#obviously I don't like NEED TO cover up except like I Need to. it's not a physical need it's a mental one

[neverendingford]

.

[antmimicry]

whenever I do anything outside (like in forests or fields or stuff. not like just outside in a city. not like there are cities here anyways though lol) I need to like. have my body as covered as possible. I can't wear shorts I have to wear pants and also a sweatshirt and a hat (or sweatshirt hood, but preferably both) and ideally also a bug net jacket that completely covers my face or at the very least a bug net hat. pants tucked into my socks also. shirt tucked into pants. ideally something around the sleeves of my jacket (eg rubber bands) to seal up my arms. which all makes me look a little foolish but more importantly, it is very unfortunate given the. heat intolerance.

I think I'd have a lot of trouble with the heat regardless, like even if I only wore light clothing, but the need to completely cover up is decidedly not helping. especially when I'm also wearing compression tights underneath (and the tights are too sheer to count as properly covering my legs so I still need pants over them)

I really really need to invest in some very thin pants to wear over my leggings. and also a really thin jacket that has a hood, like a windbreaker type thing. because most of mine are like full on sweatshirt type deals

I recently got a cooling vest (it has pockets for ice packs) and I'm sure that added to the rest of my Outfit it will make me look like fool of the century. so that's exciting. but it might help a bit with the heat intolerance!

[purplecoffee13]

Busy*

Summary: “Harry has to work on a Saturday, and it leaves you quite frustrated. You settle on a compromise…”

Wc: 2.2k

Warnings: c0ckwarming, degradation kink, squ!rting, overstimulation, daddy kink, Harry being kinda mean (but in a hot sexy way)

A/N: hey besties, here’s a blurb for you. Thank you for the patience! I hope you enjoy this smutty little fic🤭

Blurbs Masterlist

General Masterlist

Harry is a busy man.

Not that there is anything wrong with that, except for one little thing: your fiancé works mostly from home.

He's not required to visit the office all the time because he works at an IT company. He's explained his job to you countless of times, but you always get confused about the details. What you don't get confused about is his absurd work hours, though. In fact, it causes loads of aggravation, such as today.

It was supposed to be a nice, calm Saturday. You had both blocked it out to be able to enjoy a full weekend together, but a big mistake had caused chaos at Harry's company, and it needed to be fixed before the weekend was over.

The worst part? He got the call right when he was about to sink his cock into you, and it's all you've been thinking about since he's isolated himself into that little office of his at nine in the morning. It is now two o'clock, and you fear you might be going crazy. It doesn't help that you are clearly ovulating, and it's obviously one of the main indicators that drive you to enter his office.

Harry glances at you, his eyes softening in that second he sees you in a tanktop and a cardigan you threw on. You didn't bother to put on shorts, it's not like you had to cover up for anyone anyway. Unfortunately his attention is back on the screen quite quickly, along with a crease between his brows.

He's frustrated. You could help with that.

A hint of a smirk paints your face as you near your fiancé, and he only fully redirects his focus to you when you climb on top of him, straddling him in his desk chair. The satisfied hum that leaves his mouth vibrates against your shoulder, where he inhales your scent. He huffs, plants a kiss on your neck, and scoots the chair towards the desk before resuming his furious typing on the keyboard.

You say nothing as you pepper Harry with kisses. You make sure you don't miss an inch, slowly working your way up to his jaw. The entire time, he doesn't move an inch, as if he's unaffected by your attention.

Your slightly bruised ego doesn't like that, and soon enough you begin to subtly grind your hips against him. That does cause a reaction.

The low baritone of his breathy voice tickles down your spine as he laughs at your desperation. Your stomach seems to be doing cartwheels at the sound of it.

"Baby..." his tone is warning, but huskily enough to know that he wants you to go on. You him softly, continuing with the movement of your hips. "What are you doing, hmm?"

"Missed you." You admit, rolling against him harsher than before. Harry bites back a groan, but his eyes stay glued to his laptop, and the clacking of his fingers against the keyboard doesn't stagnate either.

"I've been right here all day." He points out, even though he knows what you mean. He's just trying to be a tease and you both know it. Right now though, you don't care, you just want him.

"Not where I want you." You reply stubbornly, your hands tugging at his belt.

"And where is it that you want me?"

"Inside of me."

"Oh no I can't do that, baby. I'm working, remember?"

"But I need you..." you whine hopelessly. You know Harry likes it when you get all desperate for him, and right now you are feeling very much so.

He finally leans back to look you in the eyes, assessing your current state of mind. "Yeah?"

"So bad, daddy. Please, I'll be good."

From the way Harry clenches his jaw, you can see he has given in, and you'll get your way. He sighs, raising his brows as he gives you a nod.

“Alright… take off your clothes.” He orders, and you immediately do as he says, getting rid of your cardigan and top and throwing them across the room. "You can warm up my cock while I work— get up."

Again, you are incredibly fast to obey him, standing up so he could pull down his pants and take out his already hard cock. With a flick of his fingers, he gestures for you to come sit down again, and you do as he demands, pushing your panties to the side and filling yourself up to the brim.

You are so horny and sensitive, you know you won't need much to come. Wrapping yourself around Harry is like breathing fresh air, it’s right and always seems to clear your mind.

"Good girl." Is the only thing Harry whispers before he resumes to his work. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a pained sigh as you soak in the length of him. He always feels at home between your legs, like he belongs there. You know he knows that he does, it's why he can get away with shit like this.

He's aware of how desperate you can get for his cock, because it feels like there is a part of you that’s missing whenever he's not filling you up. He knows your pussy is his to stuff whenever he wants to.

That thought alone makes you clench around him, which earns you a smack against your bum. You jolt forward, not expecting the intensity of the sting, and moan at the friction that it gives you.

"Behave." Is all Harry says, his tone rough and demanding. It nearly sends a shiver down your spine. You love it when he gets like that, so dominant.

You stay still, exactly like he ordered, but when you suddenly feel Harry leaning back and place his fingers on your clit, you know the real torture is only just beginning. Swallowing away a moan, you try your hardest to keep your composure as Harry begins to rub lazy circles on your puffy clit.

Your attempt to keep quiet is ruined when he pinches your clit, and a small squeak escapes your lips. Before you can even apologize, Harry's free hand spanks your ass. Again, you move a bit from the impact, and this time, it nearly sends you over the edge. Your fiancé is being extremely cruel, his eyes never leaving that damned computer of his. At this point you want to smash the entire thing to have his eyes be on you, to have all of his attention.

Harry resumes to lazily rubbing your clit for a bit, and you develop a breathing pattern that helps you keep quiet. Rewarding your obedience, his pace picks up, and so does the pressure he places on your clit with his fingers.

You bury your face into his neck, hands clenching around the back of the chair as your legs begin to shake. The stimulation is too much to handle and you feel like you might explode as you come around Harry's cock. The pathetic cry—muffled slightly by your lips on his shoulder—that leaves you gets a kiss on your shoulder instead of a slap this time, and you sigh in relief as you come down from your orgasm.

You are surprised to feel Harry's hands redirect yours as he scoots forward, and wraps them around the desk behind you. You hold onto the wooden table and watch him lean back in his seat again, arms on the armrest, before he gives you a slight nod, one that says 'go on'. When you don't immediately do what he says, Harry speaks up.

"C'mon then, ride me. 'S what you wanted, wasn't it?"

You nod feverishly and begin grinding on his cock. He lets out a breath through his nose, his eyes shamelessly raking down your naked body while he is still almost fully clothed. The power difference is so apparent, and it makes your stomach swerve even more. You get off on Harry acting so cocky, and he always knows how to play into your desires.

Mindlessly, your hand reaches for Harry's shoulders, but he catches your wrist and harshly puts it behind your back again, shaking his head in disapproval.

"No touching."

Your determination to satisfy him overpowers you and you begin to bounce on his cock with all the strength you have. In this position, with your hands on your back, it's not very easy to do so, but you'd do anything Harry tells you to do.

"Tell me what a pathetic cock slut you are." He growls, slightly out of breath from the pleasure you are giving him.

"I'm so pathetic." You respond instantly, like it's second nature to answer to him. He groans, loving your fast obedience when it comes to his commands.

"Yeah?" He eggs you on, indicating for you to continue talking, to continue degrading yourself.

"I can't control myself around you, I need to have your cock inside me all of the time." You go on, feeling your second high approaching when he hums in response. Harry moves slightly in his seat, and you know he is getting antsy to get his hands on you. But you know that he won't falter.

“Prove it, come on my cock again baby.”

Fingers curled tightly around the desk, so bad that your knuckles have surely turned white, you feel your release wash over you. You stop your movements, unable to keep control of your shaking legs. You clench around Harry in the aftermath of your mind-blowing orgasm, and the groan that falls from his lips tells you that his sperm will be coating your walls at any given moment.

Despite being in your fucked out state of mind, you can tell that Harry’s not going to move to make himself come; he’s too stubborn. Still woozy, you gather the strength you have left and begin grinding your hips, hissing at the extreme, almost uncomfortable sensitivity that your clit is faced with at the cause of this friction.

But Harry’s ragged breathing, and the hint of a moan that leaves his mouth makes it all worth it. It triggers a satisfied, desperate sound of your own.

“Please, fill me up daddy.” You cry out, working through the overstimulation you are giving yourself by grinding against him like this. The little frown on your face is adorable, and the sight of it along with everything else that you are doing to Harry makes him cum on the spot. A smile creeps onto your face as you feel Harry emptying his balls inside you, filling up your womb with his seed.

You let out a shriek when you feel Harry’s thumb attach itself to your clit, but when you move back, his arm wraps itself around your waist and pushes your forward, urging you to go on. A tear trickles down your cheek, and you whimper incoherent words strung together, hoping it’ll resemble somewhat of a sentence.

“What? I can’t hear you baby.”

You shut your eyes at the intensity of Harry’s touch on your heat. It’s taking over every last bit of your senses, but despite feeling like you can’t think anymore, you take a deep breath before you exclaim. “It’s t— too much!”

“You asked for this. Now don’t be such a fucking brat and give me another orgasm.” He argues, the certainty in his tone sounding almost cruel. You open your eyes and meet his stone-cold face, determined in his goal to make you come again. Maybe he just is plain cruel, but you can’t deny that it brings you closer to your high. Harry just always seems to know the right words to say to make you feel like you’re floating.

In this case, you feel like you’re floating out of your body. You only seem to be focused on his thumb rubbing those torturous circles over and over again, fastening his pace as much as he can. Your poor attempt at restraining your moans makes you sound like a wounded animal, purely helpless.

“Come on…” Harry coaxes you, a hint of frustration hidden behind his voice, as if his release isn’t complete without your final one.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” He interrupts you sternly, smacking your ass as he starts rubbing back and forth over your clit. “and you will.”

It’s then that your release hit you, like a truck. Knocking out every last one of your senses, your orgasm takes over your body much like you imagine a demon would. It hurts just enough to feel hallucinatory, and you could swear you lose your sight for a second.

“N— ooh! Harry!” You scream, clawing at him with the little strength you have left. The evident wetness that coats both your and Harry’s legs causes the realization of what he’s accomplished to dawn on you.

He just made you squirt.

You have no energy to comment on it, though, snuggling your head into his shoulder the second you come down from your orgasm. Harry strokes your hair, peppering your tingling skin with kisses, commenting on how well you did for him.

When he tries to get up from your seat, you let out a muffled ‘no’, that makes him stop in his tracks.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Not yet, please.” You beg, hugging him tighter. You are simply too tired to do anything right now and all you want is to be close to Harry right now. He hums softly, relaxing in the seat again.

“Alright darling, we’ll stay here for a little while…”

[octuscle]

Fatal shortcut

You know those days. The traffic is murder. You can't go another inch. Your destination is within reach, but it will take you three green lights and at least 20 minutes to cover the last 100 meters. Bloody hell! Honk the horn? It's no use… But now carefully pull onto the green lane, then cut across the high school parking lot and you're there. Why do you have your baby, the Mercedes G-Class, after all? I put on the turn signal, the car takes the sidewalk like nothing, carefully into the parking lot, look left and right and…… BANG! Damn it, the Mustang has clearly taken my right of way. This is guaranteed to take longer than 20 minutes… The two morons in the car look like they only have their heads to wear football helmets and pour beer through their mouths. The typical stereotypical football college jock bros. The day just keeps getting better…

"Yo, Chuck! Bro, did you see what that punk did there?" "Sure, Brad! He definitely took your right of way." I try to protest. But I'm way too caught off guard when the guy, who is obviously Chuck, stands up in front of me. God knows I'm not small. I'm a well-trained, muscular six foot two. But Chuck is easily ten centimetres and at least 20 kilograms taller than me… He grabs my balls. Damn it, I want to punch him, but Brad's already got me from behind. And Brad is barely smaller than Chuck. "There you go, you little faggot!" Chuck hisses at me. "Are you lying in wait for your wankers in the parking lot again? But this time is the last time!" He spits in my face and his grip on my balls tightens. Brad turns my head in his direction and spits again. Then the two of them get into their car, put it in reverse. And disappear.

I stand there a bit like an idiot. I'm far from being small or a faggot. And the last thing Chuck and Brad were to me were wank templates. I mean, I have nothing against gays… But thanks no, not for me… I'll take a look at the damage to the car. It's no big deal, the Mustang looked worse. I get back in the car, drive the last few meters into the underground car park, throw my keys to Stephen at reception and ask him to take the car to the garage. When I get off work later, I'd like to have it done. He puts his hand to his temple and says "Sir, aye, sir". Hehehe, I don't mind hierarchies being recognized.

"You little faggot"… I can't get that phrase out of my head. Shit, I'm really unfocused today. Maybe I just need a distraction. I go to the gym during my lunch break. Somehow I feel the need to look like anything but a faggot. I train bare-chested. Dressed only in compression shorts. Not really appreciated here. But I don't care today…

Shit, I'm not in top form here either… What I normally lift without any problems is all too heavy for me today. At least it's the cross trainer… Even though I'm not really the cardio type. When I get in the shower, my cock gets hard. Shit, that's embarrassing. But I also have to say that there's really only premium meat running around here today. And I'm one of them. Definitely one of them. Even the clean-shaven guy in front sees it that way. Clear body language. It doesn't take long before I'm leaning against the shower wall. And for the first time in my life I get fucked… And how! I can hear the angels singing. It feels so good as the stallion cums in my ass. To say goodbye, he gives me a kiss and a pat on the ass. And he says loudly to one of his buddies. "What a waste for such a submissive pig to have such a magnificent cock!"

The fuck was great, but apart from that I'm really not myself today. I feel like I've been missing the last year. For the life of me, I can't remember a lot of things that happened. It's like I wasn't there. I'm glad when Stephen calls me at around 5 p.m. to tell me that my car is back. I thank him, pack up my things and go down to reception. Stephen grins at me almost insolently and says that this service is an exception and that he now has something good on me. Completely confused, I say, "I'm fine, dude" and take my car keys. But there is no black G-Class in my parking lot. There's a baby blue Mercedes SLK, in good shape, freshly polished. But it must be 15 years old. I press the key. The doors open. What the fuck?

I just want to get home, this day is a disaster. As I park the embarrassing car and walk past the concierge, Michael calls after me, "Hey, Johnny boy, can you give Mrs. Smith from 2316 a lift?" I turn red. I walk back to the concierge desk. "So what, my name is Jonathan, but it's actually Mr. Hays to you. And why would I stop on the 23rd floor when I live on the 38th. Besides, I don't know Mrs. Smith." Michael grins at me with his one-million-dollar smile. "Rough day, John, uh, Mr. Hays? You might as well ask the old lady if her drain is still acting up. And before you try to break into the wrong apartment, I understand you live in 2304." He hands me a package. I drive up to the 23rd floor. I give her the package. She asks if I can plug in the new coffee machine straight away. "Of course, mom," I say. I ask if her drain is working again. She says it would be nice if I could have another look. I ask if she has any rubber gloves. She nods. I pull the dirt out of the blocked drain. She slips me a dollar. I go to 2304, open the door. And drop onto the bed. It's right next to the door. 2304 used to be the room for the lady's maid from apartment 2312. On the one hand, I feel very much at home. But on the other hand, I should be somewhere else. Somewhere with a view of Central Park. With more space. I pull out my cell phone and start working my way through Grindr. Maybe I just need someone to take me really hard again today

That was a night of really wild dreams. Really wild dreams. But obviously everything is fine now. I feel fit. My morning wood has never been better. I stroke my chest. Didn't it used to be hairy? I'm fantasizing again. What it would be like to be a real guy. Successful, at least 1.82 m. Well, I'm not going to grow any more. But maybe that's because of some Italian roots or something. That's where I got my hairy armpits and good beard growth. Shit, I'm still hard as nails. So routine like every morning: wank, jog, shower and then off to the office. I should be there at 07:00 so that the mail is distributed and the conference tables are all set before the Masters of the Universe arrive at the office. It's 07:05 when I walk in the door. Stephen grins and just says, "Subway?" "Don't ask, bro!" I reply, rolling my eyes. I didn't really need a bachelor's degree for my job. Jogging in the morning to stay in shape is more important. At the end of the day, I usually have 15K steps and 40 floors on my fitness tracker. And that's not usually the end of it. By the time I get home, Michael usually has a number of assistance activities for me. But hey, the address on the Upper Eastside sounds impressive, which I would never normally have been able to afford as a young professional. I'll even put up with the apartment on the first floor with a view of the backyard and the job as a temporary janitor.

Of course it's embarrassing to still live with my parents. But if I wanted to afford my own place, I'd probably have to move 200 miles away from Down Town. And I want to stay here. That's important to me. Also for financial reasons. The subway tickets alone would be too expensive if I had to travel further. I mean, the little bit of scholarship… And I don't earn much in the kitchen of the cafeteria. Stephen and Michael are good friends. If I didn't have them, I wouldn't make it. But they have good contacts. Stephen in the office, Michael at home. They always know someone who needs a massage with a happy ending. Or a greedy college boy face for a blowjob. The men are usually well-groomed. Too well-groomed, actually. That's why I always look forward to my part-time job as a trainer at the high school gym. If I'm lucky, I get to meet Brad and Chuck. I mean, they're not gay or anything. We never make eye contact. But I still get to blow them sometimes. Even though, of course, it's pathetic when you're a sophomore in college sucking high school seniors. But fuck, you won't find cheesier dicks with a more pronounced scent of musk and sweat anywhere!

Yo, have I even dropped my name yet? It's Janusz, 19 years young and repping as an exchange student up in the Big Apple. Just call me Jonny, keep it chill. Hailing straight outta a tiny village near Krakow, Poland, in case that detail tickles your pickle. Still wrapping my head around this English gig… But let me tell ya, my French game is on point, or so the bros claim. Thrilled to be out of the parental crib and living it up in this wild city. Dang, the possibilities here are endless! Senior year vibes, you know what I'm saying? And now that I joined the wrestling squad, it's like BOOM! More close body action in a week than I got in a year with the 'rents around! Truth bomb: I make most of my cash tagging along with my wingmen Brad and Chuck, the school heartthrobs. I'm like their trusty sidekick. It's lit! Hoping to snag an athletic scholarship next year, fingers crossed. Sure, these two golden boys ain't wrestlers (legends in the bedroom, though), but football studs. It'd be epic if we could keep the bromance alive in college. Purely platonic, of course. Or not… 🤷‍♂️

[vroomvroomwee]

Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

[stevieschrodinger]

So what if like the thing that makes Alpha and Omega pairs, true mates or whatever, is like a detectable thing that they can test for. And like, everyone has their little blood test at birth and then on say, their 18th birthday, the Alpha gets informed as to who their omega is.

Obviously it's a bit of a sexist deal and lots of Omega and their supporters are trying to get it changed so that both parties are informed, to make it fair, and that is getting some traction but right now, the Alpha gets told and the Omega has to wait for them to show up.

Except when Eddie, fucking excited as all hell to meet his Omega finally, opens his envelope to find Steve Harrington's name starring back at him and Eddie just. He just can't. Steve's one of the biggest bitches at Hawkins high. And even if Eddie can, sort of, get past that, Steve's a snob. He lives in a fucking mansion and has a nice car and preppy clothes and yeah...Eddie is going to get rejected stone cold and that would be fair because he doesn't have a single thing to offer and Omega like Harrington.

Eddie burns the envelope.

And yeah, he can't help but watch Steve a little more now that he like, Knows, but he does his best to put it behind him.

And Steve gets into a fight with Nancy wheelers new Omega, when Nancy gets her envelope, and it's not Steve's name inside and it looks like Jonathan came out on top and Steve...well, he looks beaten and sad and that nearly makes Eddie cave but...no. no.

Right up until he has Steve under his hands, pinned to a boathouse wall with a bottle to his throat and Eddie's been thinking of Steve has his Omega for so long it just kind of slips out. Eddie whispers it, 'Omega' and the bottle drops to the floor and shatters more.

And Eddie has to watch it play out from close range on Steve's face, dawning realisation. Deep hurt. And then anger. An angry shield that comes down as he pushes Eddie off.

"Dustin explain to Munson what's up, I'll be outside a minute.". And Steve just stomps out and there's fuck all Eddie can do about it.

And then he kinda gets distracted by hell dimension stuff. For a bit. And Steve's clearly fucking angry with him and Eddie, well, what the fuck is Steve expecting Eddie to do, right? Steve would never have wanted him in the first place. So Eddie is fucking angry. And it comes out spiteful, calling Steve 'big boy' like he knows it'll rile Steve up. Throwing his jacket at Steve so he will cover up, because he can't bare to look at all the skin Steve is showing, especially with fucking Wheeler hanging around. And if it got something of Eddie's on Steve, well then, it doesn't fucking matter does it? Doesn't mean anything.

And it's not until it's all done, and Eddie wakes up fucking high as a kite on pain meds, with non other than Harrington sitting by his bedside that it all slips out, "what are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs, won't look at him, "waiting to see if my Alpha dies, I guess."

And he just sounds so...bereft. so broken.

"Steve, I just...look-"

"Doesn't matter. You've made it clear. It's fine. And you're going to live I guess so I'll just-" and he's standing, turning to leave.

And Eddie knows Steve now. Sees him with the sheep. Knows he isn't a bitch. Knows he's just...a good guy. Knows he isn't any of the things Eddie thought he was.

"You grew up in a fucking castle." Steve pauses, sitting back in the chair to frown at Eddie.

"What has that go to do with-"

Eddie clears his throat, it's dry and scratchy and hurts but he has to do this. "You grew up in a castle. Nice car. Both parents. Preppy clothes, fucking, shitty fucking jock friends. Steve, you would have rejected me in a heartbeat. I live in a fucking trailer and sling drugs on the side I'm not- I couldn't do that to you."

And Steve just, he just starts crying. He nods, wipes his eyes, "I might have," he admits finally, "I don't know what I would have said...but I needed you. Since then I needed you so much and," he sniffles, wipes his pink nose .

"And I didn't know. I couldn't have and I am so sorry but could we just, now, can we just-" and it hurts like fuck but Eddie bites it down because Steve is half clambered into the bed next to him and yeah. Yeah, that's perfect.

[rubyvhs]

nightmare [dean winchester]

pairing; dean w x fem! reader summary; you go on a hunt with the brothers but when it goes to shit, dean can’t help being overprotective. tags; angst, stitching yourself, alcoholic dean, some you and sam in there cause he's the cutest baby, your dad died.

“fuck! sam, quick, get the girls.” dean runs into the impala forcing the engine to roar to life and flashes his lights at the highest setting for the vampires, burning their eyes as the other four get into it and he drives off.

it's quite for the first five minutes, except for the heavy breathing. the two girls that the trio rescued are sleeping peacefully, though you think it's anything but peaceful. their faces aren't relaxed, instead covered in blood and frowning, but their breaths have slowed, at least.

five minutes. that's all it takes before the tension is broken with a, “let me drive, dean.” the older winchester lets out an exaggerated airy laugh for all of two seconds before putting on a straight face and telling him no. “you're hurt, you can hardly keep your eyes open, let me drive, either of us.”

sam is right, dean is hurt way more than both of you combined, he fought off most of the vampires on his own while you took the girls and ran, but he was mostly hurt because he hadn't expected it.

your plan was to get the girls and dip then come back in the morning to wipe them out in their sleep, but you had woken one of them up with the loudest noise you've ever made when one of the girls stabbed you in the stomach with some glass she’d found on the floor. 

again, taken by surprise. obviously the girls thought you were one of the vampires. 

“shut up. it's only a ten minute drive to the nearest hospital.”

“we're going to a hospital?” you don't usually hunt with sam and dean, opting to stay in the motels and do some research, maybe figure out a better plan, but you've never seen them go to the hospital for their injuries, they'd always come home to you bleeding out on the floor.

“for you and the girls, yes.”

“what about you and sam?”

“it's fine.” that shut you up, his strict tone, and stare in the rear view mirror made you slide down in your seat.

ten minutes later you’ve reached 'northwest tawara horspital' and sam is helping the girls out of the impala. dean, while a wanted fugitive, does the same with you. 

but you refuse. “i won't go inside if you two aren't.”

“what?” he moves a little too quickly and holds his side as he winces. god, that can't be comfortable. 

“i won't go inside, we're just wasting time,” sam comes back and stands in the drivers side to talk to you, door open. “see? sam's back, let's get home quickly so we can fix you both up, and me.”

“no, you're going in.” sam was the one to insist this time but you just shake your head and stay planted into your seat. through the corner of your eye you can see both men discussing what to do then they get back in the car with a sigh.

on the drive home it’s mostly silent until you feel your eyes flutter closed. just a few seconds of sleep— but dean’s loud shout of your name wakes you up, “don't close your eyes, we need to fix you up first.” you nod and straighten up, “and what you did back there? fuckin’ reckless, don't pull that shit again. when we tell you to do something, you do it. or you don't come on hunts with us.”

“what the hell? i was the one who decided i didn't want to come with hunts on you guys, you can't take away my choice.”

“like hell i can't!” he isn't looking at you through the mirror, instead focusing on the road because you're on a busy one, but you can still feel his eyes burning into yours. it makes you shrink down in your seat. you hate how much his words affect you, and how visible it is too. 

sam has has never yelled at you really, but even if he had it wouldn't have done much damage, he's too soft for that. dean though... he scares you sometimes, not that he'd hurt you or kick you out, just that he'd be disappointed in you, maybe give you the silent treatment. you don't want that, but you also hate being barked orders at.

“you can't, dean.” sam says to his brother, slapping his shoulder once to ground him back, and it seems to have worked. because you’re not a bad hunter— if anything, you have their back most of the time, you aren’t clumsy or unreliable and what happened had been a mistake that any other hunter would have made. this isn’t about hunting. this is about dean being too controlling.

you thought it was over now that you're at the motel but when he parks baby, he looks back at you, “i can, and i fucking will. you can't act like a child and expect us to let you come on the hunts. you listen to whatever the fuck we tell you to do.” your lips part in surprise, thinking of how to respond, but he doesn't even give you the chance and gets out, slamming the door behind him. 

you don't look at sam as you close baby's door and start walking to the motel. sam catches up and tells you to wait and because you don't have it in you to be yelled at anymore, you turn back and face him.

he says your name, low and soft, “that wasn't an order,” 

shut up before i cry “hey,” he hugs you, your head on his chest and you just let it all out. god, you feel so stupid. you can't believe you were so unprepared and you caused them all this damage. if you had just been in defense mode you would've never screamed, you've been through worst and kept quite. and though you know it’s a little irrational, you can’t help but blame yourself for not being quiet.

“hey, he's just worried about you, he means well, you know that.” you let go slightly and he kisses your forehead, telling you to go into their room and that he'll be in yours to get cleaned up. 

+

walking into the room of the man who just basically called you a two year old is nerve-wrecking. you don't want to be screamed at and god knows you don't want to be treated like a child again. every time you think you’re getting through to dean, or that you’re becoming closer, something happens and he reminds you you’re still young, naive, and only with them because your dad had told them to.

your father is— was a hunter, he used to hunt with john sometimes, and when he heard about the apocalypse that's soon to be here and all the angels that seem to stride onto earth, he wanted to tie up loose ends, so he asked the winchesters to keep you with them until further notice.

then he never came back. but all of this is something you’ve dealt with ages ago. years even. but this? dean pushing you away all the time? acting like you’re some burden? that, you can’t get over.

“hey,” you hear his voice and turn around, not even having seen him walking towards the bathroom. “how you holding up?”

it’s a stupid attempt to make amends, but it works. the second he says anything, it works. it always does.

“fine.” you mumble and notice he’s finishing supplies to stitch himself up. ouch. you know the boys prefer to do it themselves than help the other out but you’ve always found they need a gentler hand. 

you walk towards him and hold his hand in place to stop his movements, taking the needle from him. he doesn't complain, just drowns the bottle of whiskey. with one hand, the other holding his shirt up. 

when it’s done you hold my hand out for the bottle and he scoffs, as if wasting his alcohol hurts him more than the wound that just got stitched up. he hands it over reluctantly.

you pull down his shirt and decide it’s better if you take a swig too. “does it hurt?” the questions rolls off easily, no matter how angry you are at him. 

“i'll survive.” he shrugs like it's nothing. like the gash over most of his stomach is nothing.

“not what i asked.” dean half-heartedly glares at you but your expectant expression makes him think there isn’t a way out. and there isn’t.

“it's fine, my arm’s just sore.” you sit next to him on the bed, pushing his sleeve up and he hisses, muttering something under his breath and snatching the bottle from your hand to drown it. 

“dean...” it’s surreal. it knocks all the air out of your lungs. you’ve never seen the mark, the one an angel of the lord imprinted on dean’s shoulder, though sam talked about it a couple of times. you clear your throat before he notices the staring and point to the wound, “i think you need to stitch that one too, hand me another needle.”

he does and you get to work. it’s mostly noiseless but it feels like there's something heavy in the air, a confession. though it’s impossible to tell who’s supposed to make it.

“i'm sorry.” you try to hide the surprise on your face by looking down but he doesn't let you, hooking his fingers under your chin and he makes you look up at him. “i was so worried about you.” he lets go, taking a breath in, “the way i felt when you screamed? damn it, i've never felt so scared before and i've been to hell,” he lets out a dry laugh and you smile a little. god he's so perfect.

“i don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart, never, so when i ask you to listen to me it isn't because i'm treating you like a child, i just wanna keep you safe.” there are more words on the tip of his tongue but he shuts up and it doesn’t nothing to help the growing smile on your face. it's more than you thought you’d ever get out of him.

you pour a more of the alcohol on his stitches and pull the sleeve down. “okay, you officially need a shower now, you're all booze and cologne. i need to clean this place up.”

“it's fine, sammy and i will do it.”

“not happening. go get cleaned up, i'll finish here.” you knew that what you’re doing is painfully obvious, but you hope he lets it go, just this once. 

of course he doesn't, instead pulling your shirt up to reveal the various cuts that don’t need stitches, just some treatment, and the stab wound you fixed in the car when they were both too busy sulking in the tension. you’ve gotten a lot better at handling pain since you’ve started with the winchesters.

“when did you do that?”

“doesn't matter, it's done. get in the shower dean, let me clean up and go to sleep.”

“damn it, just answer me when i ask something. when did you do this?”

“car.” you’re scared, tired and you don't want to fight. but he just apologized, for god’s sake, can’t he give it a rest.

you wait for his harsh blow. words that will knock you off my feet, anything really, but he just sighs, letting the shirt go and stands up. you do the same and he embraces you in a hug that you’re quick to reciprocate. so quick you’d already had your arms around his neck before he got his around your waist.

the whiskey burns your nose but it's nothing compared to how your body burns with you so close. “dean?”

“you're so strong, you know?” he takes a beat, a breath, “but that doesn't mean shit to me, i still wanna keep you safe all the time because god knows i don't deserve you but i'm too selfish to let you go.”

you pull away just to see his face. you need to know he means what he's saying. that you’re talking about the both of you in the way you’re thinking. the desperation to convey how he feels to you, it gives you all the confidence in the world to stand a little taller and finally kiss him.

you kiss dean winchester because for the first time in ages, someone cares, someone wants you safe. someone learned from their mistake and did better, someone is fucking perfect and it's dean. 

one of his hands is rough on your waist, the other on you cheek. his tongue, his cologne, it all makes you melt into him. 

then ten seconds later, way too deep into the kiss he pulls away slowly, shakes his head and groans, “why'd you do that.”

you step away him in panic. you were ready for rejection, sure. a small ‘i don't see you like that’, not this.

“i'm sorry, i didn't mean to—”

“no, no, hey,” he steps closer “i just... i don't wanna do this if it's gonna hurt you. i don't know how good i will be if we go down that road and you deserve something good.”

“you are dean,” he licks his bottom lip and it catches you attention, forcing you to bite on yours, “you're good. you're perfect.”

one thing i will not allow in my household is the winchester brothers being insecure that they're not enough (pov it’s all they do). anyways sooo this is for the jensen-a-thon for @artyandink so excited to have my first entry and there’s another one i’ve been working on for a week (hopefully i’m almost done with it). hope you enjoyed this!

[neverfilth]

"Bloberta made Clay drink so-"

OKAY, BUT DO YOU KNOW WHY?

Let me explain

'Help'.

A very important word when describing Bloberta.

First, it is integral to understand that Bloberta feels torturously alone and unwanted. Her friends are all getting married while she has no one.

She isn't clever enough to help Censordoll.

Her own family leaves her out of the family choir. 

And the only crumb of validation she is offered is from her mother.

“Why don't you help me out and… Clean your room?” Note even the slight pause her mother has, as if she doesn't even know what to do with Bloberta.

Next, we see her trudge to her room. And what does she hide under the covers of her bed?

A flask.

She turns to alcohol when she is confronted with how unwanted she is. But where did that draw to alcohol come from?

We know she comes from a home where she is ultimately ignored and seen as valueless by everyone except one person.

Her Father.

I have a lot of thoughts about Bloberta and Raymond's relationship (the one scene where they interact just UGH LIVES IN MY HEAD) but the main thing to get away from it is that she associates the act of drinking with her Father.

A man who, without alcohol, is unable to speak his mind at all. He drinks to better tolerate his situation and his wife, who clearly doesn't value his words or opinions.

But Bloberta is very receptive to her Father, she greatly values his company and his thoughts and she finds comfort in being around him. She feels like someone cares about her and values her even if she knows he can't change anything.

Notice that despite her desperation to speak with her father, to form that connection that would validate her, she can't even touch him because she knows doing so would break the frail connection they have currently. Her Father is so reserved that at this point, any unexpected emotional reach would immediately cause him to shut down and retreat. Demonstrated just by him closing up immediately after she told him she loved him.

So how does this affect Blobertas perception of alcohol?

Well she says it herself.

"I think it helps us to be better people".

This rationality was reinforced by the small acts of kindness her father would show her.

And we don't have any reason to believe she is lying about this because up until the night of the reception, she's experienced nothing that contradicts this belief.

Bloberta's reliance on alcohol can be seen as her reaching for a solution to her need to feel wanted. She knows she's left out, both by friends and family. But if she believes drinking can make you become a better person? Then of course she would drink, because maybe then someone will want her.

What does she say directly after that?

"My Father drinks.”

Further insinuating her belief that he is good and he is the main reason she sees alcohol as a positive force.

She thought it would genuinely help Clay.

There's that word again.

Importantly, notice her clear anxiety and tenseness in her beginning interactions with Clay. From her first question, their conversation began falling apart.

So what happened?

Just after the wedding, she was almost suave in the way she invited Clay to the reception.

Why was she so nervous now?

Well, in her eyes, this was her chance.

After an undisclosed time of having no luck she finally convinces a handsome single man to have some semblance of a date with her.

She NEEDS this to go well.

So she's obviously anxious and stressed, and that's showing, but she figures that some drinks will make it easier for both of them. She's full panicking because she feels it's just so normal to drink, especially socially, and she can't understand why he wouldn't drink. She has no frame of reference for that mindset.

Things are already awkward between them once they settle in, and its not getting better. So of course she is going to fall back on what makes things easier for her.

And initially things are looking up.

Suddenly Clay's more talkative, and more receptive to what she's saying.

He's complimenting her.

He says she helped him.

The one thing she wants more than anything is to feel useful, she wants to be able to fit into that role that everyone expects her to so that she can be of worth to someone.

She isn't worth it to her peers,

she isn't worth it to her family,

but she could be worth it to him.

This only reinforces her resolve. 

This is it.

She is going to finally find her place to fit in, and everyone will welcome her with open arms as she finally finds her place in the role society has chosen for her.

But it's not that simple.

Things go south quickly, Clay doesn't want these things that Bloberta has to have. 

But she needs them.

To Bloberta, those things are proof of your value. The value society, friends, and family place on you.

Who would she be if she couldn't attain that value?

We again recognize that Bloberta has a fixation on being helpful. Helpfulness is the clearest indication of one's value, after all.

After being turned away by Clay, she immediately returns to a default ‘helpful’ act, cleaning. Just like her mother would tell her to do. But this was still her only chance, and Clay had already told her she had helped him. If she could only help him again, then maybe she had a chance at the real value she craved.

Once her anger passes and Clay sobers up, she returns to him and paints herself as ‘helpful’ as possible. She's desperate for that validation again, and if he would agree to her help then everything would certainly be fine.

She is practically begging him, help becomes a plea for him to save her from the pain of her day to day.

She hopes more than anything he will accept her and make all her pain go away.

He does accept, but in exchange, her previous world view is shattered.

Drinks don't help you become a better person.

They just help your true nature come out.

[elllisaaa]

sorry i just read you’re request rules😭 Heyyy i was wondering if you could do bf thoughts with dino or vernon🫶

hii ! no problem, here is the dino version and you can find the vernon one right here ! hope you'll enjoy it !

BF!CHAN who's so whipped, heart eyes everytime you enter the room or talk to him, ready to drop everything for you.

chan is definitely one of those clingy boyfriends. no matter the time or location, he needs to touch you but mostly, he needs you to touch him to feel alright. you're literally his safe space, so when he feels anxious or that he needs some reassurance, he will grab your hand and not let it go or rest his head on his shoulders. and chan gets even clingier when he's tired - though you don't really complain because he's very cute when he's pouting and asking for your attention. you and him cuddle every night without any exceptions, he literally needs it to sleep well. and even if he wants to be dependable and reliable to you, he actually loves to be the little spoon. for sure, he also adores holding you in his arms, but the best part of his day is when you hold him at night and that you run your hands through his hair. he also loves to fall asleep while laying on your chest, your heartbeat soothing every one of his worries. chan won't admit this before a loooong time, but once he does, he gets to be the little spoon even more so he doesn't regret it - he just needs to be loved as much as he loves.

"can you play with my hair too ? i love when you do that baby, it's so relaxing."

love languages are acts of service, physical touch and words of affirmation. talking about the first, he's often bringing you breakfast in bed when he has some days off, claiming it's for all the nights you stay up waiting for him to come home. he cooks everything by himself and spoils you before returning under the covers with you. he actually loves lazy morning where he can just spend an hour or two in bed with you, quietly talking and admiring your pretty face. talking about the second, chan absolutely needs a welcome home kiss when he gets home, and a goodbye kiss when he leaves - it's really important and he would be kind of upset if he doesn't get his kisses. talking about the third, he's saying "i love you" so much you think it's his most used words at this point. he confesses his love all the time, even when you look like a dead rat and just woke up, or when you're doing nothing particular - chan just feels the need to remind you of how down bad for you he is. and when you look him in the eyes to say it back, he melts inside because this man needs to be cherished too.

"i love you y/n." - "i'm just bringing you a cup of water, baby !" - "it takes nothing away from the fact that i love you. - "i love you too channie. so much."

chan giggles and blushes so easily around you, even if you've been together for a long time. anytime you're praising him about his looks, his dance skills or just something he does randomly, he gets so shy. but it's so cute, and you adore to kiss his red cheeks right after and hear him stutter over his words just like during your first date. he loves to do couple trends with you on tiktok. he obviously can't post them, but it's okay because you and him know he has these videos and he can brag to his members about how pretty his girlfriend is. the only downside is that he can't show off how lucky he is to have you. but he does find ways to signal to everyone that you're his, and that goes with his obsession for matching outfits. he definitely got the two of you matching pajamas and outfits, and when you go out, he always takes care of matching with your outfit. even on the days he cannot be with you, he always asks for a pic of your outfit so he can match with you. chan will also borrow some of your hair ties or accessories to keep with him so it's like you're actually here, especially when he goes away for extended periods of time. by the way, you expect a call from him everyday when he's not there because he misses you too much.

"i'm really happy to get to see so many carats but i can't wait to go home to you, i miss you too much… next time, i'm putting you in my luggage."

BF!CHAN who's passionate and intense, his sex drive always increases when he's near you because you're just too attractive.

just like he needs your hands on you at all times, he loves it when you put some kind of ownership on him. chan is proud to be yours, and he wants to show it off. so whenever you mark him, he's going crazy. you could suck hickeys on his neck, scratch his back with your nails or bite his shoulders and he would literally moan like a slut. the best part is that he doesn't even try to hide these marks, instead purposely putting on clothes that show them off, even if he gets teased by his members. also, if you leave lipstick stains on any part of his body - especially his cock after having sucked him off - he will take pictures of it. chan marks you too of course, but he prefers when you're the one doing it. if you catch him in a day he's particularly tired and sensitive, he reacts even more to your touches and you could bring him to cum just by kissing, licking and sucking on his neck. his moans are so loud every time you decide to mark him, eyes closed and feeling dizzy from having a beautiful girl like you all over him

"make me your baby, please, i want your marks all over me."

okay this one might be a little controversial but i think that he loves it when you wear heels. chan is definitely the type of boyfriend to get down on his knees and help you put on and take off your heels on date nights, going as far as putting your legs on his lap to massage your sore feets, your little noises of appreciation driving him mad. his fav is when you press down your heel against his crotch, getting him hard even in public sometimes, it gets him off so quickly. that goes with the fact that he's obsessed with you and your body. you're literally a goddess in his eyes and he makes sure to worship you everytime he gets a glimpse of you. i'm convinced that he gets pussy drunk very easily, losing himself quickly in the taste of your juices when he's eating you out. when he's inside of you, he's very vocal about how good you make him feel and chan goes crazy whenever you're squeezing around him.

"f-fuck ! you feel so fucking good, so wet and tight baby…"

sex with chan is messy - there's slick, cum, saliva, sweat and tears everywhere once the both of you are done. so obviously, the sheets have to be changed and showers after you've fucked is necessary. it's something he loves because it's intimate and he feels close to you, but it often leads to a round two in the shower. seeing you naked and getting to wash your body gets him going all over again. the hot water falling on the two of you and the slow, lazy thrusts heightening all his and your senses. also, he loves fucking in the bath. when he gets home from long days at practice and that you had run a bath for him, it already makes him fall more in love with you. so having you sitting behind him, one hand stroking his cock up and down, lips sucking on his neck and running your other hand through his hair to help him relax - it's truly one of the best feelings ever.

"feels good channie ?" - "mh.. so good, don't stop."

[hellsquills]

Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

[sunkeji]

Hello!! If it alright can i request a tsukishima(+anyone else separately) x reader where the boys get a wisdom tooth removed so they're loopy and high from the meds and the reader has to take care of them?

a/n: I'm so sorry that I didn't get to your req sooner. If you're still alive and following my blog, I hope you have the heart to forgive me 🙏 also I'm trying a new format tee hee.

Tsukishima

My guy is dazed. I'm talking about his eyes looking hazy, and he's just staring at you. He's literally just staring at you with this sort of confused and serious face, like he's trying to figure something out.

He's got cotton balls stuffed in his mouth to apply the needed pressure, which makes his cheeks look a little puffy. His face right now is contrasting with his usual stoic expression.

Of course, you're going to have to take pictures to show him later to use as material for your teasing and because he looks absolutely cute.

Now he's still high and kind of loopy from the medicine that they gave him so I'm sure he's still feeling sleepy. So you opt to take a cab back to his home, and during this time, he's gotten a bit touchy. He's leaning against your shoulder while slumping in his seat as he fiddles with your fingers.

Fast forward to when you're in his room together. You helped settle him down in his bed after helping him change into a set of comfortable clothes. And of course, he treated you like some sort of pervert for wanting to stay while he changed. You just rolled your eyes and faced your back toward him.

You wanted to make him a smoothie to help with the soreness, or at least some soft foods that'd be easy for him to consume. But before you could do so, he had gently grabbed your hand and led you to his bed.

He was acting shy now, asking you to join him in bed. He obviously wanted to cuddle since he got out of the procedure and was just thinking of ways he could ask you to cuddle with him without actually asking.

Give your tsundere boyfriend some love, he becomes clingy and less emotionally constipated when he's feeling sleepy and high after all.

Bokuto

Just like Tsukishima, except he becomes 10 times clingier and acts like an overgrown baby.

As soon as he's out of the dentist, he's drooping himself all over you. It's like he's leaning almost all of his body weight against you, and mind you, he is no small guy. So it's not unexpected when you get some stares after leaving the dentist.

So it becomes a race against time to get him home before he collapses from the drowsiness or before he starts getting rowdy.

When it comes to him, forethought is necessary. Like booking a ride in advance to ensure your arrival back home wouldn't exceed 15 minutes because, as sad as it is to say it, you don't think your boyfriend can behave for more than that.

And you reach home just in time because, as soon as you step out of the cab, he's sulking about something. You're not sure what it's about this time, but you attempt to get him into the lift first.

You're so close to getting him into his house when he stops dead in his tracks and starts accusing you of not loving him. You don't know how he ever got to that conclusion. You make a sarcastic remark that breaks the dam, and he starts wailing.

You're panicking now, trying to get him into the house before any neighbors start to come out and investigate the source of the noise.

So in a last-ditch effort, you shove him the littlest bit into the house and shut the door. You turn around only to see him on the floor, sobbing and acting as if he's in a soap opera.

You sigh and just go into his bedroom to prepare the bed for him and clothes for him to change into. When you're done, you call him by his favorite pet name and promise him you'll cuddle with him until he's sober.

He perks up at the use of the pet name and scrambles to get into his room to change, and once he's done changing, he grabs you and tackles you into his bed until you're both snug under the covers.

Now he's bombarding you with questions about questions with obvious answers, like whether or not you love him, as he's nuzzling his head into you.

[shiftchii]

U.A. High in my DR !

Basics

Students are separated randomly into specific departments and classes sectioned by the letters A-K.

These departments are:

Department of Heroics (A - B): Students in this department learn everything they need to know in order to become excellent heroes in service to the community. They are trained in battle, first aid, rescue, support, and all manners of heroic-related lessons.

Department of General Education C - E): Students who don’t make it to the hero course are included here. This department supports students aiming for college and other pursuits. It’s also possible for students with good grades and exceptional strength and quirk skills to be transferred into the hero course (And either the support or business course mind you). Basically regular HS but they get to say that they went to UA on their resume.

Department of Support (F - H): Students here focus on developing support equipment that helps heroes out on the battlefield. With a workspace stock to the brim with all sorts of special tools and their own studio to build things, this department provides an unmatched creative environment.

Department of General Management (I - K): This department focuses on all aspects of heroic business, from the founding and managing of hero agencies to the promotion of public opinion regarding heroes. They even do hands-on lessons in venture capitalism. They have a lot of free time.

Each class is usually comprised of 21 students. That means that the total student population at UA would be 693.

We stay in the same class with the same teacher for all 3 years.

Since UA is a highly prestigious school, we get a lot of funding and benefits for the dorms and when we go on trips and whatnot. (Food we buy for the dorms is paid for, we get free snacks/concessions in the sports festival, free hero costume updates and renewals)

The school curriculum is way less loaded than here. The school system is much better.

The Hero Teachers are actually good at teaching.

Since U.A. is famous, it has many sponsors with support and hero merch companies, so some hero course students (usually 3rd years) have their own hero merch already. Students are sometimes sponsored and do photoshoots and are invited to red carpet events. (Following the School Festival, Class 1-A gets loads of sponsors and stuff!)

The teachers and students are encouraged to decorate their classes and most of them do so.

U.A. has a popular school website.

Staff and students are recommended to have Twitter to update the public events, the majority of the students obviously don't take this seriously, there's always someone who has beef and makes it public (Monoma) and it always ends up like those MHA Tweets, it’s the funniest thing ever.

Schedule

School is Monday - Friday and starts at 8:25 and finishes at 15:10. Regular classes take place during the first half of school, then the afternoon (for the Dept. of Heroics) you will have hero training. Only Dept. of Heroics students have an additional 7th period.

The teachers move between classes while the students stay in 1 class (besides electives).

Wednesdays are half days and only consist of hero training (so no typical school work), though sometimes it's replaced by FHS. You also don't have to wear your uniform on Wednesdays.

We will always have some kind of free time for school despite our somewhat busy schedules.

Not all school days are the same (emergency drills, other schools coming to train with us, etc.).

Classes

Core Subjects for Dept. of Heroics

Homeroom: Taught by Aizawa. Acts as a study hall. The class reps will often give a small meeting with the class about important events during this period.

Japanese: Taught by Cementoss. Focuses on reading, writing, and literature.

Mathematics: Taught by Ectoplasm. Covers algebra, geometry, and calculus.

English: Taught by Present Mic. Emphasizes reading, writing, and conversation skills.

Home Economics: Taught by Midnight. Cooking and other aspects of household management.

Foundational Hero Studies (FHS): Taught by All Might, Aizawa or Midnight. Hero related studying: hero laws, safety precautions, first aid, jsl, media training, dividing hero and civilian identity etc.

Hero Training: Taught by various teachers, usually Aizawa or All Might, it changes every week and we are informed about the activities during homeroom. For example: Quirkless Combat, Rescue Training, Combat, Quirk Training etc.

Elective Subjects

Thought by various teachers. This is the only class where students move instead of teachers, these are shared, so you could end up with classmates from other classes. Students get to completely choose what electives they have. If they don’t choose, they are placed in extra training or study hall.

Options:

Foreign Languages (e.g., Chinese, Korean)

Journalism

Art Foundations

Photography

Ceramics

Psychology

Choir

Band

Orchestra

Woodshop

Metalshop

Chemistry

Poetry

Cooking

Baking

Biology

Physics

Film Analysis

Computer Programming

Animal Work

Volunteer Work

Theatre

Student Council

Literature Analysis

Forensics

Study Hall

Class 1-A Timetable

Around UA campus

The updated UA security system is really good. The sensors are so good, you don't even need to have your ID out. They can scan it anywhere on your person. If you lost or misplaced your ID, the gates also have facial recognition software, so it's fine. If you're not a student or staff, you NEED a visitor pass or the school will go into lockdown on you.

We can use our school IDs to get snacks and drinks from vending machines around the school hallways. It’s free and they are replenished daily.

UA has a courtyard where we can eat outside. Most of the 2nd and 3rd years get food from places outside of the school campus and eat outside in the courtyard. Because of this, the cafeteria isn't as crowded and when we eat lunch we can sit and enjoy our food comfortably. The cafeteria is also luxurious and looks like a fancy mall café.

The library is huge and has many resources with much to explore. There are many different levels with varying types of quiet floors and study halls. It's also open 24/7 so students who are fighting to finish a project can pull all-nighters.

There’s a little shop that has U.A. and hero merch and school supplies including books for courses. You can also buy the merch on the online website.

UA has extracurricular groups and clubs for those who aren't in the hero course such as other sports and things like cheerleaders, debate, theater, music, cooking, ballet, and much more. I mean, hero course students CAN do those things but they WILL have a hard time doing so all while dealing with said hero responsibilities. As mentioned before, business course students have a lot of free time and general ED students are basically regular HS students who just so happen to be going to UA and for support course students, it really depends on how much work you choose to take on for yourself.

There is a study center where students who need extra help can go. Students with failing grades must go here for a set amount of hours to get the help they need. It’s strictly work, and talking about anything other than school is basically prohibited. It’s usually run by Ectoplasm and his clones or Hound Dog.

Work studies & Internships

All first years do an internship, it’s required. This is usually after the sports festival when students have had a chance to show off their skills.

Work studies are basically experience-oriented off-study programs that allow students in the hero course who have Provisional Licenses to work with pros at their agencies. Students will be able to use their quirks under the guidance of a pro, and can even be dispatched to fight villains and help out in disaster areas. If you do well, you can be scouted to become the hero’s sidekick.

Work studies are a more serious version of internships. They entail helping pro heroes on the streets and with investigations. They are usually reserved for 2nd and 3rd-year students, who usually have their licenses. 1st years didn't do them in the past. However, with the rise of villain activity, the school decided to open up work studies to 1st years as well, albeit a very small and select few of them. If they didn't find a good agency with a proven track record they wouldn't do it at all.

Events

U.A. has seasonal dances and a lot of events, like Halloween, Hero Day and other festivals.

Uniforms

Color palette

The uniforms the students receive consist of 4 sets of each clothing (besides the coat and varsity jacket):

Shirts

Long sleeve

Short sleeved

Sleeveless

Blazer

Long sleeves

Sleeveless

Cardigans

Sleeveless (two color variations)

Long sleeved (two color variations)

Sweaters

Sleeveless (two color variations)

Long sleeved (two color variations)

Pants

Shorts

Below The Knee

Classic

Skirts

Mini

Below The Knee

Maxi

Ties

Necktie

Bow Tie

Socks

Quarter

Crew

Knee High

Thigh High

Tights

Shoes

Coat

Varsity Jacket

Gym Clothing

Tank top

Loose Zip-up Sweatshirt (long sleeves, short sleeves, sleeveless)

Cropped Zip-up Sweatshirt (long sleeves, short sleeves, sleeveless)

Shorts

Below Knee Shorts

Sweatpants

Swimwear

Sleeveless, Short sleeved and Long sleeved

Lanyards

Uniforms aren’t required on Wednesdays

Students are allowed to accessorize their uniforms however they want and wear their own jackets

Piercings, colored hair, nails, makeup etc. are allowed

The uniforms aren’t gendered - all students receive all versions and are allowed to wear whichever one they prefer

For students with mutant type Quirks, custom made uniforms are made

Button and sleeve/lapel stripe differences between the department uniforms [1-General education, 2-Hero, 3-Support, 4-Management].

School Bag

Along with the Uniforms the school hands out bags. You can return them and use your own if you’d like.

A standard deep blue nylon matching the uniforms. The U.A. logo sits at the right bottom corner.

Class

If you’re standing at the front of the classroom looking out at the desks, the seating arrangement starts at the leftmost side of the room (“A” names), going front to back and then going to the next row to the right, and so on.  keep in mind that the alphabetical order here is based on the Japanese alphabet. My number is 10.

Here's how I laid out the desks for 21 students:

Since we stay in the same classrooms for most of the days we can leave out stuff at our desks. They have shelves underneath with 2 outlets and lots of space.

Class 1-A Friend Groups

Everyone is actually really close, but those are what groups spend the most time together. Of course we hang out in different groups or all together too.

We have frequent movie and game nights, 1-A has a group chat and it’s always active, there’s always someone wanting to do something. Sometimes we invite people from other classes.

DekuSquad

Izuku

Ochako

Tenya

Tsuyu

Shouto

Haruka

Hitoshi (after he joins our class)

BakuSquad

Katsuki

Eijirou

Mina

Denki

Minoru

Hanta

TokoSquad

Fumikage

Mashirao

Mezou

Tooru

MomoSquad

Momo

Kyoka

Yuga

Kouji

Rikido

I hope this was helpful! <3

© credits: seating arrangement • basics @/Priicklleshifts on TikTok • uniforms • dividers

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Please.”

Stiles stands there, chewing on his pretty crimson lips, pleading.

Derek isn't fully clued in yet, but honestly, the kid is kind of vaguely breaking his heart.

“Please, Derek, I'm really sorry about this, but please just—just don't say anything, okay? And just—let me?”

Stiles had texted Derek earlier, at 3.17am, presumably just before he’d set off from his house to drive his jeep to the loft.

Derek had been lying awake in bed, unable to sleep.

His messages had read:

> dude, i rlly need to come over. that ok?

And:

> ill let myself in if thats cool?

And after a few moments, in quick succession one after the other and before Derek had a chance to respond:

> and i rlly need u to just like. not get out of bed. presuming yr already in bed

> all shall be revealed

> lol i don't know why i put that

> and obvs tell me if any of this is not ok. ok?

> as if you wouldn't lol

> #sourwolf

> and yeah i know im being a weirdo but thats why you like me

And then, a few seconds later:

> right?

Derek had stared at the flurry of messages for a minute or so, then texted back:

Okay, weirdo <

About ten minutes later, Stiles had let himself into the building. Derek listened to the kid muttering away to himself as he rode the old service elevator—except it wasn't really himself he was talking to.

“God, I hope I'm not wrong about this. Like, I think we're close enough now for it not to be weird. I mean, at least I hope we are. I'm just so fucking tired, man, and have got to get me some sleep. Anyways, just—don't get up, okay? Or, like, can you get into bed if you're not already in bed? Sorry, I know I texted you this already, I just really need you to trust me. You do know you can trust me… Right, big guy?”

Derek's trust of Stiles was implicit.

When the steel door had unlocked and slid open, Derek smelled fresh, mostly unscented shower gel over the base notes of Stiles's own cinnamon scent, mixed with the very definite chemo-signals that indicated fear, restlessness, apprehension—and also, the strongest of them all; hope.

Let me.

Here, now, Derek still doesn't know what the kid needs.

Let him what?

Derek doesn't have any more time to wonder, though, because Stiles is taking off his sneakers and pants and is slowly, very slowly—as if giving Derek the chance to protest—climbing into bed next to him.

Stiles is now in Derek's loft in the small hours, in Derek's bed, fully under Derek's covers, with Derek wearing only his grey tank and black boxer-briefs and a probably terrified look on his face.

He silently thanks the universe for the cover of night.

“Like, you should obviously say something if this is completely heinous or whatever, but otherwise just—let me do this?”

And all Derek can think is shit, he's freezing, at the same time he is going into a some sort of dumbstruck shock because Stiles is now wrapping his entire sinewy, beautiful body around the entirety of Derek's.

“This okay?” Stiles asks, the air around them spiking with the smell of his anxiety as he Big-Spoons Derek like some human-shaped octopus, skinny but strong limbs astonishingly everywhere.

And he sounds so unsure, and so small, and Derek can't bear it.

Not giving the stoic part of his brain any opportunity to talk him out of doing this, Derek takes ahold of Stiles's wrist from where the kid had draped one of his long arms around Derek's midriff, and hangs on as firmly but gently as he can, manoeuvring them both around in the bed so that Stiles is now the Little Spoon.

“This okay?” he asks gingerly, mirroring Stiles because his own words are failing him.

Stiles says, “Yeah. Even better,” and his anxiety is melting away into something much more pleasing; something like relief.

Derek breathes out the word, “Good,” and feels a little dizzy and a lot amazed, and kind of like his heart is beating wildly in his throat.

The only reason he knows it isn't, is because Stiles says, “I can feel your heart thumping away in your chest, man. But, uh, I don't have wolfy senses, so… I can't tell if it's good thumping or bad thumping.”

Then he promptly stops breathing.

Derek resists the desperate, learnt urge to run away from this. He mentally shakes himself and figures: After so many years fighting monsters together, maybe he and Stiles can fight this one together, too?

He gives himself a moment to ride out the panic, then screws his eyes shut and, praying to nobody in particular, whispers, “Good thumping,” into the shell of Stiles's ear.

Stiles shivers and breathes again, but doesn't say anything else. For once, he doesn't need to. He just needs to sleep.

As the kid settles into Derek's bed and Derek's embrace and, hopefully, Derek's life, he smells like a mix of serene and content and promise—and also, wonderfully, of Derek, now.

Derek is a strange combination of relaxed and freaking-the-fuck-out because that's just the way he's made. His brain won't stop whirring at a speed of a million miles an hour, worrying about everything and nothing, all at once, and before he can bite into his lip to stop himself, he blurts out, “Cora says I sometimes dream-talk about Cajun Gumbo recipes.”

Stiles's only sighs, then hums quietly, his breathing already evening out almost to the point of sleep.

Just when Derek thinks he's not going to get any sort of real answer, Stiles mumbles, “Okay, weirdo,” on an exhale, and then he's drifting off into unconsciousness.

Derek settles then, and smiles into the nighttime thinking that maybe, finally, he might get a good night's sleep, too.

.

for @shealynn88, the bestest of friends. i love you and miss you always... <3 (unedited btw—forgive me!)

[torakowalski]

Apols for the delay but Swimmer Steve is back and pretty much exactly where we last left him.

(part one | part six)

"Fuck," says Steve. "Fuck." He hasn't said much of anything else since he came out of the changing rooms, still damp and kind of stunned-looking.

"Fuck," Eddie agrees.

Steve looks at him, a smile starting to spread across his face, going on and on like it might be endless.

God, he's handsome.

God, Eddie is stupid in love with him.

"Olympics, baby!" Eddie crows. They've already hugged; Steve got a hug from everyone, as soon as he emerged. Eddie wants to hug him again, but that would probably be too much.

"Fuck," says Steve and sits down on the floor between their two beds.

Eddie shrugs to himself and sits down with him.

They've only come back to the hotel so Steve can get showered and changed before the celebration dinner that the kids have planned. Or, actually, Steve has come back to the hotel for that; thinking about it, Eddie's not sure why he came with, except that it just felt natural.

Either way, looks like they're going to take longer than expected.

"All good?" Eddie asks, just in case.

"Jesus Christ," says Steve, which is a change from fuck and laughs. He lifts his hands up to cover his face and when he lowers them again, his eyes are wet. "The Olympics, Eddie."

Eddie nods, can't do anything but smile stupidly back at him. He doesn't think he's ever seen Steve this open and relaxed and delighted. "The Olympics, Steve."

Steve rubs at his eyes with his fingertips, mostly just making his eyelashes damper and darker from his happy tears. "You know when you've wanted something your whole damn life, but you never really thought you'd get it? It feels fucking wild to get it."

Eddie thinks about his guitar, his band, how badly he wants to stand on a stage looking out at thousands of people who all want to hear what he has to sing. Then he reminds himself that this is Steve's moment.

"I bet," he says. "Congrats. You've worked damn hard and you absolutely deserve it."

Steve leans over and bumps their shoulders together. "You're coming with me, right?"

Eddie blinks. "Where?"

"... the Olympics," says Steve, like it should be obvious.

Eddie blinks some more. "Steve. Sweetheart. Steve. The Olympics are in Korea."

"Mm," Steve agrees, "but the war's over, it's totally safe there now."

Eddie loves and hates that Steve thinks that might be the only thing putting Eddie off.

Eddie stretches his legs out so they disappear under Steve's bed and hopes there's nothing really gross under there that'll stick to his jeans. "Look, the literal only reason I've been able to afford rocking up and down the country with you is government hush money and the fact you keep buying all my meals. There's no way I can stretch to plane tickets, and I'd need my own hotel room, right? 'cause you'll be living in the athletes village?"

He could have kept going, obviously he could have kept going, but he stops there because Steve is waving a hand at him.

"What? Don't say you'll pay. There's no way you have that much extra cash, either."

"Nah," Steve says, "but my dad does. And I will be fully, fully back on the credit card, after he finds out about this."

Eddie makes a face. "But we hate your dad?"

"We really do," Steve agrees, smile not even dimming. "But we love spending his money on shit he'll hate." He drops a hand to Eddie's knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. "You'll come, right?"

"... You should take Robin," Eddie tries, one last attempt to be a good person. "Or the kids. God, the kids would shit."

Steve leaves his hand on Eddie's knee, like that's just a place where it goes now. "I'd take them all, if I could... Plus like, all their parents to keep an eye on them, but they'll all be back in school by the time the Olympics start. None of them can take like, three weeks out."

"I bet Erica could wrangle it," Eddie points out.

Steve makes a guilty face. "Love Erica, but I don't think we have the kind of relationship where we hop over to Asia, just the two of us. You know?"

Eddie wants to ask, And we do? But they do. He knows they do.

"I don't know," he says. It's a big fucking deal. He's never left the country before and he'd love to, but he really does hate Steve's dad and all he chooses to be. The idea of being beholden to him for that big a favour sits wrong in his gut, even if Mr Harrington never actually knows about it.

"Eddie," Steve says, like he's prepared to wheedle for what he wants. Then he stops, takes a breath, shakes his head. "I know it's a big ask and obviously you don't have to, if you really don't want to. I kind of just, I can't, I can't imagine doing this without you."

Eddie claps a hand to his chest. "Right in the flattery gland, Harrington."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's leg and squeezes his thigh. Is this going to be a thing? Is Eddie going to have to get Robin to have a word with him about this soon?

"You're the whole reason I've got this far," Steve tells him, all close and sincere. "If you don't want to come, that'll suck, but it's okay. I just wanna make sure that you know I appreciate everything you've done."

Eddie knows every mole on Steve's face, but Steve's close enough now to reveal a few previously unknown freckles.

Eddie chuckles weakly. "Personal space?" he suggests.

"Overrated," Steve says and then.

And then.

And then he presses his lips carefully against Eddie's.

"What?" Eddie croaks. He can feel his breath dance off Steve's mouth.

"Thank you," Steve says and kisses him again, a little firmer, a little damper this time.

"I..." Eddie is a goddamn fucking hero because he makes himself lean back. "Don't. You can't. Don't kiss me to say thank you. That's not... Don't. Please."

He's expecting Steve to sit back, blush and apologise and explain he had to best of intentions. Instead, Steve lifts the hand not on Eddie's thigh and touches his cheek. "Can I kiss you 'cause I can't imagine not kissing you?"

The centre of Eddie's chest throbs. Even he doesn't know what that means. "You don't want to kiss me," he manages.

"Kinda really do," Steve says. "So? Can I?"

(continued here)

[taeyongdoyoung]

intro (infected)

summary: your attempts to find out the identity of your stalker lead you right where you least except... characters: reader, heeseung, sunoo and sunghoon genre: thriller, dark romance(-ish) warnings: themes of stalking, non-consensual photography, blood-covered dolls, stealing clothes, invasion of privacy, breaking in, toxic characters, betrayal, knife, drugging, kidnapping, etc. please PLEASE read at your own risk author's note: the title is inspired by this amazing song and the story itself is strongly influenced by my dreams and insta/tiktok edits of enha lmao; also this is the first part in a trilogy part two & part three word count: 2.3k

You feel like you're losing your goddamn mind. The last month has been the worst of your life. You literally dread coming home to another one of your stalker's "surprises". Sometimes it's photos of you taken from afar. Sometimes you return to your apartment only to find clothes of yours missing. Sometimes you receive little "gifts". Like creepy dolls covered in blood. So sweet.

Why haven't you called the police, one may ask? Well, you've heard of similar cases and the truth is, the police never take women's complaints seriously. They always make up some bullshit excuse about there not being enough proof. Or they try to make it seem as if the woman was somehow "asking for it" by leading some guy on or whatever.

So, you're stuck in this situation, being horrified of returning to your home every fucking evening. You can't afford to move out right now so, there goes nothing. However, you honestly don't imagine continuing to put up with this any longer. Therefore, you decide to take some action.

There are only two people other than you who have a key to your place. Thus, there are only two suspects you can think of.

Suspect number one. Your loving, doting, precious boyfriend Heeseung. You cannot possibly imagine him doing something so vile. Plus, he already has you. There would be no motive for him to stalk you and send you weird stuff and steal your clothes. True, he can be kinda possessive sometimes but nothing that would raise any red flags. He cannot be your stalker, you are pretty much convinced.

Suspect number two. Your adorable, sweet, younger best friend Sunoo. Once again, you cannot picture him being behind this. And yet...sometimes he has this resting psycho face clouding his usually adorable features. You don't wanna judge him hastily and without any proof. But sometimes he looks kinda dangerous. You know it's not his fault, he was just born like that. You have to investigate somehow and get to the bottom of this.

So, like the fool you are, you share your concerns with suspect number one.

"I have a stalker," you admit to your boyfriend one afternoon while you're watching a movie on the couch.

"What?!" Heeseung exclaims in shock.

Okay, his reaction seems surprised enough. There's no way he's acting.

"For the past month I've been receiving pictures of myself, as well as some creepy dolls covered in blood. Oh, and some of my clothes have gone missing."

"That's crazy! Why haven't you reported it to the police yet?" Heeseung asks, holding your hand, deeply worried about your well-being.

"Ugh, as if the police will do anything to take my case seriously. I'll figure it out myself. Well, with your help, hopefully."

"Of course, anything you need, I'm here for you," Heeseung promises.

"So, actually, you're suspect number one," you chuckle, not at all concerned Heeseung is behind this. He cannot be.

"I am?" he laughs. "Darling, I hope you know I would never-"

"I know," you cut him off with a trusting smile. "But you're one of the two people, other than me, who has a key to my place. And there was no sign of a broken door or window, so, whoever it is, obviously owns a key."

"Who's the other suspect, then?"

"Sunoo," you confess.

"Sunoo?!" Heeseung can't help but laugh again. "There's no way. He's a total angel. I just can't see it."

"Yeah? I lowkey see it, he has this creepy face every once in a while. He could totally pull this off," you reason.

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna confront him. Judging by his reactions, I'll be able to determine if it's him."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Heeseung immediately offers.

"Nah, that might intimidate him and he may not be as honest as I'd like him to be. Don't worry, we'll meet in a public space, just in case."

"Uhh, I'm not sure if you feel better but sure. Call me rightaway if you need help."

"I will, I promise," you smile fondly and kiss your boyfriend on the cheek.

The following day, you are sitting in a café with your best friend Sunoo, sharing mint choco ice cream that is a favourite of you both.

"So, I have a confession to make," you blurt out, mouth still full. "I have a stalker."

"Oh my God!" Sunoo exclaims dramatically.

"Yeah...I keep receiving weird objects and photos of myself. Also, some of my stuff have gone missing in the past month."

"The hell?! That sounds terrifying, why haven't you contacted-"

"The police?" you snicker coldly. "They won't help me, I'm on my own."

"Well, you've got me!" Sunoo replies enthusiastically.

"That's funny, because you're one of my suspects."

"Me?" Sunoo pouts adorably. "Y/Nnie...I wouldn't do something like that to you."

"I'd really like to believe that, Sunnie, but you kinda scare me sometimes, not gonna lie."

"Hey! It's not my fault my face does that thing when I'm not smiling. I promise I'm not your stalker!" he gets a little too passionate in convincing you.

"To be honest, I don't really think it's you."

"Who's your other suspect, then?"

"Heeseung," you shrug. "He's the only other person who has a key to my place."

"It's not him," Sunoo responds confidently.

"That's exactly what he said about you!" you cry out.

"Why are you not suspecting him, though?" Sunoo eyes you suspiciously.

"Well, if it was him, he would be quick to place the blame on someone else, you, for example. Therefore, it cannot be him."

"Ooor, he's only defending me to mislead you into thinking he's the good guy."

"I'm not sure that's the case," you shrug it off.

"Okay, then, are you confident we are the only two people who can access your place so easily?"

You try to think deeper about it. And suddenly it hits you. There was one other person who used to have a key to your place. But he gave it back. A week after you broke up with him for punching your friend (at the time) Heeseung for "staring at you" and "flirting" all the time. A week would have given him plenty of time to make a copy of said key.

"Sunghoon used to have a key to my place," you say out loud.

"Your ex?" Sunoo's eyes widen in shock.

"But he gave it back...a week after we broke up."

"He could have made a spare, that's really easy nowadays."

You nod in agreement.

"What are you going to do? Now that you have your primary suspect?" Sunoo asks.

"I'm not going to sleep. One of these nights he'll show up and I'll be ready to confront him."

"That sounds dangerous. Wouldn't you feel better if Heeseung and I were there with you?" Sunoo suggests warmly.

You shake your head.

"I have you guys on speed dial. If something bad happens, I'll call you rightaway."

"You have us on speed dial and yet we were your two suspects. The loyalty is dead," Sunoo tsks disapprovingly.

"Hey! It's not my fault you'd make a good psycho character in a kdrama," you try to joke to alleviate the tension.

"Damn right, I would."

Three nights later and you've drunk more coffee than is probably normal. You're so stoked there's no way you'll fall asleep. But you are tucked under the covers on the couch, pretending to be sleeping. Honestly, it'd be kinda disappointing if no one shows up. You must be crazy. Are you seriously looking forward to confronting your stalker, whoever he is? It's probably Sunghoon. You'd be pretty shocked if it was Sunoo or God forbid, Heeseung. You love them too much to expect something so creepy coming from them.

After what feels like forever, you finally hear it. The sound of the front door being unlocked. Slowly, almost impossible to notice. You curse yourself for being such a heavy sleeper. If you had been awake some of the previous nights, you would have caught him sooner. You wouldn't have had to put up with this for an entire month.

Your heart is beating so rapidly you feel like you're going to die any moment now. In retrospect, this probably wasn't the greatest idea. You probably should have notified the police just in case. Oh well, it's too late now.

Steps. Approaching. Slowly. Then, faster. Fuck. He's not gonna...Is he? The sheets you're hidden under are removed in one swift movement. He is.

"Miss me, princess?" Sunghoon asks, his voice as velvety as you remember.

You can't find the strength to say anything, let alone scream. You were right! It was Sunghoon all along!

"Missed me so bad you waited for me on the couch?" he teases you, running a gloved hand down your cheek.

Sooo far from the truth. You just wanted to know who was tormenting you. You didn't miss him at all. All he ever did was bitch about you spending too much time with Heeseung. He was a jealous, insecure wreck and all of that somehow manifested into the current predicament you found yourself in.

"Nah, just wanted to see who's been leaving me all these presents," you try to keep your composure.

"I'm surprised it took you so long to figure it out," Sunghoon chuckles darkly. "I thought you were smarter than that. Did you seriously think that dork Heeseung would be capable of something so wicked?"

"That dork is a much better person than you are," you spit out. Okay, probably not the best idea to confront him right now. Stupid Y/N...

"Hmm, is that why you cheated on me with him?" Sunghoon sighs wistfully.

"I never cheated on you, I started dating Heeseung three months after our breakup."

"Three months. Couldn't even wait a year. You're so cruel," Sunghoon pouts and sits next to you on the couch, making himself at home.

"I'm not the cruel one, terrifying my ex-girlfriend. Move on, Sunghoon. I have."

"Have you? Then, why haven't you thrown away the little gifts I gave you?"

How did he know they're safely tucked away underneath your bed? How many times has he been here without your knowledge?

"As evidence," you reply dumbly.

"Evidence you don't plan to submit," Sunghoon teases you.

"I will submit it if you don't stop."

"Why are you even giving me a chance? Obviously, you haven't moved on. Obviously, you wanted to see me again, didn't you?" Sunghoon caresses your cheek and you want to push him away, you really do. But it feels so nice, the coldness sending chills down your spine. Maybe you're just as sick as him.

"Obviously, you are delusional," you roll your eyes. You just have to keep talking to distract him.

You remind yourself that your hand is stuffed in your pocket, clutching your phone tightly. You could easily call Heeseung or Sunoo without Sunghoon noticing. They could be here in minutes as they live nearby. The question is who to call? If you call Heeseung whom Sunghoon is so jealous of, you are afraid that Sunghoon might be carrying some kind of weapon and Heeseung might get hurt. You are fairly certain that Sunghoon wouldn't hurt you physically but you are worried about your boyfriend.

Sunoo, on the other hand...Though he doesn't look physically threatening, him showing up might be a better idea. His angelic demeanour may lead to a diplomatic dialogue. Besides, Sunghoon's always had a soft spot for Sunoo. He wouldn't hurt him, right? So, without thinking too much into it, you call him.

"Am I though?" Sunghoon tilts his head to the side in a way you used to adore. Fuck. "Admit it, if I wanted to really hurt you, I would have. And if you wanted me out of your life, you would have filed for a restraining order or something. Since neither of us did any of those things, that means there's still a chance you crave me in your life, isn't there?"

"You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m going back to you."

Sunghoon grits his teeth angrily, but doesn’t say anything. You really should stop saying things that will make him mad but then again, your biggest flaw has always been excessive honesty. When you broke up with Sunghoon, you were explicitly clear why his behaviour was making you upset and that his jealousy was in the core of it all. At the time, you really viewed Heeseung only in friendly light so Sunghoon’s anger towards him appeared unfounded. Now, however…you were, in fact, dating Heeseung. So, clearly, Sunghoon would believe he’d been worried for a reason.

"Oh, princess, what makes you think you have a choice?"

Moments later, your strained conversation is interrupted by Sunoo who just lets himself in as Sunghoon conveniently left the door wide open.

"Sunoo, thank God, you’re here!" you exclaim even though you are perfectly aware that Sunoo wouldn’t be able to defeat Sunghoon in a physical fight. You just hope that his precious smile is enough of a weapon to get Sunghoon to leave you alone.

"Hi, sunshine," Sunghoon greets him calmly as if his arrival comes as no surprise. Wait a second…

"Hey, hyung," Sunoo responds and instead of being comforted by his appearance, you feel sudden dread upon seeing his angelic features slowly transforming into psychotic ones.

"Since when were you two so friendly?" you try to rack your brain. Back when you were dating Sunghoon, you never noticed anything. Did Sunoo like him?

"Since we share a common goal," Sunoo smiles softly at you, making you even more creeped out, as he pulls a blade from his pocket. What the fuck?!

"Aww, Sun, don’t scare her just yet," Sunghoon scolds the younger man gently. "We’ll have plenty of time to play with her later."

Sunoo is working together with Sunghoon?!?!

You try to make a run for it but you’re too slow so Sunghoon and Sunoo capture you quickly. Sunghoon’s holding you strongly from behind, while Sunoo is caressing your neck with the blade, not drawing blood, just messing with your head.

"Are you gonna be a good girl or do we have to drug you?" Sunoo asks sweetly.

You struggle against them but it is of no use. They’re too powerful and you were too foolish.

"Bad girl, it is," Sunghoon answers coldly and presses a piece of clothing against your mouth and nose, making you feel dizzy and sleepy. Fuck.

You really should have called Heeseung.

To be continued…

[deafsignifcantother]

new awlins library

♥ summary: just a cute little thing of alastor liking a deaf librarian yay ♥ relationships: human alastor x deaf reader ♥ word count: 1.1k ♥ notes: silly alastor, alastor pining, reader is shy and doesn't interact with people, reader has a crush on him too lowkey, customer favoritism ong

Alastor watched from afar, his eyes peaking out from over his book.

You were replacing the flowers in the vase on the front desk of your library. Your hands moved delicately, putting each flower in one by one. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the sentences before him, his pupils couldn't resist dilating at the sight of you.

He moved chairs so you weren't in his view anymore.

After finishing your task, you turned, and your eyes scanned the lobby to see what other decorations you needed to fix. Only for a second were you oblivious about his sudden seating change, but when your eyes landed on him, you smiled softly. The back of his head was not as well brushed as the front, and when you had greeted him that morning, you noticed how tired he looked. The time was 6am, right when you opened. He waited outside the door in the cold for the moment you'd allow him in. So then he sat, half-asleep and very distracted, trying to spend as much time in your presence before starting his daily routine. He had started doing this frequently, to the point where you began placing a black coffee by the table he'd position himself and scurrying off before he could try to return it. The first time he took a gulp of your drinks, he realized how easily you could have gotten away with poisoning him. How alluring, he thought to himself with a smile.

Obviously, you would never poison him. You loved having him around; he was a valued customer with an attractive face. He only ever picked up books from the French section, and when you realized he was running out of stories to read, you ordered a bunch of new ones. When he first noticed this, he smiled and eyed the new batch.

You don't show this particular interest to any other customer; you're pretty shy, hesitant, and withdrawn—the other employees are the ones who interact with them. There's a language barrier between you and seemingly everybody else. Besides paper and pen, you are considered a 'struggle' to communicate with, and you know there's nothing you can do to prevent that.

It's just the way things are. But Alastor actually puts in effort to interact with you, waiting outside the library every time you have a morning shift.

✣

You pick a French book from the shelf that is obviously out of place. Nobody touches the French books except him, but is this from another person? Honestly, you feel it's more likely he put it there just to mess with you. You smile, inspecting the cover and the pages inside.

A gloved hand reaches for the book, and your eyes follow the hand up to that same handsome, smiling man. His eyes twinkle with mischief, his mouth open in a silent laugh.

He tucks the book into his armpit. "Goodness me, I must have put it in the wrong section!"

In an instant, your heart starts beating faster than ever. Stuck in place with your eyes wide, Alastor stares at you with a bit of surprise. His eyes dart all around your face, and as he tries to come up with an explanation for why you're looking at him with such shock. Did he scare you? Do you... recognize him from somewhere?

But no, your heart is racing, and your mind is scrambling to process that a man here knows sign language. He has an accent, sure; he signs up high on his body, but with how unsure his sentences are, you know he needs to gain experience. He signs and is quite a loyal consumer; he's almost like the man of your dreams.

"No, no, no, it's alright." You sign with one hand before taking the book from his arm, and you place it on top of the others in your other hand. "Don't even worry about it."

"I do insist." His sign lasted more than a few movements. And then he puts his hand in front of you for you to place the book into. Truthfully, for a slight second, you considered placing your hand into his.

Your brain battles between continuing your work or indulging in this man. With an eyebrow raised, his eyes study you in a hard stare. You don't give in to his command and instead stand your ground, eyeing him back. The both of you are stuck with locked eyes. He pulls his hand back when he notices that you aren't budging.

"Now that I think about it," he starts, "I'd much appreciate it if you showed me where the correct section is!"

He's been in the French section many times.

You smile at him, a lopsided smile of adoration; there's no subtlety to whatever interest he has. So you bow your head sarcastically and turn away from him, walking past the shelves. He follows you with his hands tucked behind his back. He can't see the widening smile on your face and how you're practicing hiding it. He's rather charming, you can admit.

Not even checking behind you to see if he's following, you approach the correct section and place the book where it is meant to be. He raises his eyebrows when you glance up at him and try not to give in to his contagious, eccentrically bright smile.

"Fantastic, thank you!"

And again, the two of you stare at each other, waiting for the other to move. You want him to continue talking, to whisk you away from your job. He's waiting for you to ask his name or something else about him.

But you use both of your hands to hold the books in your hand against your chest.

Fine. He starts pondering his next move: does he end this interaction for today, or would it be better if he took a step closer to you?

He can't stop his eyes from glancing down at the joyous smile on your lips. He's making you smile; that's good. Perhaps that will be all for now.

He dips his head and presses a hand to his chest. You watch him and the way a strand of his hair falls into his face. His brown eyes land on yours. "And I will let you get back to your work."

You nod, your foot moving away from him before you pause. Your eyes go from his beautiful eyes to the floor with shyness. With a bow of your head, you begin to walk away, returning to your previous task. He straightens his spine and adjusts his sleeve before turning away.

Quite a success. What's next? He may try putting an English book in the French section. Or should he hide the books all around the library?

His everlasting smile grows at the thought. He's so excited to tell his mother about the interaction he's finally had. She's heard quite a lot about you.