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whitexwolfxx310 · 6 months ago

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|| You're A Weapon; And Weapons Don't Weep ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: After Bucky discovers that your once thought to be dead older brother is HYDRA's new super soldier, you're chosen to go on a mission with the team.

Warnings: **PLEASE READ** This fic contains death. If the idea of unaliving someone can possibly trigger you, please do NOT read this. Anxiety attack, cursing, angst, random sprinkles of fluff, use of y/n.

Word Count: 4.7

A/Ns: It has been way too long, but I finally got to write for my BBWWS again. I have a feeling there won't be too many chapters left for Bucky and his Sunshine. But I have been working on other ideas and another series is in the process. I hope you enjoy reading. I love you all! The messages, comments, reblogs, likes, etc. literally give me life and inspired me to come back and get into writing all over again. Enjoy your weekend, besties!!

Previous Part // Masterlist

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Any shred of hope that life would be returning back to normalcy remotely anytime soon got washed away by the tidal wave that was the news of your brother being the new super soldier for Hydra.

Tony and Steve called for intel meetings that basically became a fulltime job. At first it felt like an interrogation. They questioned you, curious as to why you would apply for an internship at The Compound. While the circumstances did seem suspicious, they eventually were able to rule out any foul play on your part.

The gatherings soon turned into wanting to know every intricate detail that they wouldn't be able to look up or hack out of any system. From dawn to dusk, the two men asked about your childhood together- trying to connect the pieces as to who Luke is, or was. Bucky stayed silently by your side the entire time and offered a stabilizing hand when things got overwhelming to discuss. But it also didn't slip by you that he focused on each and every detail, noting the intel for this mission.

After being able to specify things so minute; such as your brothers favorite books, favorite teacher from grade school, or the fact that he likes the color green- but not just any green, Sacramento green, because it reminded him of the vines that grew around the windows of your grandparents cottage that you would spend the majority of your summer's at as kids, you also got chosen to go on this mission. There was some minor pushback from the team, but ultimately Bucky took responsibility for you. You knew that he would keep you safe, even if it meant putting the part of his very soul that he felt remained on the line for you.

To say that the training was brutal would be an understatement. While the others had an entire lifetime to perfect their craft and years working alongside one another in unity, you had only a matter of weeks. You were thrown into a constant rotation of being educated on the newest technologies developed by Tony, boxing and going over endless tactical strategies with Steve, knowledge of weaponry with a hint of ballet to stay light on your feet with Nat... pure exhaustion wouldn't begin to describe it.

The day came when intel showed the Swiss Alps would be first on the mission log. Everyone was treating it like just any other, but the dreaded encounter was weighing down heavily deep within your stomach. The thought of using yourself as bait to lure out your brother spiraled into the millions of anxious outcomes that kept you up at night. Finally giving you just the smallest glimpse into Bucky's world. The doorway was creaked open to his nightmares.

"Wooow. You look like a Bad. Ass." Sam annunciates amusingly, as his eyes land on you walking up the small rear cargo ramp of the jet.

Your cheeks instantly blush, having already been self-conscious about the skintight, black Kevlar suit Nat gave you to wear. As more footsteps approach, you sink more into your seat and try to avoid any more eye contact.

"Just so you know, I heard that." Bucky's voice rebounds off of the metal walls before he even makes his way completely into the jet. "Don't try and make passes at my girl when I'm not aro-"

You don't need to look up to know that those steel blue eyes have frozen you into place, but you dare a glance. He's dressed in all black; Black boots, black tactical pants, a black leather jacket with the left sleeve torn off- showing his gunmetal and gold Vibranium arm, and a black glove on his right hand. The sight of him is intimidating, ready for combat and anything to be thrown his way. But those eyes. They hold a tenderness meant only for you. His magnetizing stare mixed with the wonderment expression on his face confirms his friends words and more. Okay, so maybe the suit isn't so bad.

"You're gawking." Sam is now at Bucky's side, smirking with his arms tightly crossed over his chest.

Bucky's face slides back into its usual consternation state before giving him a side glare. "Shut up." Sam shakes his head, laughing to himself lightly before making his way to the front of the jet.

You move to sit upright as he approaches, and Bucky's face finally softens. It always does when it's just the two of you. He reaches above where you're sitting to an overhead rack, casually leaning. Hovering like one of those seductive book boyfriends you'd swoon over, but for him it just comes naturally. Swallowing hard, you angle your head up to look at him. You find a slightly playful grin tugging at his lips and you crack a faint smile.

"You doing okay, Sunshine?" His voice is soft but concerned. A gloved thumb caresses down your cheek. The doting gesture entrances you to gently nuzzle into his palm.

"I don't know." You answer honestly.

He reflects on this a moment, his eyes searching yours. But he looks slightly blurry. The background noise is starting to become overwhelming. Numerous voices all start to overlap, the jet engines growing louder as they're warming up, the loud bang with each shipment container with weapons being loaded on board- weapons intended for my brother. It all combines into one long dragged-out, high-pitched ringing sound and your throat closing in on itself. Bucky senses this, notices and quickly acts. Wide eyed, he drops to his knees.

"Hey... Hey, y/n. It's okay." He quickly unfastens the harness from your seat. "Deep breaths." You can't help but notice how calm he sounds. "Hey...look at me." Bucky gently cups each side of your face, the intense coolness on the one side being a welcomed shock. Your eyes meet his, and when they do, all you see is his devotion. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here with you."

"I know you are." You mutter, pressing your forehead to his as you try to manage your breathing to match his.

"We'll find him." He breathes. "I made it out, he can too. I won't let anything happen to you while we’re out there, y/n." The urgency that his tone is trying to convey is heart wrenching.

"I know, Bucky."

"Here-" He pulls away for a moment to take a bag off his back. Unzipping it, he pulls out a water bottle. "Drink some water."

You smile internally at the gesture. As he's unscrewing the cap, you notice a novel in the bag. It's one he borrowed from you when you first met. There's a familiar stinging behind your eyes. What did I do to deserve this man? One who is willing to walk back into his version of hell to pull out someone that I love?

Sipping on the water of course helped, but Bucky tucking you securely into his side for takeoff is what kept the overwhelming anxiety at bay.

“I love you, so much.” You say against his chest, in appreciation. He snorts slightly, pressing a delicate kiss into your hair.

“And I love you, Sunshine.” Bucky adjusts his hips slightly. “Get some rest, we have a long flight.” Intricate fingers brush through your hair, eventually lulling you to sleep in the safe space that is your boyfriend’s lap.

Distant muttering started reeling you back from a dreamless sleep. Instinctively, you reach for Bucky whom you thought you were still sleeping on- only to find he had replaced it with his bag. The disappointment was starting to settle in when you hear his voice:

“I know how this can come across, but she’s strong enough. She’ll be able to handle it, Tony. I’m here, I can-“

“All I’m hearing is I, I, I, me, me, me, Barnes. You, my friend, were an exception. I don’t know if we can go in there and get this guy out alive, and even if we can, who knows what the aftermath is going to look like! For either of them! We’re taking a regular, a nobody off the street and putting a lot of pressure on her to do this. She’s already starting to feel it, that much is obvious. I’ve said from the beginning that this is a huge mistake. I understand your feelings here, from both sides. You want to make sure HYDRA doesn’t continue to pop up like daises and be there for the love of your life. I GET it. But this is a mistake.”

It’s apparent that Stark has walked away with the clinking of his heavy metal footsteps.

“You picked a good one, Buck. I have faith in her too.” There’s a small reassuring pat to coincide with Steve’s voice. “Y/n’s one of us now.”

“Thanks, Steve. I just… I have to save him. For her.” You can hear the exasperation in Bucky’s voice.

While tears sting from multiple emotions behind closed eyes still pretending to sleep, you feel overcome with something you haven’t experienced in this situation yet; determination. A sudden tenacity to prove the doubters that you can do this, that you can help your brother just how Bucky had, and that you wouldn’t bail and have a breakdown… again. No. From this point on, you refuse to let anyone see you as weak.

The bag underneath your head gently shifts and is quickly replaced with warm body heat that you quickly snuggle into. That warmth spreads as Bucky wraps his right arm around your body, pulling you in a little closer. His heart rate starts to slow, and his breathing becomes more regular. You just soak in the last moments before the unknown.

“He’s really going to just jump out the back of the jet like that?!” You try to yell, over the loud wind rumbling and your hair whipping around.

With Sam’s back facing towards you, he takes one absentminded step off of the opened ramp and is just gone. Your stomach drops along with him at the sight.

Bucky rolls his eyes as he hands you an earpiece, “Yep,” A second later, Sam comes back into view, now soaring with his Falcon wings. He gives Bucky a little sarcastic two finger salute and flies out of view. “He’s flashy like that.”

Putting the impossibly small earpiece into your ear, you can’t help but shake your head and laugh. It must be an almost forgotten sound with the weight of everything going on because now Bucky is smiling too.

“Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to jump out of a plane,” you say only half joking. Because if that’s the case, he’s going to have to literally throw you out.

“What did you think the parachutes were for?” Bucky asks deadpan, with a raised eyebrow and pointing to the packs behind him.

All of the color starts to drain from your face, when suddenly you saw the slightest twitch in Bucky’s lip.

“Oh my god. You asshole!” Bucky grabs his stomach and starts to hunch over laughing as you hit him in the arm. His metal arm. “OW!” You start shaking your hand out to wave away the initial sting.

Glancing at him, Bucky is doubled over, nose scrunched, laughing so hard that barely any noise is coming out and tears are welling up in his eyes. It’s contagious, especially as the throb in your hand turns into a dull ache.

I’ve missed this. Things being simple with us and not so draining. Moments that resemble a drop of normalcy in a typical ‘would be’ relationship. But I still wouldn’t trade it. Because he’s perfect. And he’s mine.

Once your lungs don’t feel like they’re on fire any longer, you let you a deep sigh, resting your hands on your hips. “God, I needed that.”

“Did you really think I would toss you out of a Quinjet?”

“Seemed like it in the moment-”

“Alright, love birds,” Tony interrupts, the heavy metal footsteps of his Iron Man armor catching both of your attention, "don't be late to the party," he says knowingly, palms glowing before he too disappears out of the jet.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine,” Bucky says, now standing next to you, “I have my own flashy transport,” he side eyes you with a playful grin.

Arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s stomach; you can’t help but snuggle your cheek into his leather covered shoulder.

Of course, Bucky’s idea of flashy would be a motorcycle.

Your eyes flutter open to see Steve on his own come into view through whips of your hair. The boys. Two best friends riding like they don’t have the weight of the world constantly on their shoulders.

Steve’s bike has a bulky, all chrome classic look while Bucky’s is a modern, all black crotch rocket. Both have been modified to drive relatively quietly, and it’s such a weird dichotomy to still be able to feel the rumbling of the bike between your legs without all the noise.

One of your hands releases the clasp they had on one another, pressing your palm against Bucky’s chest- smoothing itself along his abdomen. Bucky sits more upright in his seat to press back into you more, using only his left hand to steer as his right encloses around yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. The gesture is so minor, and yet you can just feel how he puts his heart into everything when it comes to you.

"We're going to pull off to the side up on the left. We'll have to go the rest of the way on foot," Steve's voice is solemn in your earpiece.

Bucky gives him a nod in acknowledgement, leaning back down to better control the motorcycle. This time, his hand doesn't leave yours.

The trek through the Switzerland forest was less than a mile, but with each step your feet grew heavier and that sour stomach of yours returned with the dread of seeing your brother again. If he could even be considered your brother anymore. Who knows what actually remained. As much as you have begged and pleaded with the universe to make yet another exception for Lucas just as it had for Bucky, you were terrified of the man that you would soon encounter.

Just shy of coming out of the tree line to the supposed to be abandoned old military base, you hear a series of echoing pops- stopping all three of you dead in your tracks.

Gunshots.

Bucky and Steve exchange a quick, wide-eyed glance at one another, “Go, we’ll catch up.” Bucky says, and within the blink of an eye, Steve takes off running at super soldier speed.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Bucky turned to face you, his shoulders squared, lips in a tight thin line. But looking between your eyes, he loosens a breath, gripping your shoulders, “Listen to me, Sunshine,” he makes every attempt to soften his voice, but a few more pops and yelling sound off in the distance making you wince. His hands grip you tighter, “I need you to focus. What I’m about to say goes against everything I normally believe, but in this circumstance it’s critical…” he sighs, looking down before back into your eyes- trying to convey the seriousness of what he’s saying, “you have to push the fear down. And I know how that sounds, but you can’t walk in there with that look on your face. Because honey, these people will not hesitate to kill you.”

You gasp lightly at the graveness of his words. It’s not like you didn’t know this walking into the mission, but it’s different once you’re actually here.

Bucky sighs again, his expression softening as his hands cup each side of your face especially gentle, “I know, baby. I know. I won’t leave your side,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “I just… I can’t lose you.” His voice cracks slightly, even at just the thought.

Even with your eyes teetering with the threat of tears, you nod in understanding. Placing each of your hands over his, you press your lips to Bucky’s- holding them there, accepting that the moment they pull apart it’s no longer about the two of you, but about the mission. Luke is your mission.

“I love you,” you murmur, before opening your eyes to see deep consternation in his.

Disassociation is a powerful coping mechanism for human beings. It can feel like an outer body experience or even a dream. More like a nightmare. But as you follow into the bunker where the screaming leads, closely behind Bucky with your gun drawn watching for any sudden movements and stepping over the trail of bloodied bodies in the hallway, you're thankful for the part of your brain trying to convince you that this isn't real.

"Still no sign of Castle," Sam's voice was pragmatic in your earpiece.

Bucky looked back over his shoulder at you while still walking, "Maybe he's not here after-" and that's when you see the slightest shift of a shadow in an inverted doorway.

It was so small that in any other instance you would just assume your eyes were just playing a trick on you. But not here. Your body reacted before your mind could even fully register- taking a sudden step to the side, you fired off two prompt shots. A heavy thud followed.

Practically giving himself whiplash, Bucky looks at where you shot and back to you. His eyes widen, mouth open slightly at the realization of what just happened. What you just did- for him. Your eyes haven't moved from that doorway, and your grip is tighter on the gun than it probably should be. Pain surges through your jaw with how tightly your teeth are clenched and yet, you wait to see if anyone else is there. Is there another shadow lurking just waiting for the opportunity to harm one of you?

"Y/n..." Bucky's voice is delicate as his eyes dart around, also looking for shadows, "we have to keep moving," he says in a coaxing manner.

I can’t. The words blare in your mind like a doomsday siren and yet you can’t speak. All you can do is focus on that that dark corner where the pool of crimson continues to grow.

Bucky steps in line of your gun with somber eyes meeting yours, causing you to simultaneously point it towards the ground and break your trance. You didn’t realize just how high and how tight your shoulders had been as you loosened your breath. A new version of you being transformed as you exhale.

“I-” You try catching your breath, completely slack jaw and shaking your head just trying to comprehend what you did. “I…I just-” and the tears are flowing. No crying, no uncontrollable sobbing, but a small steady line of tears as the overwhelming awareness of taking control and trading a life for someone that you love comes to light… just flows.

“You did what you had to,” he answers for you, nodding sympathetically. You don’t deserve kindness right now, do you? But that is why he is good. And that is why he deserves to live.

“We have to go, y/n.” Bucky says, looking over your shoulders and behind himself again. “It looks like no one else has been down here yet.” He grabs your hand, not waiting for a response before he’s treading down the hallway again.

Your feet shuffle instinctively at first to follow him, but the brightness of the flickering fluorescent lights quickly grounded you to where you actually are. There are lives at stake and you need to keep your head.

The distant noise of constant struggle seemed to almost completely stop. Every few minutes you would hear a familiar voice say 'clear' in your ear and relief would wash over you, just thankful for knowing that they were alive.

It got cold the further you went, meaning you probably had gradually descended underground. Finally, at the end of what seemed like a never-ending tunnel, was a large set of metal double doors with multiple large chains and padlocks.

You and Bucky exchanged a quick glance with one another before he fists the chain with his Vibranium hand, pulling effortlessly as they break into pieces. He pushes open the doors to reveal a large, primarily empty room aside from a bunch of dusty, bulky outdated computers. Most of the overhead lights don’t work, so it seems darker in here than it did in the corridor.

Bucky steps into the room and starts looking around, his boots crunching noisily on worn rubble and glass. You hold your breath, watching as his fingers skim along the keyboards, his eyes squinting at the monitors as he passes each one as though looking for something.

And then he stops at one in particular. He eyes it carefully before looking up at the ceiling to the lights again.

“What is it?” You can’t hide your curiosity.

“There’s still power to this base,” he says observantly, turning his attention back towards the computer. “Maybe…” he mumbles to himself, leaning over the monitor a bit, his fingers blindly searching before pressing the power button. Bucky stands back as the screen comes to life, but his eyes widen, alarmed as to what he sees.

“Bucky?” You ask apprehensively, moving to stand next to him and also look at the screen. It's mostly black, but there's a green contour of... a face?

"Hello Sergeant Barnes," the computer says with a German accent.

"Oh, what the fuck?" Bucky steps back, his hands fisting into his hair.

The voice chuckles, "Come now, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

“Is… the computer talking? To you?”

“Why, yes, Ms. Castle. I am,” your stomach turns over at the sound of the voice addressing you as well.

“What the fu-” you go to repeat Bucky’s words but get cut off.

“Does the facility seem… familiar, Barnes?” Zola asks, condescendingly. “Or, at the very least, the machinery?”

Bucky's eyes start to dart around the room, taking in the different equipment before muttering to himself in dismay, "these control the cyro chambers..."

The computer laughs menacingly, "Ah, so you do remember. Good! Good..."

Rolling his arm once while taking a large step forward, Bucky brings it down, crushing the computer completely. Exposed wires spark briefly from the powerful impact, otherwise leaving the room in silence.

“What- who was that?”

“Arnim Zola. A scientist for HYDRA. The one who, well…” Bucky passively gestures to himself, “experimented and is responsible for me.”

Suddenly, another one of the numerous screens comes to life- the digitized green face grinning, “tsk, tsk. Oh, Soldat…”

“I won’t answer to that anymore,” Bucky maintained through gritted teeth, raising his arm to disintegrate this talking monitor as well just as it says:

“Who said I was talking about you?”

Just then, you hear quick, trudged steps. The only warning you had before been picked up, as easily as a pillow and aggressively, carelessly thrown aside into a metal desk, knocking some of the computers that sat on top along with you.

You tried gasping for the air that was stolen from your lungs on impact with the floor, but it didn’t come. Instead, it burned, more than the pain creeping around the left side of your ribs as you sluggishly moved to sit on your knees. Looking up, you meet the threatening gaze of the one who attacked you.

He was exceptionally tall, especially from your view on the floor. Lean, but had an athletic build and strong. Super strong. He was dressed in all black tactical gear, the only color being a large red Soviet star in the center of his chest. A black mask covered all but his eyes, keeping him faceless. He was pale, as if he hadn't seen actual sunlight in years and had shoulder length dirty blonde hair.

But those eyes. They cemented you to the floor- glaring, daring you to move or even breathe. Just the look that he conveyed felt like you were in the presence of death itself. As you were able to take your first small breath, your lips parted, and eyes narrowed as they locked into his deadly gaze. There was such a darkness glazed over the emerald irises, but you'd recognize them anywhere.

"Luke..." you exhale, painfully. Both physically and emotionally.

His brow twitches slightly at you saying his name, like his mind is trying to recollect it from a long-forgotten dream. As his body turns to face you, he suddenly gets shoved back a few feet, "Back off, Castle." Bucky warns sternly, stepping between you and your brother.

Gripping the desk, you use it to hoist yourself up, whining slightly and grabbing at your left side realizing that you most likely have some broken ribs. The sound of your pain distracted Bucky for one second, and Luke took that opportunity to lunge forward and kick him high in the chest. With a breathless grunt, Bucky barrels backwards into you, knocking your back flush against the wall.

Luke was there in the blink of an eye, grabbing Bucky by the collar of his jacket. The two of them quickly became a tangle of throwing fists and kicks, breaking apart to find anything around to throw at one another. Overturning desks, throwing chairs, Bucky even chucked a still laughing Zola computer at Luke.

While you never thought the two most important men in your life would ever have the chance to meet, this is not the way you would have ever imagined it.

With your back still flat against the wall, you slide down to sit on the floor, starting to feel dizzy. Maybe it was the overwhelmingness of the situation, but instinctively you bring your hand to the back of your head, and it feels... wet. Looking at your fingers, they're now coated with fresh, warm crimson blood. It's getting harder to think straight with the tunneling vision, but you realize that you hit your head against the wall from the collision of bodies.

"Please..." you choke out a sob, "please, stop," you beg. But they can't hear you over their own heated screams and grunts as they continue to fight one another. Your narrowing vision focuses on Bucky, seeing that he is fighting more defensively- actively trying to avoid hurting Luke, pulling his punches where he can. Tears burn behind your eyes at the sight, knowing that if this were anyone else, it would already be over.

"Luke!" Bucky yells and quickly dodges to the side, avoiding the knife now sticking out of the wall that Luke threw at him. "Your sister came here to get you back! She's here for you. We're here for you!" Bucky maintained his distance, mirroring Luke's movement's trying to rely on his words rather than fists. They're pacing, waiting for the other to make a move.

The ringing in your ears was becoming too hard to ignore and as much as you tried to fight it, sweat started to bead up on your skin. You were losing consciousness, and fast.

"Bucky," you breathe out. His body tenses as he looks over at you, eyes wide. He jumps over one of the only remaining desks in the room and kneels down, hands hovering over body briefly, afraid to touch you.

"Okay... okay," he mutters to himself, scanning you over, his eyes linger on your hand with the now drying blood on them. Bucky gently cups your cheek, his thumb grazing over it as he forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You're gonna be okay, Sunshine. I-I'm going to get you outta here and get some help, okay?" His voice sounds shaky as his chest heaves, "Sam? I need a med evac for y/n,"

You nod once, or at least you think you do, as you continue to focus on Bucky. Everything around him starts to fade into a deeper black void. The last thing you see is Luke step into view over Bucky's shoulder to look down at you. At some point during their altercation, his mask had been ripped off. His lips were pressed into a thin line as his teeth clenched and remained expressionless while Bucky continued to stroke your hair and try to speak calm, reassuring words of how he would make sure you would be okay as you slipped under the surface of complete darkness.

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fru1typunch · 1 year ago

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Here's a little post ranting about the Floridian education system and how it fucked over public school librarians this year, from the adult child of one who spent his whole summer helping his poor mom try and keep up with Desantis's ridiculous requests.

Every school year, the librarian always gets a couple weeks with a "closed" library to take inventory of the school's stock at the end. Normal stuff, y'know, if a bit tedious and boring. Scan every. Single. Thing. See what you have and figure out who last checked out what you should have, that sort of thing.

Well, Ron Desantis, in his genius, decided that concept had to be applied to all the books in the entire school to determine if they're "appropriate" (by his batshit conservative standards).

My mom didn't JUST have to do the usual inventory thing for her own library. She ALSO had to do something similar but far WORSE for her entire school's personal classroom libraries.

The objective of this SCHOOL WIDE requirement was to "approve" every book in the school as "appropriate". Every. Single. Book. In. The. School. Not the school library, no, the SCHOOL. All classrooms.

My mom's an elementary school librarian. There's around 1000 students at her school, give or take, and around 50 or so classroom libraries to sort through. And this was supposed to be done over summer, before the kids came back in the fall. Entirely unpaid.

She had to personally approve around 25,000-30,000 books school wide based on whether or not they're "appropriate for kids" (again, by Desantis standards), entirely unpaid, in about 2 months. Keep in mind these classroom libraries had been pre-existing for many years or even decades in most cases, so it's kinda useless to just now care about whether the books are "appropriate".

Mind you, you can't read that many individual books in under two months and then approve them in the system if you tried, even if most were children's books. She spent every single day of her summer, her only real time off each year, logging into the online portal and manually approving books from 8 in the morning to 8 at night, looking them up and trying to determine if they might be okay by the new standards since she couldn't possibly have the time to read them all and check, and again, entirely unpaid on her own. Teachers were scanning in their classroom's books to the system to be approved by her in real time, so she really never could get very far ahead. At most she'd knock out a few hundred a day, which I think is wildly impressive given the circumstances.

Even with all that work, she couldn't open her library for nearly a month into the new school year this August because she spent every school day finishing that approval thing for the classroom libraries for teachers. At least by that point she got paid for it. She was also way behind on getting her library ready for the school year, she really hadn't had time to prepare like normal. It was a crazy stressful time for her all around, moreso than back-to-school time normally is each year.

I helped as much as I knew how to, which mostly just meant looking books up for her or texting back and forth with my friends that work at Barnes and Noble or Books A Million asking if they could skim through certain books that might pose a threat at times, and coming up to the school with her sometimes while she worked on approving books and I worked on preparing her library for "business" again.

My mom was upset because she didn't have time for a real summer vacation, the most she got to do was occasionally visit the beach a few hours away for a day trip. (On one of the beach days, she even took her blessed laptop with her to work on it in the car ride over.) She was in the thick of it neck deep all on her own for months with hardly any time off and no pay to show for it.

It's frustrating because if she were to have approved a book that a parent later complains about, it could mean bad news for her. Again, no way in hell would she have been able to both read every single book, determine if she thought it was okay by Desantis's standards, and then approve every single book within the system. She did her best, but she's still nervous someone will complain.

All this conservative bullshit around books is hurting so many kinds of librarians and educators in so many ways, so just take a moment sometime soon to appreciate your local librarians and public school teachers putting up with this crap. They could use the love. Maybe some strong alcohol. And a big wad of cash, they do a lot of shit unpaid.

And do vote these assholes out of office that are making these poor librarians' and teachers' jobs harder with no additional support or pay.

#rant post #fuck desantis #ron desantis #florida #library #public libraries #school libraries #librarians #love your librarians #public school #public school system #education #education system #banned books #politics #be nice to teachers

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ivystoryweaver · 2 years ago

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With You part 10

<-prev next-> || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: Married, back in London, Jake comes crashing back into your life

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is married to the system.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings/notables: A n g s t, complicated relationship stuff, cursing. Alcoholism, violence, injury, blood. Lmk if I missed a warning. inaccurate DID, based on the show. Not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

Leaning down, he brushed his lips over your cheek in a tender kiss... the softness of you electrifying him utterly.

"I'll never let him near you," he vowed, his fingers reaching up to trace his lips where your skin had touched. "And I'll never let him take Marc away from you."

“Read to me, husband," you purred into Steven's ear, curling close to his side.

His eyes cut over to you and he grinned, reaching to lace his fingers with yours. You sighed, your heart overflowing as your fingertip traced over the gold band he now wore.

"Long flight, darling. You sure you don't want to rest a bit?" He suggested, gazing at you adoringly.

"Maybe I will if you read to me," you teased, pulling your intertwined fingers to your mouth, your lips grazing his ring.

You may have been on an airplane, but it still felt like your own little world.

After a few chapters about ancient Egypt, and a long nap, you awakened to your husband watching an 80's action film on the screen on the back of the chair in front of him.

Marc.

Latching on to his arm, your fingers found his again, just to toy with his wedding band.

"Hey, baby," he softly greeted, kissing your temple. "Steven bore you to death reading about the pyramids?"

"Absolutely not," you playfully defended, "I just find the sound of his voice soothing."

"You know what's soothing?" He pointed to his screen with a grin. "RoboCop."

You groaned. "How much longer till we land?"

"We're not even halfway," Marc replied, glancing at his watch.

"Maybe RoboCop will put me back to sleep."

Your honeymoon was magical.

All your hard work, saving and planning paid off, and you and your husband had the time of your lives. Sun-drenched days, passion-filled nights, nothing but relaxation in paradise. Playing games with Marc, reading with Steven, delicious food (and a delicious husband).

It was just the refreshing reset you needed to kick off married life.

Truthfully, you wondered about Jake - you missed him, and the tiniest part of you hoped nothing would interfere with your little bubble of temporary heaven.

Everything seemed fine - you made it back to London refreshed and ready to proudly sport your wedding band everywhere you went. You didn't care if it seemed a little old fashioned. You were proud and thrilled to have a wonderful, dreamy husband.

Steven transitioned into summer session classes at uni while you contemplated advancing your nursing career. Marc seemed steady, albeit a little quiet. Not brooding quiet - more like...observationally quiet.

The two of you had discussed what he might like to do. After all, he had spent years as a man of action. But he insisted he was content in his current role, making sure Steven got the education and credentials he deserved.

Still...something about him seemed a little off. There was no evidence of him drinking, and, even in his darkest times, drinking was never something he hid from you. It was a bit difficult to hide anyway, but he never even attempted to. So you didn't suspect alcohol as the culprit.

After insisting he was fine for a few weeks, he finally admitted how hard he had been trying to communicate with Jake. You were a little surprised at first, but only at first. After all, Marc had never enjoyed the feeling of not having control - whether over himself, his life, or just in general.

By now, an eternity had passed since you last saw or spoke to Jake. When Marc admitted that he had spoken to Jake quite a few times since your wedding, you had to bite your tongue to keep from asking, 'Did he ask about me?'

You already knew the answer. Jake was not interested in all things you. Besides, this wasn't about you anyway - it was about Marc as a system. Instead, you asked Marc why he didn't say something sooner to you about speaking to Jake.

"I didn't want to upset you," was his explanation. Fair enough.

Instead of starting an interrogation with questions like, 'Does he still work for Khonshu?' and the like, you kept your focus on your husband and asked, "Is that why you've been so quiet?"

Chewing on his lip, he waited a minute before replying, "Maybe. Just trying to figure some stuff out."

The look on your face clued him in to the fact that he was being vague at best. So he knelt down in front you as you sat in Steven's reading chair, took your hands and said, "I'll tell you more soon. I'm working really hard to figure out how we can all be happy - how we can all coexist and really be safe, and free of Khonshu for good."

Oh.

If Marc was working on something Khonshu-related, then his contemplativeness tracked. He was so earnest in trying to confess this little piece to you, that you decided to believe him and not prod too much right now. Just for now.

The very next night, you came home from work a little late - a night quite reminiscent of the one when you had found Marc drinking - to find your flat dark and mysteriously quiet.

Calling your husband's names, you headed to the bedroom to get changed when you heard a thump and a groan from inside the bathroom. Panic shot through your body as you bolted through the door, shoving it open to find...Marc? slumped over the closed toilet, shirtless, clutching his side and groaning in pain.

"Baby - what happened?" You gasped, kneeling down and switching into triage mode. That's when you saw blood pooling around his hand, oozing through his fingers.

What the hell...

"Shit, you're bleeding," you cried, stating the obvious while jerking the nearest towel off the rack to press to his side.

He grunted, reluctantly dragging his crimson-coated fingers away, hissing as you pressed the cloth into his side to staunch the bleeding.

Tears burned your eyes at the sight of your wounded husband, but only for a second, as your medical training kicked in. You noticed right away that his knuckles were bloodied, as if he'd punched a wall. His lip was split, his eyebrow was cut and there were even a few angry scrapes across his cheek.

"Hold this here for me, baby, I need to get the first aid kit," you sniffed, pulling his hand back over the towel covering his bleeding side. Most of what you needed was in the bathroom with you, so as soon as you were ready, you sat down and reached for his fingers.

"Here, let me see," you instructed. You gasped at the deep, angry gash in his flesh. "Okay...okay, I need to stitch this up, honey, it's deep." Pausing for a moment, you realized it was a horrible idea to tend to your husband, especially with tears stinging your eyes.

"Actually, here," you pushed the cloth back over his wound, making him groan in agony. "Come on. We need to get to A&E - "

"No," he firmly protested. "You do it."

You shook your head. "Marc, listen, I really should-"

"No," he repeated, his eyes finding yours. "Too many questions. No police."

Shaking your head in frustration, you grabbed your first aid kit, which was really a small medical bag, containing enough supplies to be useful in an emergency.

You would do anything for Marc, but right now, you were confused and growing more worried by the moment. "What were you even doing? How did you get hurt?" You huffed, gathering the supplies to mend his wound.

He didn't answer, and that pissed you right off.

Pausing just for a moment, you glared at him, before gathering some clean towels. Without a word, you hurried to the kitchen to set the kettle to boil, just in case you needed to sterilize anything the old fashioned way.

When you returned to your husband, you had calmed down a little.

Pulling the bloody towel away from his side once more, you started to clean the angry gash, attempting to get ready to close the wound.

A few minutes later, you instructed Marc to move to the bed. You certainly weren't going to stitch him up on the bathroom floor.

Pausing for a moment, you granted him a reluctantly sympathetic smile, brushing his sweaty curls away from his forehead.

"This is going to hurt. I don't have anything to give you - anything to numb the pain," you carefully explained. "Are you sure you don't want to go to A&E?"

He nodded once, but still wouldn't speak to you.

"How did you get hurt, Marc? I thought you still had...healing armor or whatever. From Khonshu." And why was he acting so weird?

The instant you had the thought that Marc really didn't seem himself was the moment you knew.

Staring into his eyes challengingly, you whispered his name. "Marc?"

Swallowing hard, he drew a trembling breath. "Not Marc."

All the blood drained from your face. You blinked rapidly, completely blindsided and so confused.

"Jake?"

Averting his gaze, he gave you another nod.

Despite all your medical training, you froze. Lips trembling, you reached up to his face, carefully minding his scrapes and cuts as your fingers traced his jaw. It had been so, so long...

"You're hurt," you whispered, as if it were new information. In a way, it was. Because a moment ago, in your mind, Marc was the one hurt. That was bad enough, but now, after weeks on end of hearing nothing...

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed at your touch. "Please help me."

Releasing his jaw, you covered his hand with yours, squeezing gently before nodding.

"This will hurt, Jake," you reminded him, as if he wasn't there a minute ago to hear your warning.

"'S okay. I deserve it." Closing his eyes, he laid his head down and waited for the pain.

You were going to fucking kill someone. Either Jake, for asking you to stitch him up rather than go to A&E while you were reeling, having not seen him for so long. Or Khonshu for honestly being a giant pile of dicks. Maybe even Marc. You weren't sure why you were mad at Marc, but you had a feeling he was involved in this steaming pile of shit somehow. The only one who might get a pass was Steven, unless he was in on this Khonshu bullshit too.

Jake could feel your anger. It was rolling off of you, electrifying the whole bedroom. But your hands remained steady, tender and professional, dancing over his wounded flesh. The dichotomy of your righteous anger and your healing mercy made him burn for you.

Each stab with your needle felt like a consequence for how he'd failed you. Failed Marc.

It was silent torture, but finally you finished, cleaning and bandaging the wound. You had thought he might pass out from exhaustion or pain, but he simply stared at the ceiling and said nothing.

Not one fucking word of explanation, or even a cry of pain.

With a sigh, you left the room to wash up and get rid of some of the bloody dressings and instruments. The sutures were not your best work - after all, you didn't stitch people up on a daily basis. But it would have to do.

Feeling exhausted in every way, you readied yourself to tend to the rest of Jake's injuries, bracing yourself for stone cold silence. It fucking hurt, but he was more than clear on the matter of not communicating with you.

Returning to Jake's beside, you said nothing. You simply lifted his hand into your own, carefully cleaning his bloody knuckles. You thought about making a joke along the lines of 'I should see the other guy, right?' but ultimately decided against it. It seemed pointless to even try.

Grabbing a couple extra pillows from your side of the bed, you handed them to Jake, who had been watching you warily.

"I need you to prop up so I can take a look at the cuts on your lip and over your eye," you explained.

He obeyed, shifting the pillows into position before protesting. "You've done enough, cariño, you don't have to - "

"Like hell I don't," you snapped. "My husband's body is hurt..." you exhaled shakily, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. "You're hurt, Jake. I'm doing this."

At first, he wouldn't look at you. You tended to the cut over his eye first - it was the worst one. "You'll need a bandage here...and it might even leave a scar through your eyebrow."

"I'm sorry," he repeated his apology from earlier. He didn't know what else to say.

"For what exactly?" You questioned, cleaning the scrapes along his cheek. You were close to him now, fingers brushing, eyes flickering, gazes locking. His breath ghosted over your hand.

"For everything," he offered, his own hand stretching out to grasp your elbow.

You jerked away. "That's really fucking specific, Jake. Thanks."

"Mi vida -" he started.

"Don't!" You bit out, glaring at him, your chest heaving. "Don't call me that. Just...just tell me how you got hurt. Tell me why you're not healing. Is Khonshu gone?"

Jake shook his head. "No. But our armor is."

"Why?" you gasped. "How can you...do your job if he doesn't protect you? I thought that was all part of the avatar package."

Jake didn't exactly feel comfortable with this line of questioning but he honestly didn't know what to do anymore.

"I think..." he started, clearing his throat. "I think it's...punishment."

Every negative and intense emotion coursing through your body narrowed to one. Terror.

"What?" You cried, placing your hands on his bare chest. "Khonshu did this to you?"

"No. He did this to Marc."

If there was anything Jake hated, it was causing you pain. He had made a sort of strange peace about staying out of your daily life, to protect you and Marc. He viewed returning your unopened letters as a mercy - as a way to let you off the hook.

But as you lay your head down on his chest, grasping his hand desperately, your warm tears flowing onto his bare skin, he knew he had utterly failed and completely misunderstood what you needed. After endless weeks of silence, it took one choked sob and desperate plea from you for him to break.

"Why would he hurt Marc?" You pleaded, clinging to Jake like a child would to a parent after a bad dream. "Please...please tell me what he did to my husband."

Jake smoothed his hand over your shoulder, rubbing your arm in a small attempt to comfort you, electrified by the nearness of you.

"I...um," releasing a shuddering breath, he decided you deserved to know. "Marc has been...talking to me. And Khonshu."

Jake went on to explain how Marc had been staying up late, attempting to maintain control of the body. How he had even gone out at night and summoned the suit -several times, in fact.

"Why?" You sniffled, leaning into Jake's embrace.

"I think he's trying to negotiate our freedom," Jake explained. "But...I don't want him to."

"Because it's your job," you spat, accusingly.

"No, mi amor," he gently corrected you. "Because the first night he put on the suit, he completely panicked, and almost bought some liquor."

You cried harder. What the hell was going on with them?

"He didn't drink," Jake clarified. "I was able to take the body after he started walking home. And the reason I don't want him doing all this is because I can't protect him if I'm not Moon Knight. If I'm not in control. If Marc is out there, and gets hurt, Khonshu doesn't care. He doesn't care if Marc drinks - in fact, he probably prefers it that way."

Easing his arms around you, Jake hissed at the stretch he felt in his stitched injury.

"Khonshu doesn't want me distracted," Jake explained. "By Marc or by you. He wants someone completely devoted to being his fist - to watching over the travelers of the night."

"That's bullshit," you argued, though most of your ire had given way to a form of despair. "If he was protecting people, he wouldn't have done this to Marc. He wouldn't have hurt him."

You and Jake lay on your bed, completely wrapped up in one another. He had tried to stay away for your sake, but if you needed this from him, he would gladly give it.

"He didn't hurt Marc directly," Jake went on. "He just..." blowing out a sigh, he mustered the courage to tell you. "He told Marc he was a worthless weakling and that he would pay for interfering. So..." Jake couldn't go on for a moment.

"What?" you whimpered, nuzzling your face into his neck as if you could hide from the horrible ancient deity.

"Khonshu waited until Marc was in the middle of a fight - he was trying to save a woman from...it was three men. Assholes..." His jaw clenched in fury. "Khonshu decided then to take away his armor. So...they beat the hell out of Marc and...they stabbed him. Cut him with a piece of glass. That's when I took the body." Too fucking late, as it turned out.

You broke down. You couldn't take it anymore. When would your husband ever be free of this torment?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Jake said mournfully. "I tried so hard to protect him. To protect you from exactly a moment like this. I'm so sorry, mi vida."

He held you for a while, soothingly rubbing your back, thrilled and bewildered by the chance to hold you like this. To be able to give you some measure of comfort. To bear the injury Marc had sustained.

"Why do you call me that?" You softly questioned after your sobs had quieted. "Mi vida? Mi amor? I'm not."

Ouch. Jake's heart splintered.

But you went on to explain. "I've respected your choices, Jake, and your life on your own. But why do you call me those things if you don't even want to know me?"

"I told you - I do know you," he reminded you, his voice filled with conviction. "I think about you every day."

Propping up on one elbow, you peered down at him. "Then why won't you let me know you? Why did you return my letters?"

"To protect you," he insisted, wincing as you rolled your eyes. "From Khonshu. From everything. It was my fault Marc was drinking again. All of this pain, everything was because I wasn't doing enough - "

"Then let us help you, Jake," you pleaded. "Let's figure this out together."

"Marc tried and look what happened!" Jake fired back, flinching away from you. "He got hurt. He could have gotten us killed!"

Trying to sit up, Jake hissed in pain, his skin burning as your hands fussed over him, trying to help him.

"What happened tonight is exactly what I've been trying to prevent. No one is listening to me!"

"Because you don't fucking say anything!" You cried, climbing off the bed, scrambling around to stand in front of him. "All you do is play the martyr - lay down every piece of your existence on this sacrificial altar to a spiteful god! You don't talk to anyone, you don't know anyone, you don't do anything here but sleep!"

Tears streaked down your face as your lip trembled. "No one can listen to you because you've made yourself a ghost! You can't hear a ghost, Jake. You can't see or know a ghost. You can't love a ghost..."

Wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand, you whispered woefully. "But I love you anyway. I'm here and I'll listen to you. You just don't say anything. And I know it's because of me. I know you can't stand to be around me - I guess you despise me - but you could at least try harder with Marc and Steven - "

"What did you say?" Jake breathed, his voice cold. With tremendous effort, he pushed himself off the bed and stood before you, eyes wet with fresh tears. "You think I despise you? How can you..." He trailed off, raking his fingers through his curls. "You really have no idea, do you?"

Shaking your head mutely, you stared up at him, so sweetly broken.

"You're right," he finally said, his head dropping in shame.

With a small whimper, you started to sniffle again, thinking you were right about how he couldn't stand to be around you.

"I haven't said anything to you. I've tried so fucking hard not to."

"Why?" you whispered. "What did I do wrong?"

He completely melted, reaching out for you. "Nothing, mi alma. Not one thing, ever."

Still confused, you shook your head mournfully. "Then why don't you..."

Murmuring your name, he brushed tender fingers over your cheek. "I was trying to keep you out of this - to keep you safe - to set you free - but I can see now - I only made everything worse."

Touching his forehead to yours, he wrapped one arm around your waist. "De verdad lo siento, mi amor. Por favor perdóname. Te amo."

He normally only spoke English with you, simply because that's what you spoke with Marc and Steven. But in his overflow of emotion, that's what came out.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"I understand," you whispered, your eyes wide, with a sliver of hope. "But you can say it again."

Tracing your lips with his thumb, he tried to show you everything inside his heart. He didn't deserve you, but he couldn't live without you anymore.

"I'm so sorry," he translated, brushing his lips over yours. "My love... please forgive me." Rubbing his nose against yours tenderly, he breathed against your mouth. "I love you."

next->

@stormydaysxx @laaundromat @kindlover @deezisnotreal @stevenknightmarc @imonmykneessir @marvelouslovely-barnes @evilbubu @usualsworld @rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra @this--is--music @i-still-dont-like-your-face @avengersinitiative2012 @lockleywife @poppyflower-22 @thursdaywritings @scoliobean @spxctor @flyesvenustrap @spxctors @cicithemes2000

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imisscherryboy-blog · 1 year ago

Text

running back 2 u

enemies to lovers — football player! ajax x sports med! gn reader

part 2 part 3

spotify playlist ★

story: you and ajax have known each other since elementary school. those years haven’t been always the best, as you both parted ways due to your differences in personality. that is, until one hot august night, where the stadium lights illuminate the turf, you find yourself running back to him again.

notes: enemies to lovers, modern au, gender neutral reader, childe is referred to as ajax, last name tartaglia, american football, all characters are 18+ as seniors, highschool setting, use of american education system, reader is in a sports medicine class (if you don’t know what that is it’s basically students that help out at school games, usually water girls/boys/people, assist with injuries) i wrote this with the pov of the reader being a POC but if you’re not just disregard when i say white and stuff lmao + part 1/?, title is an nct reference, debating eventual smut, kaveh and alhaitham are gay

side characters featured: kaveh, alhaitham (alhaitham x kaveh)

warnings: swearing, vivid depiction/description of injury

★ part 1 of an ongoing series ★

you hated ajax and ajax hated you. that much was safe to say. ever since that incident in 9th grade, you never talked to him, let alone acknowledged him. before that, you both had known each other since elementary school. everybody loved ajax, his teachers, his peers, and even you. he just had that personality that made everyone love him; but you knew him underneath that persona. you knew his flaws and he knew yours. he’d tell you things he’d never tell anyone, he trusted you. but, all good things come to an end. in the summer going into your first year at highschool, you found yourself never wanting to speak to him again. he ultimately became the person you two would make fun of together in prior years. a typical, white, football player. but damn was he a good running back. he used to be so charming, but now he was just a playboy that had a new girl in his bed every week. you hated him for it, you hated the person he became, but you mostly hated how he’d plague your mind like a disease.

the day of the game finally came. you and kaveh both wore your school’s varsity jackets and jeans. you guys trudged the god foresaken orange gatorade cooler out to the field for the junior varsity and freshman team. the jv game had just finished, and you began setting up for the varsity game.

“y/n, i can tell you’re scared about ajax.”

“wow kaveh, you’re sooo observant.” you said sarcastically as you both were now in the utility room, filling the water bottles for the players.

“listen, you probably won’t even have to talk to him. as much as he likes to talk behind your back, he’s scared of you. you literally know EVERYTHING about him, you could ruin his reputation in milliseconds.” kaveh had a point. you knew his deepest and darkest secrets, but he unfortunately knew yours as well. you screwed the last lid of the water bottle on tighter than usual as you responded.

“thanks kaveh, but promise me you’ll be the one giving him his water, not me.” kaveh laughed as you said this.

“i’d actually be more than happy too! he’s pretty fine anyways…”

“kaveh— please.” you sighed as kaveh only laughed louder. you walked out to the field, the sky a pretty hue of pink as the jv players left and students filed in the bleachers for the real game. you made your way to the bench, right next to the field and placed the water bottle trays down, as cheering filled the stadium, you both looked behind you.

“ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, our undefeated, five-time league winners, the varsity football team!” the announcer said as the cheers only got louder. the varsity boys ran onto the field, ajax leading the team. you rolled your eyes. you’d admit, he looked good in the navy blue and white jersey, adorning the number 11. ajax was the captain and star of the team, his stats practically outdid any other running back in the county. he ranked first for almost every category, he was a good running back, you’d give him that at least. but at that moment, a feeling came over you. you felt jealous. jealous of the new cheerleader girl he was seeing, jealous of his success, you irrevocably hated him.

“god alhaitham looks good.” kaveh said, very much distracted when they began to sing the national anthem.

“you’re shameless, kaveh.”

“well, the national anthem definitely did not include gay people so…”

the game began, and the annoying and repetitive chants from the cheerleaders almost got stuck in your head. they even had a special one for their glorious star boy tartaglia! you could give zero fucks about him and his stupid chant, but you couldn’t help but notice him staring you down as the rival team took a time out. he gulped his water, sweat dripping from his slicked-back hair, before returning back to the field. as promised, it was kaveh’s job to offer him water, not yours. when one team scored, the other followed suit, the game was neck and neck. watching ajax skillfully receive alhaitham’s (the quarterback) throws and run it was something you could watch all day. but you hated him, so you pretended to look busy every time the home team ran a point. it was halftime now, and you and kaveh hung around the bench. they were up by only two points, it was practically anyone’s game, but that’s what makes the epic highs and lows of highschool football, right?

“swear to god, ajax keeps looking at you.” kaveh whispered to you as you refilled the green water bottles. the boys went into the team room as you and kaveh stayed outside. ajax’s fan girls in the stands had finally calmed down. you just looked at him and looked away as you continued to fill up the water. “like, every time he scores a touch down, he’ll do his stupid little celebration and he’ll glance over here—and then i’d look at you, and of course—‘oh, she’s trying to look distracted and pretend to not care again!’.” kaveh rolled his eyes at you, looking at you for an answer. “you still care about him, don’t you?” this time, you didn’t look at him and just stared at the bottle.

“yeah, like i’d give two shits about the school fuck boy. it’s just, i can’t help but remember how he used to be, that’s all.” it was a blatant lie, and kaveh knew. but he decided to stop pressing where it hurts. and just like that, half time was over and the team looked spent, but they still had 30 minutes to clutch. the cheers started up again. another touchdown, and chants of his name were the only things heard in the stadium. you felt surrounded. you just wanted to go home.

finally, the seventh minute began. the scoreboard emitting a soft glow displayed both home and away teams tied. everyone on the bleachers were all sat for these final minutes. including you. you watched intently with kaveh and your sports med teacher on the bench as they hiked the ball.

“alhaitham, number 9 is going for a throw,” the commentator’s voice reverberated through the field. alhaitham spots ajax, right on the 30 yard line, centered on the field. alhaitham takes a couple steps back and throws, the ball spins with accuracy. the crowd and kaveh all cheer.

“a dot! per usual from quarter back alhaitham, how many yards can their star running back score for the team!” ajax grabbed the ball and went for a right hook, swiftly dodging the defenders. he only got faster and faster as the cheers grew louder. he hooked right, and made his way for that touch down line.

“ajax! ajax! ajax!” the crowd chanted as kaveh and your teacher were now standing. you watched him closely, all of a sudden remembering back to when the two of you competed in your middle school’s flag football tournament. he had signed you up without you knowing, and you both somehow cinched first place.

“oh my god—” kaveh’s gasp snapped you out of your thoughts, as you looked onto the field.

the bleachers were silent now. ajax laid on his side, clutching his knee. the ball was long forgotten now.

“it appears number 11 is down.” the commentator remarked. your heart sank to your ass. you knew that knee injuries could fuck up anyone’s career in seconds. especially a running back’s. before you knew it, you were standing, your teacher yelled something to kaveh as he began running toward him to see what happened, you stood frozen. the cries of his fan girls behind you were the only things you could hear, kaveh was trying to tell you something, but you kept looking at ajax’s writhing body and back to kaveh, and back to ajax, and now at the rival team, and back to kaveh.

“y/n! are you listening? this is serious!” kaveh’s voice was almost a yell.

“i-i’m sorry, what do you need me to do?” you blinked a couple times.

“get the ice pack!” he yelled as kaveh made his way to the scene, the rival team went back to their bench as they were in small groups, most likely talking about what happened. you grabbed the ice pack from the cooler and ran over. his eyes were screwed shut as he cursed loudly, your teacher asking where it hurt.

“ah fuck, my knee! motherfu—” ajax bit back his curses with the back of his hand. your teacher radioed for a golf cart, which made you confused because you’d think someone would be calling 911.

“shouldn’t we be calling an ambulance..?” alhaitham asked, kneeling next to kaveh and ajax’s head. kaveh visibly looked flustered.

“y-yeah. we should! as a matter of fact, why don’t i just call them right—” your teacher cut kaveh off as he interjected.

“it’s a torn acl, if we call an ambulance right now, all they’ll do is give him some ice and painkillers which we very much have. we’re not spending 6k for an ice pack. save that money for the surgery.” your teacher remarked.

“the what..?” ajax looked at him with wide eyes as a campus supervisor came with a golf cart, the crowd was at a stand still.

“kaveh, stay here and take over for me. y/n, come with me.” you knew ajax’s injury was nothing life threatening, but you couldn’t help but worry for his future. you nodded your head as you and your teacher got into the front seat of the golf cart, cursing kaveh in your head, wishing it was him to take your place. ajax’s teammates carefully laid him on the golf cart and he cursed at them to be more careful. you rolled your eyes.

“ajax, we’re gonna need you to talk to us, we can’t have you passing out.” your teacher drove the golf cart to the recovery room, making sure to drive slowly over any bumps.

“you want me to talk? well, a torn acl is gonna ruin my goddamn career—fuck!” the golf cart jerked forward a little, making him curse.

“it’s probably not completely torn, ajax. you’ll recover in no time.” your teacher said.

“you’ll probably be out for the season.” you added, you couldn’t help but add a little salt in the wound.

“you’ll be out for the fucking year if you don’t shut the fuck up.” ajax snapped back at you.

“you need some ice dipshit?” you turned around with the ice pack and tossed it onto his knee, making him yell out in pain.

“what the FUCK is wrong with you—” he yelped in pain again, you just rolled your eyes.

“y/n! cut it out! you too, ajax. we’re here.” the teacher took the key out of the golf cart and looked at you. “i need to call his parents and file a report for the insurance, i’m trusting you to patch any cuts and tape his knee for the time being. keep the ice on it—and please don’t assault him.” your teacher was already on their way as they headed towards the office. you didn’t even get a minute to protest.

“no fucking way they just left me with this loser.” ajax scoffed from the back seat of the golf cart.

“at least my knee still works.” you grabbed the key and unlocked the recovery room, it had a couple of medical beds and cabinets filled with all kinds of medical equipment. you turned the lights on as you heard ajax outside yell.

“now you’re just leaving me? jesus, i couldn’t have asked for someone better to help me.” you ignored him as that was not what you were doing. you went to the smaller room in the back to get a wheelchair to get him onto one of the beds. you walked back outside, ajax’s face turned from one of pain to an angered look the minute you stepped outside. you wheeled the wheel chair to him.

“get on.” you said with little to no remorse.

“yeah let me just fly onto the fucking wheel chair why not. can you help me?” ajax yelled as he tried to sit up straight on the back seat. you scoffed and somehow got him onto the wheel chair. you both were silent, but you knew when ajax went quiet, he was overthinking. you knew he was thinking about what he’d do with his injury. you decided to give him something else to think about.

“it’s not that bad ajax. you survived skateboarding into a brick wall, i’m sure you’ll be fine.” you brought up an old memory the both of you shared.

“everyone saw. even the fucking scouters—i’m done for.” your words seemed to fly past his head. almost like he forgot about you and his’ history. you helped him onto the medical bed and made him sit straight so you could tape his knee. you went into the back room to get more ice. from the main room, you heard him start talking again.

“when i ran into that brick wall, you were the only one there. i didn’t have scouters that could get me d1 scholarships.” he remarked. he did remember at least. you came back with a roll of medical tape and some ice.

“you need to roll you pants up past your knee.” you went for the straight forward route as anything else would’ve gotten too awkward.

“yeah no fucking way that’s happening, cut it off for all i care.” you figured getting the leg of the pants over his injury wouldn’t be the most best of things, so you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his pants just above his thigh. he hissed in pain even though you didn’t even touch it. he was always this dramatic, you thought to yourself. you unrolled the pieces of tape and got to work. if ajax was good at football, you were the best at sports medicine. you knew how to wrap an ankle like second nature—a big part of the reason why your teacher asked you to assist, not kaveh. he went quiet again, and you’d much rather have him yelling at you than overthinking the situation after all this.

“how’s teucer?” you asked as he hissed whenever you’d place a piece of tape on his knee.

“w-why do you care? can you be any more gentle?” you looked up at him and kept working. you weren’t any gentler, you just worked slower to make it look like you were. he fell for it easily.

“he’s fine. he just graduated elementary—ow, school.” he responded after a minute passed.

“that’s good.” you said in quieter-than-usual tone. you couldn’t deny it was still awkward between you two. you hadn’t had a conversation like this in practically years, and you never thought you would have to. “so what exactly happened out there? you trip or something?” you knew he didn’t trip. you also knew that ajax had a tendency to overestimate himself, overall causing him more harm than good.

“the turf must’ve been off.” he said looking away. ajax was well aware he let himself get cocky. it was the final minutes of the game and he wanted to end it off strong. in doing so, he got himself a torn acl. good going ajax.

“mhm..”

“what? don’t believe me?” before you could answer the question, your teacher walked in. the first thing ajax asked was if they won the game or not. his “half touchdown” didn’t count, leaving them still tied.

“we won. but it was still a close call.”

ajax looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. he was already upset with his injury, and a loss especially with their title as undefeated would be 10x worse. you tried to look normal, but in truth, you were a little happy for the team. after all, you had some sense of school pride.

“your mom is outside. i’ve talked to her already and explained the injury in length. please focus on resting, then let’s talk about your next games.” with that, your teacher left you both alone again.

“can you walk?” you asked.

“i’ll try.” he said wincing as he got up. you went to his side and put his arm around you. it was silent. you helped him to the parking lot, occasional swears were heard from him. you said his mom waiting outside of the car.

“oh sweetie!” ajax’s mom held him tightly.

“hi mom, i’m fine.” his words were muffled into her shoulder.

“oh goodness, let’s get you in the car!” she helped him into the passanger seat. they spoke to each other in russian, it sounded like he was getting scolded. it was none of your business anyway. after doing so, she came back out.

“y/n? i remember you!” she said, giving you a hug.

“hi mrs tartaglia.” ajax’s mom had a soft spot for you. she’d always pack you extra food, and would never fail to treat you like one of her own, it made you happy. due to the circumstances, you hadn’t seen her in what felt like years.

“how’ve you been? we’ve missed you!” her hand stayed on your shoulder, her voice was genuine. but who exactly did she mean by “we”?

“i’ve been alright, thanks for asking.”

“ajax still talks about you, you should come over some time! teucer and tonia miss you!”

huh?

did you hear that right?

maybe it she didn’t actually mean it like that, why would ajax still be talking about you?

ajax rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

“mom i’m hurting let’s go.” he half shouted.

“alright, alright. i’ll see you soon hopefully, y/n! thank you for looking after ajax!” she said with a warm smile as she got back in the car before you could say a word. you simply waved and smiled back at her. you glanced over for a second, seeing ajax on his phone. you didn’t understand. did ajax really stil talk about you? you’d have a lot to tell kaveh..

the two of them left the parking lot in their black tahoe suv. you just stood and watched. you cursed to yourself. you couldn’t understand why ajax’s words pulled at your heartstrings a little. you were confused. and things would only get more confusing from there.

-> part 2

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covid-safer-hotties · 2 months ago

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Also preserved on our archive

By Geoff Hanmer

Later this week the government will receive the report of the year-long independent inquiry into its handling of the COVID pandemic.

Among the issues it will have to contend with is air quality, in particular the air quality in high occupancy public buildings such as schools, aged-care facilities, shops, pubs and clubs.

Many already have high quality air. High-fitration air conditioning (so-called mechanical ventilation) is standard in offices, hospitals and shopping centres.

But not in schools. Almost all of our schools (98% in NSW) use windows.

In Australia’s national construction code, this is called “natural ventilation” and it is allowed so long as the window, opening or door has a ventilating area of not less than 5% of the floor area, a requirement research suggests is insufficient.

Windows, but no requirement to keep them open There’s no requirement to actually open the windows. School windows are often shut to keep in the heat in (or to keep out the heat in summer).

The result can be very, very stuffy classrooms, far stuffier than we would tolerate in shopping centres. This matters for learning. Study after study has found that when air circulation gets low, people can’t concentrate well or learn well.

And they get sick. Diseases such as flu, COVID and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) spread when viruses get recirculated instead of diluted with fresh air.

The costs of the resulting sickness are borne by students, parents, teachers and education systems that need to find replacement staff to cover for teachers who are sick and parents who need to look after sick children at home.

A pilot study prepared for the Australian Research Council Centre for Advanced Building Systems Against Airborne Infection (known as “Thrive”), suggests the entire cost of installing high-filtration air conditioning in every Australian school would be offset by the savings in reduced sickness.

What Classroom Air is Like The study carried out by the education architecture firm ARINA compared the ventilation of 60 so-called naturally ventilated schools in southern NSW and the Australian Capital Territory to that of a school in Sydney that happened to have been fitted with a Standards Australia-compliant air conditioning system to control aircraft noise.

It used carbon dioxide levels to measure ventilation. Carbon dioxide is a good proxy for ventilation because its levels are determined by both the number of people breathing out concentrated carbon dioxide and the clean air available to dilute it.

Under a normal load, defined as 26 students, one teacher and one assistant, measured levels of carbon dioxide in the air-conditioned school stayed below 750 parts per million (ppm) and were typically between 500 and 600 ppm.

A reading of 700 ppm is particularly good. It means the people in the room breathe in less than 0.5% of air breathed out by others.

But in “naturally ventilated” classrooms the reading often climbed to 2,500 ppm and sometimes more, within an hour of a class commencing.

At 2,500 parts per million, people in the room are breathing in 5.5% of the air breathed out by others. This is also high enough to affect cognition, learning and behaviour, something that begins when carbon dioxide climbs above 1,200 ppm.

Research suggests using ventilation to cut carbon dioxide to 700 ppm can cut the risk of airborne transmission of disease by a factor of two and up to five.

The economic case for healthy air In 2023, Australia had 9,629 schools with 4,086,998 students.

ARINA has previously estimated the cost of ensuring all of these schools are mechanically ventilated at A$2 billion per year over five years.

Offsetting that cost would be less sickness. Documents released under freedom of information laws show Victoria spent $360.8 million on casual relief teachers between May 2023 and May 2024, 54% more than before COVID in 2019.

The figures for other states are harder to get, but if Victoria (with 26% of Australia’s population) is spending $234 million more per year on casual relief teachers than before COVID, it is likely that Australia is spending $900 million per year more.

Add in the teachers in non-government schools (37% of Australia’s total) and the potential saving from air conditioning schools exceeds $1 billion per year.

Add in the other non-COVID viruses that would no longer be concentrated and circulated in classrooms and the potential savings grow higher still.

Worth more than $1 billion per year And, in any event, the cost of replacement teachers is a woefully incomplete measure of the cost of illness in schools. Many ill teachers can’t be replaced because replacements aren’t available, making schools cancel lessons and combine classes, costing days, weeks and sometimes months of lost education.

Also, the bacteria and viruses spread by recirculated air infect students as well as teachers, keeping students (and often their parents) at home as well.

This suggests the costs per year of not air conditioning schools exceed $1 billion and may well approach or exceed $2 billion, which is the estimated cost per year over five years of air conditioning every Australian school.

Natural ventilation was never a good idea for classrooms: it was cheap at the time, but not cheap at all when the costs are considered. Those costs happen to extend beyond disease to thermal comfort, energy use and the ability of students to concentrate.

It’s time we gave students and teachers the kind of protections we demand for ourselves in our offices, our shopping centres and often our homes. It would soon pay for itself.

#mask up #covid #pandemic #public health #wear a mask #covid 19 #wear a respirator #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2

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threecheersforsuccess · 3 months ago

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I've been yapping for too many years, so I need a living masterpost of the guides and blogs from my Tumblr and Instagram. I plan to create more long-form content in the upcoming months, and I will re-do some of the prompts listed. I feel some of my old work might be outdated, so please take my wording with a chunk of salt.

I'll update my with my content as I go.

Stuff from 2024

♡ What's in my bag? (2024)

My Motivation Education Video Series (2022-2023)

♡ Part 0: Something Much Needed Among Students: Motivation ♡ Part 1: Bare Bones Definition of Motivation ♡ Part 2: Self-efficacy, I think ♡ Part 3: Where is the control? ♡ Part 4: Reward or Autopilot ♡ Part 5: Determination to Continue ♡ Part 6: Personal Interest ♡ Part 7: Outside The Model ♡ Part 8: Where is the willpower? ♡ Part 9: Is stress even a bad thing? Note: I stopped because I did not like the short video format. I'm not sure if I may pick this up again, but I do think the lessons I learned from my readings are pretty neat :)

5am.Raining's Studying Challenge (2022)

Note: A challenge led by my cool mutual 5am.raining on Instagram. I slowly figure out how to make videos. It's a little wonky at the beginning, but I find my style! I made these posts in 2022 ♡ Poorly Filmed Day in My Life! ♡ My Studying Role Model... Haruhi from Ouran... ♡ Fave Leader in My Field: Carol Dweck ♡ What gets me in the mood to study? ♡ What I want to do with my degree... ♡ My Fave Reading Assignment ♡ Study Tunes ♡ How to get back into reading books ♡ Favorite study supplies ♡ Planning Routine (2022 version) ♡ Organizing My Desk ♡ What's in my backpack? ♡ Inspiring Film or Doc on My Field ♡ Imposter Syndrome ♡ "Study Buddy" ♡ Coping with Long Study Sessions

Flipd Productivity and Motivation Challenge Blogs

Note: I yapped so hard I won the productivity challenge. I wrote these around junior year of college (2021). ♡ Long-Term Destination, Short-Term Motivation: Living in The Moment ♡ Embedding Self-forgiveness in Your Self-Care ♡ Study Essentials ♡ The Importance of Play and Breaks ♡ Quote of Week Analysis: Self-Acceptance ♡ How I Plan My Everyday ♡ The Biggest Time Management Misconception I'm Trying to Get Over ♡ Recognizing Burnout (and Listening to Yourself) ♡ Building an Academic Support System ♡ Ways to Make Yourself Take Breaks ♡ The Challenges of a Positive Mindset ♡ How I Build Habits (based on James Clear's Atomic Habits)

Diana's Studying Challenge (2021)

Note: A challenge lead by my cool mutual dianas.desk on Instagram. I made these posts in 2021. Day 1: Challenge Introduction Day 2: What Gets Me Motivated Day 3: Cleaning My Desk Day 4: Study Tunes/Songs I Listen and Avoid Day 5: Current Books I'm Reading Day 6: Relaxation! Arknights Projekt Red Bullet Journal Spread Day 7: My Happy Place Day 8: Week Reflection Day 9: How I Plan Day 10: My Summer 2021 Work Routine Day 11: My Desk Essentials Day 12: Study Snack (Natto) Day 13: Digital or Paper Notes? Which is Better? Day 14: How I Self-Care Day 15: My School Bag Day 16: Proudest Achievement Day 17: Most Favorite Productivity App/Website Blocker Day 18: Work Buddies Day 19: Inspirational Quotes Day 20: My Favorite Place to Work Day 21: #MessyDesk Day 22: Guilty Pleasure Day 23: My Favorite Study Accounts Day 24: Study Methods I Do Not Like Day 25: Trying out a new place to work? Day 26: Part 2 of My Unconventional Study Tips (same as above) Day 27: My Outfit Day 28: Making a Gratitude List Day 29: My Aspirations Day 30: Today I learned… Day 31: September Goals

My Study Tips

Note: I wrote many of these either in 2020 or very early on (2017-2018). Super old stuff. ♡ Unconventional Study Tips Part 1 + Part 2 ♡ One Effective Memorization Tip ♡ Dealing with Bad Grades: What I Do ♡ How to get 800 on the SAT in Math and Full Points on Grammar ♡ Causes of Procrastination + Methods for Each ♡ How to Study When Unmotivated ♡ Making Your Discord Study Space ♡ Ways to Go to Bed Early ♡ My Super Ultimate Guide to AP Calc AB and BC ♡ Using Your Phone Productively (2018)

Journaling

♡ How I Journal (2017) ♡ How I Use My Notebooks (2018) ♡ How to Keep a Daily Journal (2020) ♡ How to Get into Creative Journaling (2022)

Dividers by @fairytopea

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smalltownrobin · 2 months ago

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I think the best way for rovickie to be set up for s5, considering the YEAR AND A HALF TIME SKIP, would be if Vickie has been away at college.

(this is so long I'm sorry)

Obviously, where they were left at the end of s4 was very vague but also very telling, my assumption is that Vickie still needs to figure out and come to terms with her sexuality, then the two need to tell each other their feelings, but both seem to be AWARE there is something between them. Going straight from that to a year and a half later would make their story jankier than it already is, a lot of people (including myself) have thought there's a chance they're already together and we're just totally skipping over all the good ship stuff, or they would have been doing this subtle friends but gay and eyeing each other thing for over a year. Neither is a good option storytelling wise.

However, with the way things are between them by the end of s4, I think a great way to sort of keep it in that place, progress it slightly, AND give a natural explanation as for what's been happening between them during the time skip, is for them to basically not have seen each other the whole time, hence Vickie going off to college.

I can see it like their friendship got somewhat closer after their conversation at the relief centre, and they continued on that trajectory until graduation (since the education system seems to stay up and running despite gaping gates to an alternate dimension splitting the town in half), where Vickie did the typical thing and went to college, while Robin, most probably not able to afford it and wanting to stay and help with the upside down stuff, stayed in Hawkins.

While Vickie is at college, it's entirely possible that she had the time and space to figure out her sexuality (not so much "experimenting" in the derogatory sense, just being in a more open environment and meeting new people not from a small red state town), whether she entirely accepts herself or simply becomes more open to the possibility of being queer, I think either works. Of course, she would also have her lingering feelings for Robin to deal with, which would most likely be the main factor in her even considering the possibility of liking girls.

Another crucial detail is that Vickie appears to be a candy striper volunteer at Hawkins memorial hospital, along with Nancy (not technically confirmed, but we've seen Vickie at the hospital both weeks they were filming there, and someone who looked an awful lot like her stunt double in the uniform, plus my own Vickie intuition that's totally what she'd do). Since it's a year and a half break, unless Hawkins is under a strict quarantine (there seems to be something enforced but quarantine I'm ignoring for the sake of this idea), Vickie would of course be able to come home for holidays, where she'd most likely choose to spend her time away from college volunteering (this being the girl that ignored her bf to spend spring break at the relief centre, remember) (I'm doing too many brackets aren't I, my apologies). She could have some kind of workplace friendship with Nancy because of this, which doesn't add much to anything, I just like the idea of them being friends cos they'd get along spectacularly, but anyway, this would work for s5 which seems to be set around thanksgiving 1987, so of course Vickie would be home for the holiday, doing her volunteering, and that's how she ends up involved this season.

I think something that could be cute here is if Vickie comes back to Hawkins every so often (christmas, thanksgiving, spring break, summer, etc.), and every single time she wants to call Robin, or go to her house, and hang out with her, but every single time she never quite has the guts to. If she's been away thinking about the way she feels about this girl, realising that she may actually be queer, then as much as she likes talking to someone who gets her and is like her, that could just about hold her back from willing herself to see her again.

Now, ROBIN'S SIDE OF THINGS. Obviously, girlie would be staying in Hawkins doing... whatever, idk, her and Steve don't seem to be employed anymore, maybe they've just been chilling looking for Vecna, but from Robin's perspective, when Vickie left for college, she left for good. Hawkins is a fucked up and dangerous place, she wouldn't have thought there'd be any reason for her to come back, and even if she did, she wouldn't want to meet up with Robin. So, Robin's probably spent a year and a half trying to not think about her or what they could have been, because Vickie's safer away from this place, and doesn't need her.

AND SO... when Robin goes to the hospital early in the season (for a reason I still don't know), it could be where her and Vickie run into each other, see each other for the first time in a year and a half, and all of that is behind that moment. It keeps them somewhat in the place they were left at the end of s4, but it has even more weight to it, and it accounts for the time that's passed.

From here I could get into how I think they talk at the hospital and arrange to meet up (hence why Robin's done her hair all cute with that bow), and then they don't for whatever reason and bla bla bla, but then I'd just be spewing s5 theories and it's 2am I don't have the energy for that. This was just what I wanted to share, and it took me way too many paragraphs to do so, but there you go.

TL;DR: s5 would be cool if Vickie figured out her sexuality at college and popped back into town occasionally to volunteer at the hospital and Robin thought she left for good and is glad she's safe while sad thinking what they could have been, they don't see each other during the year and a half time skip until they run into each other at the hospital (during thanksgiving break) and from there that's how Vickie gets involved with the upside down.

#WHY DO I JUST WAFFLE #I'M SO SORRY #this was not meant to be this long #born and raised english idk what words are #but distant yearning sapphics yes please?#suffers hire me #once again i don't trust them with rovickie #i only trust myself and mayabeth #calling this now?#idk come back after s5 let's see how right i was #stranger things #robin buckley #vickie stranger things #give vickie a last name #rovickie #rockie #stranger things 5 #stranger things 5 spoilers #stranger things 5 speculation

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fallen-honor · 4 months ago

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help school starts in two weeks and i cant do my summer reading because i cant find a free pdf of this fucking book. summer reading is stupid, fuck the education system, school kills creativity, be gay do crime

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ilovefakemilitarymen · 1 year ago

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Deal with the Devil

Professor!John Price x Student!Reader (Part 1)

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A/N: Originally posted this to AO3 and then decided to start a Tumblr account for some COD x readers and headcanons. So, if any body is interested, my requests will be open for the next couple of weeks till I hit about 10-15 or maybe more if this gets a lot of love. I’ll be posting a list of who I’ll write for later today. Enjoy!

Word Count: ~3.4k

CW: Inappropriate Teacher/Student relationship///This part is pretty tame, it’s the later parts you have to worry about but each will have their own warnings attached.

The truth was as simple as this: You were failing History.

Terribly at that, and it would take an act from whichever god would take pity on you to get your grade above the F you were currently sporting on your most recent report card. You were determined to get at least a C by the time the next report card came around, just so you wouldn’t have to take the same damn class for another semester.

The second truth was not as simple: Your teacher was as hot as the sun in the Nevada desert during the summer solstice.

He was a man that played by the rules, teaching tough love in the form of not giving a shit when you didn’t turn a paper in on time. His rules were strict, and so was his grading system. Professor Price was going to be the death of your college career. That didn’t keep you from eyeing the way he moved during the lecture, and it didn’t help that he was the type to make eye contact with each of his students to make sure they were paying attention, forcing you to keep your eyes off of his body and on his face for the entire hour that he spent lecturing the class on the different wars that had plagued the earth.

Despite failing, you had to admit his class was one you had looked forward to. However, it's not because you had a love for history, it’s to ogle the man that taught you. You should probably feel bad, but you didn’t. You couldn’t focus when he wore the furthest thing from educational wear, usually sporting a simple tee that fit him a little bit too well and either a pair of dress pants or coming in what looked like uniform pants that you could only guess were from his earlier days in the military. He had never talked about his days before becoming a professor, but you could about guess it was something that kept him fit by the way his muscles threatened to shred his thin shirt.

However, none of this could explain why you were now leaning over his desk, trying to bribe him into taking the paper you had tried to turn in late.

Price leans back in his chair in the front of the class, hitting his pen against his hand and taking in every word you had whispered to him, trying to keep your voice down as much as possible.

“Isn’t there any way you can take the paper?” Your hands press heavily against the edge of his desk. There aren't many times that you had come up to him instead of it being the other way around. He was continuously trying to get you to turn your work in on time, but lo and behold, it seems that his prodding had gone in one ear and out the other.

“No,” He speaks sternly, and you can’t help the way your shoulders drop at his words.

“But-” You begin again, but he cuts you off before you can even say anything else.

“You should have turned it in,” He shrugs, his more nonchalant attitude coming out in his words. You knew he didn’t give a shit if you failed but you wished he would at least take some pity on you. “I told you multiple times when it was due, and you ignored it.” His eyes shone with mischief, and you knew he was a man that had seen a lot worse than a student practically on her knees, begging for a second chance.

“I promise it won’t happen again, sir” You tacked on the last bit, trying to play into the small power trip he has, but it does nothing. “Just give me one more chance.”

“And I’m supposed to trust that?” His words aren’t harsh when they come out of his mouth, just stern, “You had multiple chances to turn that paper in on time, so your irresponsibility doesn’t seem like it’s my problem.” He leans back up on his desk as he speaks, nodding towards the small folder in your hand.

You had worked all night trying to get this paper written, staying up damn near the sunrise just to get it to him on time, only to realize the due date was yesterday when you had moved to turn it in.

Your words come out with not much thought from you, but the smirk on his face spurs you on, “Just this once, please. I’ll do anything, sir.”

You hadn’t realized how much trouble your words would get you into just yet.

Price leans back in his chair again, continuing to fiddle with his pen as he gives you a small chuckle. It’s barely there but you hear it and his words come shortly after, “Anything?” You give him a small nod at his words, “You know what they say about making deals with the devil?”

“No…” You breathe out slightly at his words and they imply something, but you’re not quite sure. You can’t help but look down at his arms. There’s no way he’s implying what you think he’s implying, but you don’t stop your mind from wandering.

“Then I guess we don’t have a deal,” He leans back up moving to begin grading papers again, “You’ll just have to accept the grade you earned.” He doesn’t give you another look, instead his pen moves against the paper as he tries his best to ignore your presence.

“Wait- What do they say, about making deals with the devil?” You continue to lean on his desk, voice low. “I’d sell my soul for a good grade in this class, sir. I’m begging.”

“You’d sell your soul, would you?” His face turns towards you, a small smirk playing at his lips, and you have to admit he looks god-damn attractive like that, about a foot or so between the two of you. You can only nod, eyes glancing down at his hands once again.

You don’t care if he’s just some creep wanting you to suck him off in the back closet once for him to take your late paper, and you also don’t admit to yourself that you would probably do it if he offered, good grade or not. He’s the hottest thing you’ve laid your eyes on in years and a heat pools in your abdomen at the thought of it.

“I don’t know about your soul, but we might be able to make another deal.” His words are low as he speaks, his face turning back to his papers, and his pen moves, marking little details in the margin of the paper.

“Anything, I’d do anything…” Your words trail off, waiting to hear whatever he has to say.

He nods, taking in your words before he moves to put his hands under his chin. There’s a devious smile under his mutton chops, and when he finally speaks, it’s not what you really expected him to say. “I want you to be my personal errand girl for the rest of the semester.” He takes in your reaction, eyes on your face for a reaction, “That means you’ll grade papers for me, fetch me coffee, and do whatever else I need you to do.” Your shoulders slump slightly, and you can’t believe you had fully expected him to tell you he’d be bending you over his desk for a passing grade. Your eyes don’t catch the way his lips had darted out to wet his lips at the words, ‘anything else’. “And in return, I’ll give you a passing grade, but if you fail to do so, I won’t hesitate to fail you.”

“Is that all? I can manage that.” You say confidently. You can be his personal lap dog for the rest of the semester. It really didn’t seem all that bad.

“Oh, I don’t think you understand the full extent of what I’m asking,” You watch his face as he speaks, “But if you’re willing, then we have a deal.” He raises his hand to you, intending to shake on the agreement.

“What?” You say a little bit snarky, “I get you coffee when you ask for it, and you say jump and I ask how high?” You reach your hand out, placing your palm in his. The calluses against his palm scratch against your soft one.

“Something like that,” He speaks as he shakes your hand, and you don’t realize that one handshake will be your unraveling. “We’ll discuss the details after class. For now, get back to your seat and let me finish grading these papers.”

“Of course,” You nod eagerly, placing the folder on his desk before turning to make your way back to your own seat, and he turns back down, moving through the papers with grace, marking along the pages at the right and wrong information.

Professor Price has always been a little bit of a wildcard, but you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when you finally get back to your seat. You’re not sure what you had actually got yourself into, but you swear to yourself not to screw up the chance he’s given you. The work in front of you is completed rather quickly, which is lucky considering you can’t focus through class and have to rely solely on the reading. You can’t help it that the sheer circumference of the man's arms get more attention from you than the words he speaks. It would be nice if your slight infatuation with him would garner you some way to get information from his words instead of turning your brain into a pile of mush.

Your gaze moves up to him, and you catch his eyes on you. He gives you a small smirk, and you can tell he’s quite pleased to have you agree to his little deal, and you can’t help but feel slightly flustered from the unwarranted attention. He’s probably just excited to get some of his workload off of him.

Your eyes stay turned to him, even after he looks away, and you know you shouldn’t stare, but you can’t really help yourself. Your work is finished in front of you, so taking a break from the reading to watch him grade his papers shouldn’t hurt.

His arms are lean, and his muscles seem to flex each time he raises his arm to flick his pen against one of the papers. Your mind flows back into wondering just what it was he had done before deciding to become a professor. Despite it being in the past, he definitely continues to work out since there’s no way he’s keeping a physique like that just lounging around the house all day.

“Something on your mind?” His voice comes out, tearing you out of your thoughts and you look up, realizing he had caught your eyes on him.

You decide to say fuck it, and shoot, asking him the question you had wondered for the last couple of weeks, “What did you do before you were a professor, sir?” Your question garners a few looks from the other students in class, their eyes turning to him, probably wondering the same thing.

“Well,” He lays his pen down before he speaks, “I’ve had quite the career,” His voice carries through the classroom, looking at you before turning his gaze to the other students. “I served in the military for many years, fought in several wars, but,” His eyes are on you again, “Now I’m here teaching the next generation.”

You nod to him, turning your attention to the textbook in front of you but the voice of another student pries you away from it, “Explains the drill sergeant attitude.” It’s followed by a small laugh. Price just shrugs, not really disagreeing with him.

Price finally dismisses the class moments later, slightly early, but you do your best to lag behind, gathering your things in your bag, and throwing it over your shoulder as the last student filters out. You move to walk to his desk, knowing he’d want to talk to you about your little ‘agreement’. Price is also packing up his things, stuffing papers into a folder before he pushes it into what looks like a laptop bag.

His eyes pull towards yours, and you watch as he lays a heavy hand down on his desk, “First things first, I expect you to be at my beck and call whenever I need you,” He pulls the bag over his shoulder as he speaks.

“Yes sir,” You speak, nodding at him. Your hands play with each other nervously.

“If I ask you to fetch me coffee, you do so. If I need you to grade papers for me, you do so.” He speaks and you continue to nod to him.

He continues, “Good, secondly, I’ll need you to keep my schedule organized,” He hands you a small planner, and you come to realize this is going to be a little more time-consuming than you had expected. “You’ll be responsible for making sure I’m on time, whether it’s a class, a meeting, or any other obligations.” He studies you as he speaks, “Lastly, I expect you to be discreet about our agreement. I don’t do this for any other student, so no one needs to know about this. If anyone asks, you’re simply helping me with some extra work. If it gets out, I won’t think twice about failing you.” He watches you as you nod to his requests, but you can’t help the itch at the back of your brain. “Is that clear?”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” You speak, eyes resting on his, “Helping you with extra work?”

“Yes, that is one way to put it.” He smirks slightly, “And you’re not to question my authority or disobey my orders.” He leaves the air open for a moment, gauging your reaction to his words, “Understood?”

The way he speaks, just in his simple tone, makes a heat pool between your legs, but you have to pull yourself out of your thoughts. He doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s his military nature. You’re sure he had a high rank, his commanding presence sure to make anybody weak in the knees.

“Yes sir,” I speak, my words a lot lower than I had meant. It feels like a big secret, something shared with you and you alone. You can’t help that it makes you excited.

“Is there anything else you’d like to clear up,” He speaks before he adds, “You seem a little distracted.” His words are low, but you have to push the feeling that rises in you down. He’s your professor, he’s just trying to make sure you understand what he’s saying.

“This just feels a little more secretive than I was expecting.” Your words tumble out of their own accord.

“Our agreement is a little less...conventional than most,” He gives you a small smile, innocent in nature, but you can’t help but get excited. It is something that only you and he share. “I don’t offer extra credit for anyone else, and we wouldn’t want to make any other student jealous, would we?” You shake your head at his question. “Plus, I think you’re up for the challenge, aren’t you?”

You can feel your heart rate pick up, “Yes sir.”

“Now, I expect you to keep me on schedule,” He taps on the planner resting in your hands, and you nod at him eagerly. “And if you do a good job, I’ll reward you with some extra credit.”

You nod to him again, hoping you don’t come off as too excited, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“I’m sure you will,” He moves around the desk, “You can go ahead and head out for today, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

You adjust the bag on your shoulder, moving to put his planner in as you head out of the classroom. You can feel his eyes on you as you leave, and it leaves you with a feeling of excitement and anticipation. You had never expected him to give in and offer you extra credit. It’s definitely going to be a lot of hard work on your part but you’re practically buzzing at the idea of being able to do these things for him in exchange for a better grade. You’re willing to do what it takes to get through this in one piece, and hopefully not have to take another history class in the next semester.

------

That night, you finally open up his planner, eyes roaming over all the things he does in his day. You look across the margins where he has small dates and times in place, and various meetings are strewn across the pages. To put it simply, the entire planner is a damn mess. No wonder he had asked you to keep up with it. Just looking at it would give any normal human a headache.

You scoff, pulling out your own planner that admittedly doesn’t get much use. At least you can use the thing you had spent an ungodly amount of money on during this agreement. You look through the pages of his planner, transferring whatever information you could get into a better format into your own planner.

Along one of the pages, you find what seems to be his personal phone number. You quickly put it into your phone, making a mental note to give him a call in the morning. He probably already knows about the class, but you don’t want to disappoint, so you decide to tell him every time he has something to do, including the regularly scheduled things that are probably muscle memory to him at this point.

There’s a meeting about an hour after his first class, and then another evening class around 3. It shouldn’t be too hard to just let him know after class that he has a meeting to attend. You close the planners, putting the both of them into your bag before cutting the small desk lamp off and heading to bed.

The alarm blares loudly the next morning, pulling you out of your sleep, and within moments, you shoot up, remembering your deal with Professor Price. Your hand reaches around for your phone, finding it half stuck under some pillows. You cut the alarm off before moving to your contacts, taking a deep breath, finding his name, and pressing call.

Your nerves are on edge from the simple task of waking him up. The entire thing is now reeling in your head. What if he hadn’t wanted you to call him?

His voice is groggy when he finally picks up the phone, laced with sleep and it sends a jolt directly between your legs, “Hello?” He sounds slightly confused.

You cut to the chase fairly quickly, “It’s (y/n), found your number in your planner and thought you might want to know you have a class in an hour.” You hold your breath afterward, hoping that this is exactly what he had wanted from you.

“Right, right.” His voice comes heavy through the receiver, and you barely hear him mumble something that sounds a lot like ‘smart girl’ before he’s back to speaking to you again, “Thank you, I’ll be there on time.” He huffs a small chuckle now, and it sets your skin ablaze from the roughness of his early morning voice, “You’re proving to be quite useful already.”

It’s ridiculous what his small praise does to you, and you know that if he was there with you, you would have to keep yourself from falling to pieces, but he’s not, and you’re alone in your small solo dorm. You have free reign to lay your head back on the pillow and bask in his voice.

“Glad to be of service, sir.” Your voice comes out lower than you had wanted, but fuck, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You follow it with a light laugh.

“You’re going to be a very valuable asset to me,” You keen at the praise, and he continues to speak. “I’ll see you in class.” He finishes and the phone line goes dead. You let it rest against your chest and curse yourself.

This is gonna be a hell of a lot harder if he keeps praising you like that.

#cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #smut #call of duty smut #call of duty fanfic #John Price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x reader smut

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jisforjudi2 · 3 months ago

Text

THE FAITHFUL SECRETARY

Chicago Tribune

UPDATED: August 10, 2021 at 12:23 a.m.

Before the women’s movement, back when Father knew best and network TV made room for Daddy, when Mary Tyler Moore was Laura Petrie, not Mary Richards, actress Barbara Hale was playing a single working woman on TV.

Hale, now 71, remembers what appealed to her about the role of Della Street, secretary to lawyer Perry Mason on the series that was based on the mysteries by Erle Stanley Gardner.

“When we started (in 1956), it was the beginning of women not working at home. I liked that she was not married. My husband didn’t have to see me every week married to another man, and our children didn’t have to see me mothering other children.

“When (my son) Billy was in the 1st grade, we went to school for the first parent meeting, and on his desk were little projects he’d made-pictures of Daddy and Mommy and his sister and his animals. And underneath my picture-I wish I had it now, but the teacher kept it-he’d written in inch-high block letters, `This is my mom. I love her. She is a secretary.”‘

On Friday, the latest Perry Mason two-hour movie, “The Case of the Telltale Talk Show Host,” will air on NBC, one of seven productions that will carry the courtroom stalwart and his unflappable Girl Friday into 1994.

“I guess I was just meant to be a secretary who doesn’t take shorthand,” she quips. “My assistant wants you to know I’m a lousy typist too-33 words a minute!”

The Emmy award-winning actress is a Hollywood survivor-going into her second half-century in a profession she never dreamed of pursuing. A veteran of the old studio system and of television’s infancy, her co-stars in those early years were household names-Sinatra and Cagney and Stewart and Mitchum-when she was the ingenue.

RKO Studios was her “paid education,” as she puts it, her training ground. She met her husband, actor Bill Williams (who died several months ago), over coffee at the studio commissary.

Today, she still offers ample evidence of the effervescent beauty she was in the ’40s and ’50s-and even earlier, in Rockford High School, when her buddies entered her in a May Queen contest and she won. “I still know them, dear, and we 15 get together every three years. It takes three years to get over the three days we spend together!”

Her career seems to have evolved from being on the right Chicago street corner at the right time.

The daughter of a Rockford horticulturist and a homemaker, Hale (born in DeKalb) was studying at the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts, living at the Harriet M. McCormick branch of the YWCA and planning a career as a commercial illustrator and portraitist.

One day, as school let out for the summer, she was standing at the corner near the Drake Hotel with a girlfriend who’d come to town for a couple of weeks to look for modeling work. While they were waiting for the bus taking them to the North Side, a car drove up and someone tossed a card at them. It referred them to a modeling agency.

“A couple of weeks later, I went to see my buddies, and I told one of them the story about the card,” she recalls.

“She said, `Barb, you’re kidding! I was sitting in the little coffee shop at work this morning, and a lady came in and sat next to me, because it was the only seat left. She was pouting. I asked if she had a problem, and she said, “Yes, darn it. I have a model agency and I saw this kid on a corner, in a red coat, and can’t track her down. She’s exactly what one of our ad agencies is looking for.” Barb, what coat did you have on that day?

“I said, `My red coat-it’s the only coat I have.’ And she said, `Barb, I think that card was meant for you.”‘

It was. Hale went in to the Seaman Agency, and stopped Connie Seaman in her tracks. “She said, `Oh, my God-honey, don’t move! Al, get over here quick!’ Al came in and said, `It is her! Let’s see-we’ll shape her eyebrows, put on a little more lipstick, pull her hair back … ‘ and I said, `Just a minute, sir-what are we talking about?”‘

Hale was “a green 19” when she began fashion modeling, and after about a year and a half, RKO offered her a six-month tryout. The day after she arrived in Los Angeles, she visited the studio and its casting director, Dick Stockton.

“As I was shaking hands with him, the phone rang. He took the call, and as he listened, he started looking at me. `Yeah, yeah, yeah, just a minute.’ He turned to me and asked, `Honey, can you say a line?’ I said, `I don’t know.’ He said into the phone, `There’s a kid in the office right now. I think she’ll work. I’ll send her right over.’ He told his assistant, `Take her to wardrobe, take her to makeup, take her to Stage 6. One of the kids is sick. We’ve got to have a girl there immediately.’

“It hit every paper the next day. Cinderella story. First day on the lot, she gets-of course they said a starring part. I had one line, but you know about those things.”

Apart from that walk-on, in “Gildersleeve’s Bad Day,” she made her debut in 1944 in “Higher and Higher,” opposite Frank Sinatra.

Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, Ginger Rogers and Jane Russell were all at RKO then. So was Burr-who would be her TV series co-star about a dozen years later.

Hale studied dancing and singing at the studio. She began to appear on screen regularly-four movies in 1944, two in 1945-and eventually won leads in such movies as “The Boy With Green Hair,” “The Window,” “Jolson Sings Again” and “The Jackpot,” performing even while pregnant.

“I told Billy (her son, actor William Katt, who starred in the television series “The Greatest American Hero”) he should put on his resume that he was in `The Jackpot’ and `Lorna Doone,’ and he said, `Mother, I wasn’t,’ and I told him, `Oh, yes, you were!”‘

She continued her movie career and was a mainstay of television dramas until 1956, when a producer offered her the Della Street part in the pilot of what turned out to be a 9 1/2-year run. Hale went on to win an Emmy for best dramatic actress for the role in 1959.

“We did 36 shows that first year,” she says. “And we’re still doing it!”

She says that Della “was-and still is, to a great degree-a woman who knew what everybody was thinking. She was informed, and very observant of everything that went on. That was my challenge as an actress-to be a necessary part of the office without being too aggressive. Della was quietly overpowering: She knew when to speak and when to keep her mouth closed.”

Hale sees Della as having remained constant, to an extent. Her task is basically the same. But there have been some subtle emotional changes.

“I think she’s a little more at home, relaxed, showing her knowledge not only of the case, but also of her boss. In the early days, it was all business. Today there’s more of a camaraderie between them, a little more humor and more sensitivity to each other, which comes with years of being side by side.

“She’s trying to see that he stays healthy,” she says. “She’s taking him off coffee.

After nearly 300 episodes, “Perry Mason” folded in 1966.

In the mid-1970s, the show returned briefly with other actors and faded quickly. During the ’70s and early ’80s, Hale worked sporadically. She was in the original “Airport” in 1970, and appeared opposite her son in a 1978 surfing movie, “Big Wednesday.”

In 1985, producer Dean Hargrove asked her what she thought of the idea of a “Perry Mason” reunion show. She told him, “it would be divine, but we are 25 or 30 years older than we were then.” He said the intention was to use them as they were and to bring in a few new young actors to replace cast members William Talman, Ray Collins and William Hopper, who had died.

“Dean said, `There’s a young blond kid in town. I want to talk to him, not his agent. He’s done a series-“The Greatest American Hero.” But I can’t reach him.’

“I said, `Oh, well, that young man is in Kansas City doing “The Music Man” right now, and I can get you in touch with him if you want.’ And Dean asked, `You know him?’ I said, `Dean, I changed that boy’s diapers!’ Billy played in the first nine (Perry Mason) movies, then went on to another series of his own.”

“Perry Mason Returns” in 1985 was a Nielsen triumph, and with Perry stepping down from a judgeship to defend Della against murder charges in the first episode. From then on, the Mason bunch have visited America’s living rooms every few months.

After nearly four decades, Hale says the role of Della still offers unexpected moments.

“This week, at the end of the show, very quietly and very surprisingly, Perry plants one on Della,” Hale says. “It’s a first!”

Originally Published: May 16, 1993 at 1:00 a.m.

www.chicagotribune.com/1993/05/16/the-faithful-secretary/

#barbara hale #della street #perry mason

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