Abandoning your tray on the nearest surface, you bolt. 

Born and raised in QZs, it became painfully apparent that Nate was terrified of animals. And seeing how that wasn’t really sustainable in a town like this, you’ve taken to slowly introducing him to the fluffier, nicer critters. But now it’s time. 

You’ve got to teach him to ride.

Horses are the worst. They’re big and tall and wrong , he says, like someone was trying to put them together and kept messing up but was too lazy to fix it. “And they know too much,” he adds, standing four feet away as you saddle up the gentlest mare in the stable. 

You snort. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Look at their eyes. Their cold, dead eyes. They know things. Secrets.” 

You roll your eyes. “Sure. They know secrets. My dad’s horse knew a secret,” you say with a conspiratorial grin. “He used to wait until my daddy turned his back and then he’d pick up his Coke between his big teeth and throw his head back.”

Nate stops in his fretting. “Your dad’s horse drank Coke?” 

“Yep. Little conniving sneak, he was. Absolute troublemaker. But Penny here ain’t gonna give you a lick of trouble.”

It’s not long before he’s comfortable in the saddle, if not thrilled about it. When you finally join him on horseback, you’re a little more nervous than you want to admit. It’s been twenty years, after all. 

But it feels familiar. “Just like riding a bike,” you mutter. 

“Maybe I’m not the expert since I’ve never been on a bike, but like logistically, this has to be very different,” Nate says. 

After your ride, you send him off while you untack and groom the horses. You’ve hung up the reins and are reaching for a brush when someone else’s hand bumps yours. “Oh, sorry,” you start instinctively and recoil when Joel pulls his gloved hand back sharply. 

It’s too much, in the little tack room, this close, this distant. 

Joel’s eyes on you, taking you in and trying to parse the you now from the you then.

Joel’s eyes on you, roaming, craving.

Joel’s beard scratching against his glove as he rubs his chin.

Joel’s beard scratching against your belly on his way down.

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter. 

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter.

Your head is spinning. You take a staggering step back, wavering.

You wake up on a cot in the clinic.

Nate’s sat in a chair by your side, picking at his nail beds and trying not to look worried. He relaxes minutely before getting pissed when you confess to the doctor that you haven’t been eating much. You don’t keep much at home, nobody really does, and you’ve been avoiding the mess hall for reasons that you don’t need to say out loud. 

They let you go with a scolding about the dangers of doing activities without proper nutrition, like you don’t know that, like you haven’t been starving in the wasteland like the rest of them at some point.

Tommy stops by with a frankly absurd amount of soup. “Heard you had a little fall today,” he says. 

“Whole town know I’m a klutz now?” you joke half-heartedly.

He gives you a look. “Nah. A big grumpy birdie told me.”

You cringe. 

“Look,” he says with a sigh. “Come by our place for the harvest, okay?”

“Come ‘round our place for Thanksgiving,” Joel says. 

“I can’t intrude,” you protest.

“Ain’t intruding on anything, baby. We want you there. But I gotta warn you, we do things a little different. It ain’t your regular Thanksgiving fixins, okay?”

“What?”

“We’re doin’ a harvest dinner. Kinda like Thanksgiving. There’ll be a lunch at the mess on Thursday but we’re havin’ family ‘round that night.” He sees you open your mouth and keeps going, ignoring you. “I don’t want to hear it. And just so you know, he suggested the invite. So.” 

And then Tommy leaves you with more questions and more soup than you know what to do with.

On Thursday, you drag your sorry ass to the mess hall for the lunch, determined to give Nate another holiday experience. You didn’t need to work yourself up, though, as Joel is nowhere in sight.

You wish you had thought earlier to ask what to bring, but it’s been a long time since you’ve dined at someone else’s table, and food ain’t been for sharing in just as many years.

“What should I bring, if it ain’t traditional?”

He thinks for a moment. He wants to tell you to bring your sexy self and nothin’ more but he knows you won’t go for it. “Bring popcorn,” he says finally.

You had. And you do. Cooked on the stove the old-fashioned way. It’s a risk, god, you know it’s a risk. But you walk into Tommy’s house with a heaping bowl of lightly buttered popcorn.

You walk into Joel’s house with a heaping bowl of butter-laden, salty popcorn, and Sarah cheers. She takes a handful before retreating deeper into the house where Tommy is setting the table and Joel is in the kitchen, hard at work over the… toaster. There’s a stack of buttered toast on a platter beside him and he’s adding to the pile. 

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pulling you by the waist into his space, chasing your lips with a kiss. “Thanks for bringin’ the popcorn. Ain’t Thanksgiving without it.”

“If you say so,” you say. “Where do you want it?”

“On the table is fine,” he says.

It takes you a minute, as you stand in Joel’s dining room, staring at the eccentric assortment of what can loosely be defined as dinner. There are a few bowls out, overflowing not with stuffing or mashed potatoes or casserole. No, there’s little pretzel twists and what looks like candy. You set the popcorn down in an empty spot and it unlocks in your brain with a snap.

You turn on your heel and go back in the kitchen. For a moment, you’re distracted by the scene in front of you. Joel and Sarah are delicately swirling whipped cream in excess atop strawberry ice cream, taking turns squirting some in their mouths in between and then scolding one another playfully.

“Are we having a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving?” you ask.

Sarah beams. “I told you she’d get it,” she tells her dad. 

Joel opens the door at Tommy and Maria’s. He looks down at the bowl in your hands, and you suddenly think you’ve made a terrible mistake. There’s a taut, hefty silence where you’re both just staring at the bowl.

He moves, both hands up toward you in a jerky, sudden motion that has you flinching back. It doesn’t deter him. It was like the action was pressed behind a coil and now that it snapped, he can’t stop. Newton’s Law, and all that.

His rough, calloused palms engulf either side of your face, his chapped lips smashing against your unexpecting ones. Your heart could be halfway to Dallas by sundown with how fast it’s galloping in your chest. It only takes a moment before your hands are on him, too.

“C’mon, not over the popcorn,” Nate gripes, snatching the bowl away and going inside to find Ellie, leaving you in Joel’s embrace.

the end