#they won’t follow them and even refused to add the ones I need

[raindropsandstardust-blog]

I am LIVID right now, fuck American public schools

[stellar-skyy]

♡ - LOST & FOUND - Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: Hell hath no fury like a parent whose child has been taken from them. ii. CWS & NOTES: description of blood and injury (mildly graphic but not gory), violence, mentions of kidnapping, swearing (like once), implied murder. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. angst & slight hurt/comfort. 2.5k words. iv. A/N: i am... so normal about parental arlecchino... so normal... i hope you enjoy because i loved writing this!! i have a little written for an epilogue featuring the lyntwins + freminet reuniting, so stay tuned for that ♡

It had been fifty-eight hours, and twenty-seven minutes since [Name] had vanished.

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.  

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.���

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

“Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”

reblogs are appreciated ♡

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Friends: Can I Take Your Order?

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: Bucky pays you a surprise visit.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your work isn’t hard per se, but it can be chaotic. Still, your tips more than make up for all the running around, but not necessarily the ridiculous attire. You’re not entirely unhappy, it’s exciting even if it can be stressful. 

The diners always keep you on your feet. Literally. You run around, table to table, that night dressed as the infamous Dorothy who’s too far from Kansas. Somewhere around their, a lion, scarecrow, and tinman are taking orders and entertaining children at their seats. 

The themed restaurant isn’t really the place you would go, but it’s a family-friendly venue in a city overcrowded with more adult attractions. The money keeps a roof over your head. You won’t complain for that. 

The Oz room is overflowing and you can see more customers in the lobby. Please send them over to Mary Poppins’ Pop-In. You don’t have time to dread the new wave of diners as you bring a tray of desserts to a table with three blustering toddlers. You could never. 

“Anything else?” You ask as you put out the stemmed cups of banana pudding pie. 

“The check--” the father demands before he’s hit in the face with a stray straw. He grits back his agitation and forces a smile, “thanks.” 

You pick up the straw and leave him. As you do, you pass Graham, that night’s scarecrow. He lowers his voice as he follows you to the till. 

“Can you get the next table, please? I’m dying for a smoke. Any longer and I’m going to smack one of these brats,” he mutters. 

You smile at him. You find the nights go by quicker without breaks. “No problem! On it. I just need to get this bill printed out.” 

You toss the straw and tap the till. You pull up that table and print it out, tucking it into one of the little folders. You grab a handful of hard candies and sweep back across the dining room. 

“Here ya are, enjoy your desserts,” you say and carry on. 

You peer around, searching for the new diners. Right there in the corner. You head over in your pig-tailed wig and red shoes. As you near, your chest flickers. You think you know the back of that head. No, it’s not. He wouldn’t be here... 

You’re all but assured of your suspicions by the golden hair of the man across from him. A third to round out party. You cringe before you muster a smile and come to the side of the table. 

“Welcome to the Land of Oz,” you recite your mandatory introduction and avoid looking at Bucky, “don’t stray too far or you might find a wicked witch or flying monkey to carry you off. May I start you with some drinks?” 

“You got cocktails at a joint like this?” Bucky scoffs. 

You refuse to look at him, “the menu’s right there.” You point beside the centerpiece. He chuckles. 

“This is cute, how’d you find this place, Buck?” The blond asks. The man better known as Captain America. 

“Hmm, this place would be fun to you two geriatrics,” their other companion says. That’s the Falcon. 

You can feel Bucky watching you. He’s smirking. You know it. At least when you see him, you only ever have your stupid dress on. You take the wig and makeup off before you go home. It attracts less weirdos. 

“So, we do have beer, despite what you might think,” you offer. 

“Got prune juice? These two need it--” Falcon, rather Sam Wilson, chortles and receives an elbow to the ribs. 

“We have cranberry,” you suggest. 

“Where’s Toto?” Bucky asks. 

You hold back as sigh and finally meet his eyes, “no dogs allowed.” 

“Damn, sounds like you should go then, eh, Buck,” Sam adds. You grin as he cackles. 

“Hey,” Bucky sneers. “Just water for me.” 

“No milk to keep your bones strong?” The Captain, or Steve, kids. 

“You’re a year younger, shut up,” Bucky huffs. 

“I’ll get a water too,” Steve smirks. 

“Get me a Miller,” Sam says, “please.” 

“No problem. I’ll be back with that and some menus.” 

You spin and strut away. It feels good to see him getting teased because you know he only came here to mock you. You can’t exactly follow him to his work and make fun of his arm. Not that you would. 

You get the water and beer and return to the table with menus under your arm. You hand them all out and give them some time to look over it. You check in with your other tables before you go back again. 

“So, have we made up our minds?” You smile. 

Steve smiles at you, “uh, can I ask what kinda fish it is?” 

“Cod, sir,” you answer as you lean in to see where he points on the menu. 

“Ah, thanks.” 

“You got any recommendations?” Sam asks. 

“I usually go straight to dessert,” you smile, “but the spaghetti is yummy. And you can get it spicy.” 

“Oh, you like it spicy?” Bucky snickers. 

You look at him and Steve clears his throat, “Buck.” 

“Yikes, dude. You got lines, huh?” Sam teases. 

“No, I just--” he gets flustered and rolls his eyes. “Can I have the cheeseburger and fries?” 

“Sure thing,” you take out your notepad. 

“I’ll have the fish and chips,” Steve says, “is it possible to add an extra filet?” 

“Yeppers,” you nod and jot it down. 

“Think I’ll get the meatball sandwich,” Sam says, “apparently, I like meatballs.” 

Steve scowls again and Bucky sighs. You tap your pen on the pad, “alrighty. I’ll go put your order in.” 

“Thanks, doll.” Sam winks at you. 

You smile and as you turn, you hear Bucky hiss, “doll? Since when do you call anyone doll?” 

You make a face but don’t pay much mind to their arguing. He did mention his other friends could be a bit much. Based on that interaction, you’d say he’s just as bad. 

You put the ticket in the window and turn back. As you go back to the family to get the bill and your tip, your eyes snag on Bucky. He cranes around to see you and waves at you with two fingers. Oh, you have to get him back for this. 

[rafesbunny]

golf- r. c 🎀

where r gets bored watching rafe and his friends play golf

(sorry if this is bad or inaccurate 😭😭 when i go to the club i also do just sit there and look pretty i never actually pay attention on how to play golf fr 😭😭)

you sat in the buggy inspecting your freshly done nails, with many thoughts running through your head and you were insanely bored: what colour should you get done next time?; what food will you get from the club afterwards?; what should you wear tomorrow?; when will rafe be done with playing golf for the day?. the last one was especially heavy on your mind. it was a lovely day out and the uv index was high, and there was a light breeze in the air- perfect conditions to add to your tan. however, rafe had other plans for you today, he made you come and watch him play golf with topper and kelce. you knew you didn’t actually have to go but how could you say no when rafe swooned you over when he said, “y’know i can’t play without my pretty girl there, your my good luck charm” and that’s how you ended up bored in the buggy.

rafe had yet to notice your bad mood but topper caught on immediately after walking back after his play. as rafe stepped away after swinging and stood next to topper, topper asked, “is your girl okay? seems bored” before walking away from your boyfriend for his turn. rafe turned around to face you and lifted his eyebrow, which was his silent way of asking if you’re okay. but you didn’t give him the answer he wanted, instead you huffed and lightly rolled your eyes at him. as he chuckled at your behaviour and started walking towards you he shouted back to his friends, who were waiting on him to play his turn, “give me two seconds boys”. being the stubborn girl you were you refused to look at the boy looming over you, but rafe grabbed your jaw with one hand and forced you to look up at him, “whats up with you, huh?” but again you just huffed, “nah, none of that now, talk to me baby” unable to resist your boyfriends charm, you told him honestly, “so bored rafey. s’not fair we always have to do what you want. i don’t play golf, it’s so boring for me to jus’ watch you” you whined. rafe just started back at you with a plan forming in his head, “come on get up gonna teach you how to play. you gonna stop whinging if i do?”

reluctantly, you followed after him as he dragged you to where he put his golf ball and he shoved his club into your hands. he stood behind you and adjusted the club into the correct position as best as he could as it wasn’t the right size for you, when he was happy with that he said, “show me your swing babe” and pathetically you did, you were sure a four year old could do a better job than you. to make matters worse you could sense rafe smirk and suppress a laugh. trying to wiggle your way out of his grasp you whined, “don’t laugh at me rafe! s‘ not funny, i’m really trying.” he pulled you back into the original position, “ ‘’m sorry baby. promise i won’t anymore” with a kiss to the side of your head, “need to fix your stance” he muttered while kicking your feet more to the side, “and bend your knees slightly” he put some of his weight onto you, to get you into the position. for innocent people walking past, this would’ve looked very perverted, and topper and kelce laughed from a distance at the scene, clearly enjoying watching you struggle and rafe bend you in whatever way he wanted. you scowled at them and rafe guided your focus back to the task at hand, “ignore them baby, focus on this, it’s jus’ us” and with rafes assistance you swung and actually managed to hit the ball, though to your disappointment it didn’t go far at all. this made the two boys laugh even harder and a chuckle slip from rafe, causing you to storm back to your original spot in the buggy, “ugh, just take me home rafe! now!” and as rafe made his way over to you, he gave his friends a look that said “cut it out” and they followed after him. kelce was the first to speak, “better luck next time girl” and topper said, “yeah, y’have good form” you could tell they weren’t being sincere and this only added fuel to the fire but rafe was quick to extinguish it, “how about i take you to lunch and then shopping? as a sorry?” you tried to keep the mad act up but a smile crept onto your face, “really?” you asked meekly. lowering down to your eye level rafe said, “of corse baby, anything for my girl” you squealed and wrapped your arms around rafe. how could you ever say no to him?

[beabnormal24]

I don’t like to hate on people because this world is already bad enough without hate in it, so I want to specify that this is not hate against Charles but against the absurd and unbelievable and completely illogical takes people are sharing here.

1) Carlos’ Mexico win was gifted by Charles.

I’m sorry but WHAT? Pole position, leading almost EVERY lap was a gift from Charles?

This is such a creative way to disrespect your own favourite driver because you really think he would stoop so low to gift a win? Wow, interesting.

“Carlos started crying on the radio.” He said there was a problem with the lift and coast, which was much more needed than he had expected, and rightly communicated it to the engineers, the same lift and coast that Charles refused to do properly for a few laps until the gradient of temperature was too large to be easily recovered and ended up with him falling behind in times until Lando reached him and overtook him.

(Thermodynamical parenthesis: keeping the mass and the coefficients of exchange fairly constant, which we can approximate in the case of a race car that goes at the same speed and only loses a few kilos because of graining, the greater is the gradient, the greater is the driving force and therefore the corresponding force to oppose in order to overcome it, which means the greater the time to do it)

2) Carlos’ Australia win was gifted by Charles.

Wait a second, you mean that the team has the possibility to have the first 1-2 in years, the first win after Singapore, the first great success of Ferrari after a whole 2023 season where there had been a clear lack of it, and them saying to Charles “please don’t fight [and fuck everything up]” means that Charles gifted the win?

Again, how much do you respect your favourite driver?

(Racing parenthesis: Charles ended with a gap of +2.366s, I won’t add anything to this)

3) Carlos doesn’t care about the WCC

With his pit-stop call (that was not even followed by the team) there was a high probability he would’ve ended up in front of Lewis, or at the very least he would’ve had the possibility to fight for the second place, which would’ve meant at least +3 points than the ones they actually obtained, so a gap to McLaren in the Constructor Championship narrowing to 21 points and considerably more chances to actually win it in the last two races.

But, you know, it’s just mathematics, what do I know?

Edit:

4) if Ferrari wins WCC they have to thank Leclerc

Yes because Carlos did *not* win two races and he did *not* have 8 podiums, absolutely not, all the points were given by Charles what are you saying?

(Oh, and let’s also remember that Carlos could not attend one (1) of the races because he had appendicitis and then he went and won the race right after a surgical operation…)

[kybercrystals94]

Banner by @blackseafoam | Event: @galactic-gift-gathering

This story was written for @nerdyduckrants and their prompt “Snow”…they wanted something with the Bad Batch and full of family fluff 🖤 Thank you for the fun prompt, and for being an amazing part of this fandom ☺️

Snow Day

Read here on Ao3!

Rated: G | Words: 1365

“Crosshair’s on my team!” Omega announces, latching herself to Crosshair’s arm as if one of their brothers might try to bodily snatch him away. 

Crosshair groans, and halfheartedly tries to shake her off, but Omega holds fast, grinning wildly from under her knitted hat. Her face is already turning pink from the cold because she refused to wear the matching scarf Hunter had tried to wrap around her. 

“Maybe I don’t want to be on your team,” Crosshair grumbles.

Omega snorts. “Liar.”

He is a liar, but he’ll never ever admit it out loud. Just like he’ll never admit that the fact that she chose him over either Wrecker or Hunter gives him a sickeningly, sticky warm feeling under his rib cage where his heart is. 

A year ago, Crosshair thought if he never saw snow again it would be too soon. And yet somehow, willingly, he is standing in the stuff halfway up to his knees, all because Omega has never had a proper “snow day.” Where Hunter managed to find all this cold weather gear on short notice is beyond him, but Omega’s weeklong dream of having a snowball fight with her brothers is coming to fruition.  

“I guess teams are decided then,” Hunter says with a grin, and nearly faceplants in the snow when Wrecker sidles up to him and slaps him on the back.

“Me and you, Hunt! We’ll show ‘em how it's done!” the giant crows.

Omega swings from Crosshair’s still captive arm. “No! We’ll show you, won’t we, Crosshair?”

“They won’t know what hit them,” Crosshair agrees, smirking. 

“Hey, no putting ice in your snowballs,” Hunter says sternly. 

Wrecker adds, “Or rocks.” 

“Why would someone do that?” Omega asks, aghast. 

“Because two someones figured out the accuracy of a snowball was increased with added weight,” Hunter says.

Wrecker coughs, “Crosshair. Tech.”

Omega laughs.

“Those someones were right,” Crosshair returns, “But three other someones were being tubies about it, even though they were literally wearing armor and it didn’t hurt them at all.”

“It was the principle!” Wrecker declares. 

“Well, we’re not wearing armor now,” Hunter says. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll teach Omega how to make boring, regular snowballs. Happy?” 

Hunter gives his youngest brother a look and changes the subject. “Alright, we have twenty minutes to prepare for the fight.” 

“Starting now!” Wrecker cries and dashes away. 

With an indignant noise of protest, Hunter takes off after his teammate, leaving Crosshair and Omega on their own. 

Omega looks up at Crosshair. “What do we do first?” 

“First,” Crosshair says, finally extracting his arm from Omega’s grip, “we need to create a base. Where we’ll keep all our ammunition.” 

“You mean our snowballs?” 

“Ammunition,” Crosshair reiterates, enunciating each syllable. “This is a battle. A battle we’re going to win.” 

Omega grins. “Okay. A place to keep our ammunition. Got it.” 

Crosshair surveys their surroundings, eyes moving across the blinding white blanket of snow. The landscape is a meadow with rolling hills, framed on the outskirts by evergreen trees. They can use this to their advantage if they play their cards right, putting their fortress at the crest of a hill so that they can have the high ground advantage when Hunter and Wrecker try to advance. While Hunter and Wrecker will use the same tactic, building their own base at the top of a hill, Wrecker will never be patient enough to wait for Crosshair and Omega to come to them.

Which will be his and Hunter’s ultimate downfall. 

“I’ll make the walls of our base,” Crosshair decides, starting to move in the direction of the highest hill. “You’ll focus on ammunition.” 

“Okay!” Omega chirps, following in the path Crosshair is clearing through the snow. 

When they make it to their destination, Crosshair points at the ground. “Use this snow to make the snowballs. I’m going to build four walls around you.” 

“But won’t we need to get out?” Omega asks. 

Crosshair smiles. “Not if I know our brothers.” 

Omega gasps when the realization hits. “They’ll come to us!” 

“Exactly.” Crosshair kneels down in the snow, scooping up a handful in his flesh hand and uses his prosthetic, sheathed in a glove, to begin forming a ball, demonstrating the technique to Omega. “I trust you can make a few hundred of these in fifteen minutes?” 

“A few hundred?” Omega gasps. 

“A thousand, that’d be better.” 

“That’s impossible!” 

“With that attitude it is,” Crosshair tells her. “Now stop whining and get to work!” 

Omega groans and crouches down to scoop up a handful of snow. Crosshair looks at the weapon in his head then tosses the snowball at her lightly, the soft, white orb bursting on the back of her head. 

“Hey!” Omega cries, twisting to glare up at him. 

“Target practice,” Crosshair says, shrugging

Omega throws the half formed ball in her hands at him, hitting his stomach with a mist of snow. 

Crosshair gasps, dusting himself off. “You’re wasting our ammo!” 

“You started it!” 

“I never said I was a good example, did I?” 

He is rewarded with an eye roll and a smile as Omega turns back to her task, scooping up handfuls of snow and balling them up. Crosshair begins forming the walls of their fortress, gathering up armfulls of snow from the sides of the hill and bringing them to the top, making piles that he then begins to pack down. 

“It feels like it’s been longer than twenty minutes,” Omega says, scraping up another handful of snow from her nearly depleted supply from within the fortress. 

Crosshair is finishing the fourth wall. “Oh, it has.” 

“Then where are they?” Omega asks, standing to look over the wall. 

“Waiting for us to come to them,” Crosshair says. 

“And we’re waiting for them to come to us?” 

“Exactly. But we’ve got something that they have in short supply.” Crosshair climbs over the wall and sits down next to her. “Patience.”

Omega laughs, then looks at her piles of snowballs. “Did I make enough?” 

“No, but it’ll have to do.” 

The girl sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Real mature,” Crosshair drawls. 

It is at that moment that a giant snowball sails overhead, obviously a product of Wrecker’s massive mitts. 

Crosshair grabs a snowball in each hand, and Omega does the same.

“Ready?” Crosshair asks. 

Omega nods, eyes bright and glinting with mischief. “Ready.” 

And the battle begins. 

***

“I feel cold all the way to my bones,” Omega says, her hands curled around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

Hunter chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you play in the snow for too long.” 

Crosshair ignores the dark memories trying to creep up, focusing his attention on the fact that Hunter thought to bring something warm and sweet to drink on the flight back to Pabu. During the war, it was usually watered down instant caf that greeted them when they returned to the Marauder, rationed out because they didn’t know when they’d be able to get more. 

“I like this stuff,” Wrecker announces, then tries to shake out the last drops of his hot chocolate into his mouth from his mug. 

Crosshair likes it too; however, maybe it's the residue of that sticky warm feeling in his chest, but he passes  over his mug to Wrecker to finish off. His brother smiles at him, broad and toothy, and happily accepts the silent gift. Crosshair’s mouth twitches up in a responding half smile. 

“That was so fun,” Omega sighs. “Can we do it again someday?” 

“Sure, kid,” Hunter says, reaching over to tousle Omega’s smushed up hair that is flat against her head from the hat she’d been wearing. 

“But we’re gonna switch up teams next time,” Wrecker grumbles.  

“No!” Omega cries, “Crosshair and I made the perfect team! That’s why we won!”

“But I’ve never gotten to be on Crosshair’s team,” Wrecker whines. “And my team was so lame.”

Hunter frowns. “I’m right here, Wreck.”

“I know,” Wrecker says. 

Crosshair smirks. “I’ll decide whose team I’m on.”

Omega wiggles her eyebrows at him and mouths, Mine, right?

Crosshair shrugs dismissively, even though the answer is yes. 

For that kid, the answer will always be yes. 

END

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my Tag List!

Tag List: @arctrooper69 @groguandthebadbatch @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @dreamsight73 @royallykt @blackseafoam @illogicaalbraindump @skellymom

[daycourtofficial]

Hazelnut Latte pweaseies 🥺 need me some cute baby princess hestia 🥺 (mayhaps a smidgen of pumpkin spice will weave its way through in the most girl dad of girl dad flavours)

Furthering the horse girl Eris agenda 🫡 it’s canon to me that Hestia enjoys horseback riding the most and goes out with Eris riding frequently

Order a coffee for Gingerfucker week here

Also shoutout to @lady-of-tearshed for her horse knowledge 🫡

“I can’t do it - she hates me.” Her red hair glistened in the sun as she turned away from Eris, his daughter unhappy with being forced to do anything.

Hestia was a sweet girl, a mischievous glint in her eye that was damn near permanent. As sweet as she was, she was also both hardheaded and stubborn, traits she was now using to get out of horseback riding lessons.

“The horse does not hate you, Hestia. You haven’t even touched her.”

“I see it in her eyes. I can feel her hatred. She wants to eat me.”

His youngest sized up the mare, a fell pony with a coat so black it would blend in with the hair of Hestia’s twin.

Hestia was about to turn nine, a fact Eris detested every day they inched closer to her birthday. He missed having tiny toddlers running around, but he found endless purpose being able to watch them grow up and away from him, into their own lives. He enjoyed watching them become less of an extension of himself and more of their own person.

It was a part of parenting he didn’t expect to enjoy nearly as much as he did. As they grew older, he prioritized nurturing their own interests with a healthy mix of other knowledge he deemed necessary. For instance, Aster was much more inclined to tolerate math lessons if allowed to spend time pouring over history lessons.

The only person around Hestia who could say no to her was her own mother.

Hestia was the last of his children to learn how to mount a horse, something she had refused to do for the past two years. Eris had finally put his foot down, insistent she learn before she turned nine. Her brothers had already been riding for several years, but Hestia had been too afraid to try. It was a topic of endless argument between Eris and the two females he lived with - one determined not to partake in lessons, the other determined to for Eris’s hand.

He had planned it for no room for discussion, the end of breakfast seeing him practically dragging Hestia out to the back stables to grab the pony.

The pair had to bypass Eris’s own favored steed, Cameron, to find the pony, a fact not forgotten by him as Cameron was dramatically whinnying from the other side of the field. He had brought out Emma, a sweet pony who loved when his sons rode her around the field. After grooming her, Eris had checked her hooves, content at not finding any rocks stuck.

Hestia’s violet eyes looked up at him, the twinkle of fear in them tugging on his heart strings.

“Hestia, we’re not leaving until you get on the horse. You won’t be hurt, I promise.”

“Promise?”

Eris sighed. “I promise if this pony tries to hurt you, she’ll become dinner.”

“Daddy! You can’t kill the pony.”

“I certainly can if the pony hurts you.”

“Can I kill things that hurt you?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Hestia was a physical illusion, a trick of the eye. She looked just like Eris until she wanted something, her pouty lips turning her into her mother.

“How about we wait until you’re older before we begin discussing murder, hm? For now, get on the pony.” She looked at him, Eris quickly rushing to add, “please.”

Somehow his words worked, Hestia moving beside the horse until Eris held his hands out, helping her get her footing to reach the stirrup.

“One hand on the reins.” Hestia followed his instruction, her hand clutched tight to the reins, waiting for more. “Other on the pommel.” She listened, her hands holding the leather tight.

“Now, relax your legs. You want them firm, but you don’t want to confuse her.” She gave him a confused face, causing him to take a breath and simplify.

“Look forward. Keep your heels down.”

“You’re telling me too much.” Her voice came out like a whine, like she was much younger.

“Okay.” Eris held his hands up, taking his place in front of the pony. “Just look at me, Tia. Daddy’s got you.”

Hestia nodded, still unsure, but Eris grabbed the reins and the horse moved forward slowly, her steps mirroring Eris’s as he moved backward. Hestia kept her eyes on Eris, not looking away from him for one second.

Eris guided Emma in a full circle following the fence, her walk slow but comforting to Hestia.

“You’re doing it.”

Hestia kept repeating what she was told to do: eyes forward, heels down, relaxed legs. Over and over the words tossed and turned in her mind.

“I’m doing it, daddy.”

The two beamed at each other, pride pouring from every inch of their matching faces.

[livelaughlovesubs]

what do you think bsd men would be with a girl who is really hyperfeminine (ex loves sanrio, short skits and stuff) but still loves topping?

It literally does not matter what you like and how you look as long as you click. (Also tell me if you want any specific characters I didn’t mention)

I imagine them not minding it neither way, because you can wear a skirt or pants and still fuck them into oblivion. Though there are some that might get fooled by your appearance. It’s the first impression after all.

Dazai would probably tease you about it from time to time, “when I first saw you, I thought you were such a nice and innocent girl! Who knew you were into such freaky stuff?” He’d joke about it all the time, just to provoke you. Then he’d add, “but I love all woman, even if you are a beast in bed.” And wink at you. Now it’s your choice what you will do to him later, maybe you should punish that cheeky tongue of his.

Atsushi would probably be a bit embarrassed, that he needs a girl to take care of him, especially if you are shorter or look younger than him. You just have to assure him it’s alright to feel this way, and it’s alright to show emotions, cry, whatever. He gets embarrassed easily, or flustered, so it’s almost the same no matter what body Typ. You could be taller than him and hug him from behind, he’d blush already. Or as mentioned be shorter and nuzzle into his chest, and he’ll turn red. Also if you flirt with him, and he does catch on, then it really doesn’t matter if you look very feminine or not, he’d be nervous and fumbling with his thumbs the entire time.

Kunikida, I gotta say, he feels like the traditional reserved type of person, though secretly (unbeknownst to him) also a freak. Probably wrote in his book something about a nice and healthy relationship, a girly girl who is mature and gentle, and vanilla. Maybe someone who works part time so that they could take care of the household? He works full time after all. So consider him surprised when he found out about you, cuz your appearance made him believe you were very.. well, basic. (There is nothing wrong with basic) though to think you’d make him so such humiliating stuff.. you better not leave him now, not after seeing all those sides of him.

Sigma likes people who knows what they want and want to be, who can decide. Because he has a few problems with his identity. That’s why he really admires how you carry yourself, and know what you like. Fashion wise or others. You know what you like and you stand behind it, go for it girl. Also, I think sigma likes the high fashion, like a small hobby he has, so he’d love to go shopping with you and discuss outfit ideas. He probably enjoys a wide range of styles.

Fyodor also thought you would be a total sub, he just guessed. Turns out he guessed completely wrong, his mistake, can he make up by drinking a shot? Anyway, as long as you are useful, he doesn’t really care how you present yourself. The skills are what’s important. But to be honest, at first, he was trying to find a very traditional partner. It’s what he believes in. A good wife who cooks and takes care of the house, and obeys. That’s what he was looking for, if he wanted a relationship in the first place. It’s what’s written in the bible, he wanted to follow it. After spending a night with you, he had to think about it again. It felt too good to give up, and honestly, just because you top or dom doesn’t mean you won’t fulfil the requirements, no? Even if you didn’t, well, he was god’s chosen one he can make a special case just for you.

Nikolai would ask you to dress up as a clown with him. If you refuse, he’ll keep asking. So yea, he doesn’t really care what you like or look, he will make you into clowns and magic shows. It’s a part of getting closer to him, there is no roundabout. (Rip those who have a phobia against clowns, but if you do why would you like Nikolai in the first place) jokes aside, I’m sure he won’t really force you into liking all that. Probably…

Chuuya would find it pretty practical, cuz similar to sigma, you know what you like or who you are so you are easy to read. He doesn’t need to think that long to guess what kind of stuff you’d like, it’s practical. But he’ll still take ages to find the *perfect* present for you. Most of the time he’ll buy more than one, if you don’t like it throw it away. If you are even shorter than him, it’d boost his ego, cuz, yea, short people struggles. Though that ego would be gone after you show him who’s top, and he’d be pouting for a while. He thought he could finally stand over someone! He was taller but somehow he didn’t feel like he actually was! It’s not a negative feeling though, not at all. And you being girly didn’t matter, you look gorgeous anyway. Just say the word and he will silence anyone who thinks otherwise.

[daddy-suguru]

Congrats on 9k followers dear~

If you’re still taking event requests, would it be fine to ask for sex worker!choso x virgin!reader + overstimulation?

- sᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏᴅ ɪ’ᴍ ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ sᴀʏ ɪs…;

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs | sugarbaby!choso, rich!virgin!reader, best friends to friends with benefits, overstimulation, fingering/clit rubbing, outdoor sex/sex on the balcony (no near by neighbors), high sex (bud), praise, daddy/princess, pussy kisses, oral, begging, squirting, tattooed!choso with a tongue ring, some making out

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ | 1.6k

sᴜɢᴀʀ’s ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇs | thank you, also this prompt got away from me, i blinked and it turned into a drabble. sugarbaby!stoner!choso is going to be rotting my brain for a while now

Choso tilts his head to the side, and his fringe covers one of his dark eyes. He insists, "Think it over, are you sure you want to throw away your first time?" Wapping his lips around the butt of the thick blunt.

The end of the tip glows red with his inhale. Illuminating his handsome pale face in a soft red light. Which is already catching the bright light of the full moon.

The dark tattooed line over his nose adds to how pretty he is. While his dark, fluff hair, was taken out of its spiky ponytails, framing his face. With his high cheekbones, pointy nose, full, glossy lips, and sharp jawline. Even the dark circles around his eyes look endearing.

Choso's shirtlessness and his low-hung sweatpants while he leans against the balcony of your private home. Looking like a very tired model. With his toned, brawny build and inky tattoos.

You were trying to get him out of the city, away from his normal profession. Giving him a peaceful night in the woods out of the city Yet here you are offering him some money to eat you out. Since you were curious as to how it felt and didn't trust anyone else than him.

Huffing, "It's not throwing it away if it's you." Choso is one of four people in your life who didn't care about your money. Your friendship always seemed more than enough for him.

Your friendship bracelet Choso bought with a cute little charm, which he said reminded him of you. You had gotten him a bracelet of his own. Something he got into a fight to keep since someone tried to steal it from him once.

Unbeknownst to him, you've fought with your parents for the right to wear. Since the jewels weren't real it was deemed trash to them. You still refused to take it off no matter what snide comments you still got over it.

You say, "But if you don't see me that way. I understand, it's just I'm curious about what it's like to..." You trail off your face heating up as you focus on the blunt that Choso passes while saying nothing. So you ramble,

"And you said you needed some money. I'm tired of you living in that scary motel. So yeah the more I think about it more I want you to be my sugar baby. You won’t let me just give you money, so I thought - I understand if you don’t find me unattractive and don’t want to." Looking off the side of the railing taking a slow drag while Choso pushes off the railing.

He walks up behind you, pressing his body against yours. Whilst grabbing your hips. Something he has done more times than you could count. After you cuddled him on the second movie night Choso would find a reason to have his hands on your body.

The higher Choso gets, the more talkative and touchy he becomes. Choso’s sweet forehead kisses, lingering hugs, and gentle squeezes from his hand, always left you wet and warm. His touch is so comforting, exciting, and safe.

Hitching your large baggy shirt over your hips. Exposing your clothed pussy to the cool wind. Before he reaches in front of you, pushing your panties aside, dragging his fingers along your lips to your clit.

Arching your hips back, his finger following your clit. Taking your second hit while Choso ensures, “Lil’ princess if it’s me it isn’t a waste, as long as you don’t regret this, I don’t want to lose you.” While nudging one thick finger past your lips,

“Tell me if it hurts, or if you're becoming uncomfortable and I’ll stop darling.” He kisses the top of your head, pumping his finger slowly. The blunt shakes between your fingers as you clench around Choso's fingers.

Softly wondering, "Does this mean you're my sugar baby?" Choso gently massages slow tight circles into your sweet spot when he finds it. Squeezing his finger while your knees cave in, pressing against each other.

"I'm all yours since you are insistent on taking care of me, this way I can do something for you to. So when you do move on from me you pussy knows what it's like when someone takes their time showing you how much they adore you." His sweet words are just a part of him playing his role as your sugar baby.

This is something you remind yourself of, Choso still sees you as a friend. Even if he is finger fucking you. Yet you still end up confessing,

"I don't want to share you with others, want you to stay here with me so I can take care of you." The tension building in your stomach is alike to the pleasure you gave yourself. Yet so different, so much more demanding. Turning your brain to slush, and your legs to jello.

Reaching back and grabbing onto Choso, slipping your fingers into his long hair. While wrapping your hand around the back of his neck. Plastering your body against Choso's more so.

He slides his fingers out, while he keeps rubbing your clit. Your cheeks heat up as you realize that Choso is licking your pussy juices off of his fingers. His loud groans fill the night air and you whine for the first time.

Covering your mouth as your eyes widen, "Let me hear you, that was beautiful." Rubbing your clit faster, his rough finger pads stroking small circles onto your soft nub.

"So needy for me aren't you?" Nodding your head, whimpering as you gush, your thick slick soaking your thighs. Yet Choso doesn't stop rubbing your clit. As your legs tremble and your knees lock, giving out.

Choso places the blunt between his lips. Before wrapping his arm around your waist, while asking you, "You can cum for me princess one more time, can't you? Let your beautiful, tight pussy make a mess for me to lick up." Lifting you off your feet, holding you tightly against his body. While he moves to the love chair, sitting down with you on his lap.

He blows out a puff of smoke while he ashes out his blunt. "Tell me how needy you are, have't hear ya sweet voice." You can't form the words as Choso curls two fingers past your lips. As he rubs your clit with the same, quick speed.

The pressure of his thumb is too much. As he rubs your sweet spot relentlessly, "Please! Please!" Sweet, loud mewling begs slip from your lips. Mixing with the wet squelching of Choso's fingers in your pussy.

There is a tighter tension building lower in your gut, "Please what darling?" Looking up as Choso leans over while you mumble,

"Please help me cum daddy." Choso roughly kisses you, biting into your bottom lip. His loud groan tells you that you struck a nerve with that name.

Parting your lips for him to slip his tongue past. Rubbing his tongue bar before mimicking the actions of his tongue. As he pumps his fingers faster, matching the pace he is rubbing your clit.

Thick clear cum squirts from your pussy. As you break the kiss and Choso speeds up the pace of his finger. while you look down. The moonlight glints of your cum. Which coats Choso's hand and wrist. While soaking Choso's sweatpants.

Panting as Choso pulls his hand out and lifts his slicked-up fingers to his lips. While you catch your breath he licks his fingers clean. When your breathing steadies you slip off Choso's lap.

Your legs wobble as Choso grabs your hips to steady you while musing, "Princess, I haven't even given you my cock yet, did you squirt that hard?" He drops his hand as you push your panties down. The long thick string of your cum stretches and snaps.

Bending over in front of Choso, spreading your pussy apart for him. While admiting, "I'm so needy I keep thinking about the way your cock looks straining in your sweatpants. Please Daddy! Cho, nnng Daddy!" He kisses your pussy before slipping two thick, tattooed fingers past your lips.

Spreading your squishy self apart to spit inside of you. Stuffing his spit inside of you while asking, "You want me to be your sugar Daddy and be sweet on your pussy?" Rubbing your clit with his thumb. Which is still so sensitive from cumming so much. Yet you don't want him to stop.

Choso groans, "Fuck I've seen so many pussies but none as pretty as yours. And the way you taste!" He replaces his fingers with his tongue. His tongue ring drags along your squishy pussy. While he keeps stroking circles into your clit.

Whining to him, "You're my daddy cho, I love how you always check up on me if I've eaten. And you encourage me to take care of myself, along with how well you listen to me." Groaning as you reach back and grab a handful of his hair.

You're going to make his hair softer with the right self-care products you can splurge on getting for him. While using him being your sugar baby as the reason for him to finally accept your gifts.

Choso pulls away, crooning, "One more time, whose your Daddy princess?" Standing up and dropping his sweatpants. Pushing them to the side, swiping his thick head along your slit. Swirling himself at your small hole while softly pushing past.

The burning of the stretch has you whimpering and Choso pulls away. While you shift your hips from side to side, telling him, "You are! You've been taking care of me already for so long, I want you to be selfish for once and let me make you feel good." He steps out from behind you, as you stand up.

Furrowing your brows as he walks in front of you. Your confusion is short lasting as Choso confesses, "I'm getting off on your pleasure. If you really want to help me be selfish, then sit down, spread your legs, and let me eat your pretty pussy till I'm finished." He grabs the bottom of your shirt as you raise your arms, for him to slip it off.

Sitting down, spreading your folded legs apart. As Choso turns on the balcony's lights he stands in front of you. "Princess you're so beautiful, such a yummy pussy all wet for me."

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 7

“What’re we gonna feed it?” Daryl’s voice cuts through the void of chaos and crying, his tone steady but urgent. Rick stands, his gaze distant, shock settling deep as he processes the loss of his wife.

“Do we even have anything a baby can eat?” you ask, moving closer to Hershel as Carl gently hands the newborn to him.

“The good news is, she looks healthy,” Hershel replies, his weathered hands carefully holding the baby, “but she needs formula—and soon—or she won’t survive.”

“Nope, no way,” Daryl interjects, his voice gruff with determination. “Not her. We ain’t losin’ nobody else. I’m goin’ on a run.”

“I’m coming,” you say firmly, holstering your gun and preparing to move without hesitation. You catch Maggie’s eye as she steps forward, her voice raw from crying, but still resolute.

“I’ll be your backup,” she says. You give her a nod, appreciating her strength.

“I’m coming too,” Glenn adds, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“Okay, think where we’re goin’—Beth,” Daryl says, pulling the younger girl over to the side. You follow them, your senses on high alert despite the exhaustion.

Daryl leans down to whisper to Beth, his voice gentler than usual. “Kid just lost his mom—his dad ain’t doin’ so hot.”

“I’ll look after him,” she promises, her big blue eyes brimming with worry but filled with resolve. She catches your eye, and without thinking, you pull her into a tight hug, holding her close.

When you pull back, there are unshed tears in her eyes, and you bite back your own, refusing to let them fall now. There’s no time for that. You have a job to do.

“Somebody get to the fence! Too many are piling up out there,” you shout over your shoulder, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on you.

“Glenn, Maggie, vámonos!” Daryl shouts. But before you can move, Rick suddenly lunges for his hammer, taking off toward C Block without a word. Daryl barely glances in his direction, barking orders to the others. “Get the gate! C’mon! We’re gon’ lose the light!”

You fall into step beside him, your heartbeat syncing with the adrenaline pumping through your veins. As you run, Glenn calls out, “There’s a store nearby with a baby section—”

“No, it’s already been cleared,” Maggie interrupts, shaking her head.

“Any place that hasn’t been completely looted?” you ask, reaching the nearest car. Daryl pulls open the side door for you, his movements quick but careful as he hands you his crossbow. You take it, hopping into the car, but leaving the door open to hear the rest of the plan. 

“We saw a sign, a shopping center just north of here,” Glenn adds as Daryl slides into the front seat.

“There’s too much debris on that road, a car can’t get through,” Maggie says, her voice edged with frustration.

You lock eyes with Daryl, and without saying a word, you both know the solution. The motorcycle.

“I can only take one,” he grunts, throwing his poncho around himself.

Maggie steps forward, “I’ll go,” her voice steady despite the wear of the day. But Glenn stops her, gently placing a hand on her arm.

“Maggie,” he say softly, meeting her gaze, “You’ve been through enough today.”

She hesitates, then sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly, “The two of you work better in tandem anyway,” she mutters, handing you her backpack. “It’s like you guys can read each other’s damn minds sometimes— you go.”

You give her a small, grateful smile, securing the backpack over your shoulders. Daryl revs the bike, the familiar roar of the engine filling the air, and without another word, you climb on behind him.

With a final glance back at the group, you hold on tight, and the two of you take off, the wind whipping past as the world blurs around you.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Daryl pulls the bike to a stop near a chain-link fence, the rusted metal surrounding what looks like an abandoned daycare. The overgrown lawn is dotted with a jungle gym, the swing set creaking eerily in the light breeze. His eyes narrow as he scans the area.

“Company’s close,” he grunts as you swing your leg off the bike. “Stay tight—got ammo?”

You nod, and with that confirmation, the two of you make your way up to the side of the building, staying low and quiet. You cup your hands against a dusty window, peering inside. It’s a scene frozen in time—cribs, changing tables, all the remnants of a world long gone.

Breaking the window with ease, you climb inside, landing on the old, worn carpet. The bright blue walls are covered in children’s art projects, colorful reminders of a life once lived. A TV sits in the corner, the decorations still neatly arranged, as if the place is just waiting for someone to return.

You shrug off the backpack Maggie gave you and start grabbing anything that looks remotely useful for a baby—diapers, wipes, clothes. You rummage through cabinets and drawers, not letting yourself dwell too much on the haunting stillness of the room.

Daryl climbs in through the window behind you, his presence steady as always, and leads the way down the narrow hallway. You follow close, careful to avoid stepping on anything that might make noise. The air is thick with quiet tension as you move, your ears alert for any sound out of place.

There’s a faint rattling ahead. As you quietly enter another room, Daryl turns to you, the flashlight clamped between his teeth casting a soft glow over your face. His blue eyes flick toward you before he pushes open a door that leads into a kitchen.

The rattling comes from a lower cupboard. You move toward it cautiously, your fingers tightening around the handle. You glance back at Daryl, who gives you a nod, and with a quick breath, you yank the door open.

A hissing sound erupts from inside. You lock eyes with a possum, its beady gaze flashing in the light just as Daryl’s arrow flies, hitting it square in the heart.

“Hello, dinner,” he mutters with a smirk.

“You’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. “That is not goin’ in my bag.”

As you cross the room to check another cupboard, your breath catches when you find exactly what you’ve been searching for—containers of baby formula, untouched. You could almost start singing Hallelujah. 

You turn to him with a small smile on your face, “Lookie here,” you say, stuffing the packages into your bag. You meet his gaze as he pulls the possum up, but when his eyes land on you, you can see the sadness in them. You can see past his eyes that he has the events of the day on his mind. The people lost.

“Dare…” you begin, your voice quiet, “about Carol–”

But before you can say more, Daryl is suddenly crossing the space between you, his crossbow left on the ground behind him. His hand moves with purpose as he pushes you gently but firmly against the counter. His lips crash into yours, catching you off guard, but there’s no hesitation in the way you kiss him back. It’s raw, the kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. His hands grip your waist to pull himself against you, and for a second, all the fear, the loss, and the uncertainty dissolve in the warmth of his touch.

You know him well enough by now to understand this is his way of saying everything’s going to be okay, his way of telling you he’s alright without having to speak about the pain he’s holding onto. When he finally steps back, breathless, he brushes his knuckle along your cheekbone—something he’s been doing more lately, a soft, almost sentimental gesture that always makes your heart skip. His eyes, stormy and pained, linger on yours, and for a brief moment, all you know is to hold onto him as long as you can.

“We gotta get back,” he says, his voice rough, but there’s something soft behind it, something steady.

You nod, knowing this is enough for now.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

The road ahead is dark as Daryl drives the motorcycle toward the prison gates, the roar of the engine loud in your ears, sending vibrations through your body. Axel and Oscar stand at the gate, pulling it open just in time for Daryl to ride through, the bike rumbling into the yard. He parks by C Block, and you dismount, your legs stiff from the ride.

Inside, the only light comes from the moon filtering through the high windows, casting a pale glow on the group gathered around Carl, who cradles the crying newborn. You shrug your bag off your shoulders, swinging it onto the table. “Beth? Maggie?” you call out, your voice slightly breathless. They rush over, immediately digging into the supplies.

Beth is the first to stand beside you, her hands moving quickly through the contents as you open the formula and tear into the new bottles you found. From behind, you hear Daryl’s low voice asking about the baby, but you don’t turn. You’re focused, moving with urgency to get the formula ready.

Finally, with the bottle mixed, you turn to hand it over—and freeze.

Daryl’s holding the baby. His strong, muscled arms cradle her with a tenderness you’ve never seen. The sight of him, this rough-edged man who’s faced down death a hundred times, holding something so small, so fragile—it catches you completely off guard. Your breath hitches, and for a moment, it feels like the world tilts on its axis.

Beth gently takes the bottle from your unmoving hands, stepping forward to pass it to Daryl. But your eyes don’t leave him, your chest tightening with a swell of emotions that are so strong, they almost overwhelm you. Daryl, the man who is always ready for a fight, looks at the baby with such care, feeding her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“She got a name yet?” he asks, his voice gruff but softened by the warmth in his expression. His gaze sweeps the room, landing on you. The smile falters for just a second when he catches the look on your face, something unspoken passing between you. But then the twinkle in his eyes returns as he glances back down at the baby.

“Not yet,” Carl replies, shaking his head. “I was thinking... maybe Sophia.”

The name hits you hard, tugging at the corners of memories buried deep. Sophia. It felt like a lifetime ago when you were all searching for her in those woods. Carl continues, his voice quieter now, listing the names of those lost: “Then there’s Carol, too. And… Andrea, Amy, Jacqui, Patricia… or Lori, I don’t know.”

Daryl listens, his attention now fully on Carl, though the baby remains cradled securely in his arms. He’s quiet for a moment, then a smile slowly spreads across his face as he looks back at the baby. “Yeah? Would you like that? Little ass-kicker?”

You can’t help it—a real, unexpected laugh bursts from your mouth, the sound surprising you as much as it does him. Daryl’s head snaps up again and his eyes lock onto yours, the glint of surprise mirrored in his expression. But it’s the softness, the way his face lights up at your laugh, that makes your heart swell even more.

“Right? That’s a good name, right?” he continues, turning back to the baby with that same quiet warmth, “Little ass-kicker, huh? You like that, sweetheart?”

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

The next morning, the sound of locusts hums through the open windows, a constant reminder of the world outside. You sit up in the guard tower, eyes scanning the yard below as the early morning light stretches across the prison grounds. From your vantage point, you spot Daryl walking slowly, his steps deliberate as he approaches a small cross stuck in the ground.

You watch in silence as he kneels down, something small in his hand. He places it carefully at the base of the cross, lingering for a moment before standing back up. It’s only when he moves away that you notice the small white flower resting at the bottom, a quiet offering to someone lost.

Your heart tightens as you watch him make his way back to the yard. Without thinking, you rise, leaving the tower to meet him at the bottom of the steps just as he reaches the gate.

“Mornin’,” you say softly, your voice gentle in the stillness of the early hour.

He grunts a low hello, his eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly before shifting away. There’s something quiet in his expression, a heaviness he’s not putting into words.

You don’t need to say anything more. Without hesitation, you step closer and slip your arm around his waist, drawing him into you as you both turn back toward the prison. The gesture is simple but full of understanding—no words needed as you guide him inside again, both of you silently sharing the weight of everything left unspoken.

A few hours later, breakfast is a quiet affair. You quietly stir your oatmeal, the spoon scraping lightly against the bowl as you sit on the steps leading up to the warden’s office. Daryl is sitting on the step below, his back resting between your knees, his presence a quiet comfort. The clinking of silverware against bowls echoes softly through the room as everyone eats in near silence, the weight of the morning heavy in the air.

Your attention shifts when you hear footsteps approaching from across the room. Daryl’s head tilts up too, both of you watching as Rick enters.

“Everybody okay?” Rick asks, his voice subdued as he surveys the room.

“Yeah,” you answer softly, offering a small nod. “We are.”

“What about you?” Hershel asks, his gaze steady on Rick.

Rick’s eyes are distant, vacant, as he approaches the table where Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, and Carl sit in a quiet huddle. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“I cleared out the boiler block,” Rick says quietly.

“How many were there?” Daryl asks, breaking the silence that had settled around him all morning.

Rick’s eyes flicker toward you both. “A dozen. Maybe two.”

You suck in a quiet breath, your stomach twisting at the thought of him facing that many walkers alone. There hadn’t even been a gunshot.

“I need to get back,” Rick mutters, already turning away. “Just wanted to check on Carl.” He pats his son’s back, his touch brief and mechanical, before he heads toward the door.

“Rick—we can handle taking out the bodies,” Glenn stands, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to do everything.”

Rick shakes his head, his movements stiff. “No, I do,” he says, but he doesn’t stop moving until he reaches you and Daryl on the stairs.

“Everyone have a gun and a knife?” Rick asks, his voice low, but there’s an urgency behind it. You glance around the room, mentally counting the weapons each person carries, before Daryl responds with a nod. “Yeah. But we’re runnin’ low on ammo.”

“Maggie and I were planning to make a run this afternoon,” Glenn adds from behind Rick. “Found a phonebook with some places we could hit—look for more formula and bullets.”

“We cleared out the generator room,” you tell Rick, hoping the news might ease some of the burden he’s shouldering. “Axel’s working on it in case we need it.”

“We’re gonna sweep the lower levels too,” Daryl chimes in, his voice steady, grounding.

Rick nods, already half-turned to leave. “Good. Good,” he mutters, his words rushed as he strides out of the room again.

Hershel calls after him, concern thick in his voice, but Rick doesn’t stop. He’s already lost in his own world, slipping further into the weight of everything he’s carrying.

Your hand lands in Daryl’s hair softly, brushing it with your fingertips, and you feel him sigh beneath you. 

Once everyone finishes breakfast, Daryl stands, stretching slightly before turning to you. “I’m gon’ go check on the boiler block, make sure everythin’s alright,” he says, his voice low. You nod, knowing he’s not expecting you to come with him. He needs space right now, and you understand that instinctively.

You reach for his bowl and spoon, stacking them with yours when Oscar approaches, offering to join him. Daryl nods in quiet acceptance but pauses before leaving, his eyes lingering on you. His fingers brush gently against the side of your face and you lean into the touch, just for a moment, letting the warmth of it settle in before he drops his hand. Without another word, he turns and heads off with Oscar.

You rise from the table, gathering the empty bowls in your arms, preparing to take them outside to clean. As you pass by, Beth smiles warmly, the baby nestled safely in her arms. You return the smile before heading toward the door, Carl trailing behind you, collecting scraps and bits of trash from the table without a word.

As you work, you glance over at him, watching how he’s methodically picking up the trash, his face drawn and serious. “Hey,” you say softly, not wanting to push too hard but needing to ask. “You doin’ okay?”

Carl pauses for a moment, his hand stilling as he picks at the ground. He doesn’t look up immediately, but eventually, he gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”

You can hear the weight in his voice, the unspoken emotions lying beneath the surface. But you don’t push, knowing he might not be ready to say more. Instead, you reach out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, letting him know you’re there. “If you need anything… you know where I am,” you offer, your voice calm, steady.

Carl looks up at you under the brim of his hat then, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second before he nods again. You go back to scraping the dishes, the quiet moment between you stretching on, a shared understanding settling in the space. Carl stays close, helping as you finish the task in silence, and you can’t help yourself as you pray for just one good, normal day.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Fallen Order request is Biohazard for @ledeni-tm

“No.”

Cal stands at the bottom of the ramp and stares up at Greez, haloed in the ship’s internal lighting. “Huh?”

Greez points, specifically at the poncho Cal as clutched in his hand. “No more. Not a single one. By the gods, Cal, I can smell the damn thing from here.”

Cal holds it up to demonstrate the very funky pattern it has. Best of all, it’s a nice, thick wool. Once it’s clean and dry, it’ll be a favourite for sure. “I need it, Greez. It’s mine.”

“I understand and accept that five years on Bracca has ruined your sense of smell, but me and Cere? Ours is fine. And as such, we can smell that little poncho selection of yours no matter what we do. So, the following are your options – get rid of them all and we’ll find you a nice new one in a store that doesn’t sell actual biohazards.”

“Not happening.”

BD backs him up with a rude squeal.

Hands held up in a pacifying gesture, Greez waits for silence. “Or you stay out there and do some laundry.”

The sky overhead is thick with the promise of a snowstorm. Cal’s hands are cold and stiff from his journey across Zeffo. He’s tired and hungry, thoughts of dinner getting him through the lengthy journey back to the ship. He doesn’t particularly want to stay outside, but he also refuses to give up a single one of his ponchos. They’re his. All of them. He found them, and sure, maybe some are coated in mildew, and others have a smell he can’t quite get rid of, but none of them are actual biohazards…

…are they?

“Are they?” he asks BD.

BD’s scans suggest a couple might host bacteria unsafe for most organics, and while he has no capacity to smell, scans would indicate unpleasant odours would be a side effect of said bacteria.

“Fine,” Cal says. “I guess it’s laundry day.”

Greez’s ominous laugh echoes down from the ship. “I knew you’d say that.” He returns with a large container (honestly, it’s large enough to stuff Greez himself into). “Fill this with water. I’ve got various detergents to clean these things up.”

“I do wash them!” Cal insists.

“With appropriate laundry detergents, or with soap when you shower? Or does going for a swim in a poncho count as washing them?”

Opting for tactical silence, Cal places the new poncho into the container and plods onto the ship with it. He fills the container in the shower as it won’t fit under the sink, then lugs it back outside. He places it down and returns to the engine room to fetch all his ponchos. He puts them all inside.

“Now, watch a master at work.” Greez adds a blend of detergents and something called fabric conditioner to the water. It all sounds like a waste of credits to Cal. Greez also adds an entire bottle of disinfectant and gives the whole barrel a mix with a stick. “We’re gonna let this stew for a while before you heft it all back inside and stick them in the machine to spin. After that, we’ll bring them back out here to air dry. Might take a while, given how cold it is, but it will help with the stench.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Worse.”

“I’m sorry, Greez.”

Greez looks up from his stirring. “Why do you always make me feel so bad about stuff, even when you’re in the wrong and I’m definitely in the right?”

BD suggests it’s a Jedi thing. Cal smiles. “I didn’t mean to,” he offers.

“See? There you go doing it again. Listen, kid, honestly, I wish you wouldn’t bring back stuff you find on these planets. I’m sure we can find you something during a supply run. However, I get that you like them and therefore you gotta meet me midway – keep ‘em, but clean ‘em. Properly. None of your wash your clothes while you shower or swim nonsense. And if you’re taking a breath to tell me that’s how it was done on Bracca, I do not wanna know.”

Cal breathes out and closes his mouth.

“You don’t have to live like you’re a credit away from financial ruin. We’re not multimillionaires, but we’re not broke. And if you don’t know how to use the machine, ask. I’m not gonna judge.”

“Thanks, Greez.”

“And maybe don’t stuff wet clothes into a box under your bed.”

“But – ”

“Ah! What did I say about Bracca?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Atta boy.”

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 634

Previously On...: You and Bucky are probably going to be okay.

A/N: IT'S OUT EARLY!

This is it! The last chapter! OMG!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

10 Months Later

“I refuse to accept this.”

“Well, unfortunately, Boss, it’s my decision to make, not yours,” you told Tony as you finished stacking up the last of your moving boxes. Sixteen years– almost half of your life, now condensed into neat stacks of cardboard, waiting to be loaded into the van that was waiting downstairs.

“What the hell am I supposed to do without you?” Tony asked, dramatically flinging himself on your now bare mattress. “How am I supposed to survive?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not like you won’t see me every fucking day, dude,” you admonished him. “I still work here, for fucks’ sake. Besides, you refused to let your realtor show me any place you couldn’t see from your terrace.”

“I thought it would be nice if we could wave to each other during breakfast,” he said, his face drawn into a pout now, “that’s all.”

You sat down next to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to cut the umbilical cord, Tony,” you said. 

“But you’re still such a kiddo, Kiddo,” he sighed.

“I meant your umbilical cord, Boss,” you laughed. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll try it for a year or two, figure out I absolutely hate it, and come crawling back, begging for my old room.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Tony said, sitting back up. “I’ll probably turn it into a sauna, or an indoor golf simulator as soon as you walk out that door.”

“Ah, there’s the Tony I know and tolerate,” you said with a smile.

“I’m just going to miss having you around,” he said, his voice now laced with sadness. “Sixteen years together– probably the longest stable relationship I’ve ever had. It’s not going to be the same around here without you.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m going to miss you, too. But you know I need this. After everything that happened last year with Carthage, and Barnes… me spiraling, losing a baby I didn’t even know about, getting shot, and the… complications; all that shit with Steve. I just think I need a fresh start, some place where I’m not reminded of her every time I walk around a corner. It’s the only way I’m going to truly heal.”

“I told you I’d move you to another floor. Hell, I’ll tear down the entire Tower and start from scratch. We can build a whole new compound Upstate or something. You’d never have to set foot in this hallway again,” he said. And you knew he was telling the truth– there was little Tony wouldn’t do to ensure you were comfortable in your old home, but you couldn’t rely on him forever.

“You’ve saved me so many times already, Boss,” you said, looking back at him fondly, “and you know I’m always going to be thankful for that. But it’s time I started working on saving myself.”

“Well, when you make it sound all empowering and shit,” he began, “I start to feel like a dick for protesting.”

You laughed as your phone beeped. Looking at the message, you told him: “Movers are on the way up. I guess this is really it.” You both stood and embraced, Tony leaning down to speak softly in your ear.

“You know you always have a home here, Kiddo,” he said. “Whenever you need it. Even if it’s just for a night, or if you decide you want to come back for good. Door’s always open.”

“And even if it’s not,” you said as the two of you broke away from one another, “I can always hack the system to break myself in.”

“I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“You think Mr. Mitchell’s still practicing law?” you asked with a grin. “I can definitely afford to have him represent me, now.”

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hi,

I have a request for you. Deacon and reader have to pretend to be into a relationship for a undercover mission. But both of them love each other secretly and actually don't want to pretend.

💕

This is such a good idea!! Writing this was a ton of fun. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Warnings: angst, fluff, canon typical danger/action/violence, OC Andres Cabrera, references to drug trafficking, Deacon gets protective and a lil angry. I think that's all!

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

A/N: Does Metro go under cover? I don't know. But I do know that SWAT doesn't, so I brought Metro in. Also, I proofread and fixed a few errors after posting, but let me know if I missed anything!

Picture from Pinterest

The Real Us

You fell for Deacon quickly and continue to fall deeper every day. You refuse to tell him because you are too scared to risk your personal and professional relationships. If only you knew he feels the exact same way; maybe everything would be different. Working with Deacon, seeing the good, bad, and ugly at work and in each other’s personal lives showed both of you that the other was worthy and deserving and impossible not to love. As Deacon got used to you during your probationary period, Hondo thought he was like a Doberman puppy, a vicious, lovesick combination as he follows you around while threatening everyone that comes too close. Now, you both resign yourselves to be friends and teammates, hoping it’s enough.

When Hondo yells your name attached to Deacon’s, your heart beats faster. “Hicks’ office,” Hondo finishes before he turns on his heel.

You fall into step beside Deacon, glancing at him.

“What did you do?” he teases, bumping his arm against your shoulder.

You struggle to remember to keep work first. Even if your safety wasn’t on the line, your fear of rejection keeps you from opening up completely. Likewise, Deacon is concerned you won’t want to date a superior or that you’re secretly in a relationship.

“Nothing, that I know of. Maybe Hicks found out you told Luca he could use the food in the fridge. After removing Hicks’ name,” you respond, smiling at him.

“Keep your voice down,” Deacon hisses.

“Here goes nothing,” you whisper as he opens the door for you.

Stepping into the office, you stop in front of Hicks’ desk and place your hands behind your back as Deacon joins you. Several officers from Metro are talking to Hicks and Hondo, who glances over and gestures for you to wait a minute.

“They’re going to steal one of us,” Deacon muses. “20-David won’t be the same without you.”

“Why would they take me? You’re way more experienced.”

“You’re prettier,” he says with a shrug. “Metro has a type.”

Your eyes widen as you turn to him, but you don’t get to ask what he means by that. Knowing that Deacon thinks you’re pretty, assuming he wasn’t still joking, sends a shiver down your spine.

Hondo nods at you before explaining, “Metro needs your help with a case.”

“Your Sergeant Hondo has already told us that we’re incompetent,” one of the officers adds.

“You’re the one that came to me for help,” Hondo shoots back. “They need a UC couple. Known drug trafficker Andres Cabrera is throwing a gala on his yacht, and there’s sure to be product, use, and purchasing.”

“Why not send actual UCs?” Deacon inquires.

“We’re stretched pretty thin, for one. But this also has a very high risk of getting dangerous. We’d rather have officers more prepared to deal with an ambush,” the Metro sergeant answers.

“What exactly is the purpose of the operation? I assume being under cover means we have to get firsthand proof of something,” you say.

“We need to find the leader of the trafficking operation, but we’d like to get proof of a purchase and find the hidden product if possible. The more we can get on this guy, the better. Most importantly, though, is to locate our guy. When you do, the rest of your team and my guys will be able to move in.”

You nod as Deacon agrees to join the team.

“So, for the most important question,” Hondo begins, winking at you, “what are they wearing?”

“I’m sorry,” Hicks says to you.

Sighing, you drop your shoulders. You knew when you heard gala it would be over-the-top, but you hope it’s not too bad.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your hopes are crushed. It’s terrible. The silky fabric is tighter than you’d prefer through the waist, then flares out. On the bright side, your gun is concealed. That’s the only plus, however. Stepping out of the locker room, you nearly run into Deacon.

“Sorry. Oh,” you say, gripping Deacon's biceps to stay upright. “You look great.”

Deacon’s three-piece suit matches the color of your outfit and makes him look even more handsome and dreamy than usual.

“Are you serious? You, you look perfect. I mean, you always look beautiful, but this is- I can’t catch my breath.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, stepping back as Deacon smiles. Tugging the outfit into a slightly more comfortable position, you feel Deacon’s eyes on you.

“You look amazing,” he says genuinely. “You’ll do great.”

“Whoa!” Luca and Hondo yell when you walk out, your arm looped through Deacon’s. 

“You two clean up nice,” Hondo adds.

“Thanks,” Deacon says, shaking his head. 

“Go get your sneak on, Deac,” Luca yells as Deacon pulls you away.

Tan is driving the limo to the docks and whistles obnoxiously before opening the door for you. The attention is funny from your friends, but from strangers and drug traffickers, it won’t be as enjoyable.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Are you two prepared to play a couple?” Tan asks as you near the coast.

“I think we can handle it. We know each other pretty well,” Deacon answers.

“And PDA?”

You shake your head at Tan, who is watching you in the rearview. It would be a last resort because one touch from Deacon might ruin you. There is no going back once you start something, especially something you so desperately need. 

“I’m going to keep you close,” Deacon whispers into your ear as you exit the limo. “Is that okay?”

You nod, smiling at him as his arm circles your shoulders, leading you to the oversized yacht.

“What do rich people do on yachts paid for by drugs?” you ask through your smile.

“Right. Because I’m the expert on that,” Deacon jokes. “Just act like we belong. Blend in.” You don’t hear him say, “As much as you can looking like that, anyway.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon’s hands are all over you. When you’re close enough to touch, Deacon tucks you under his arm against his side. Otherwise, you find yourself in his arms as you dance or linking your fingers with his as you socialize with people you will never understand. You’re like a magnet, and he can’t resist you.

“Dance with me,” Deacon says, leading you to the dance floor with a hand on your waist and his other hand in yours. “I think there’s something happening portside. Check it out and tell me what you think.”

You look over his shoulder, turning your chin toward Deacon. “You’re right. I can’t tell what they’re talking about though.”

You jerk your head down toward Deacon’s chest suddenly, and he instinctively pulls you closer.

“What?”

“I think one of them was looking at me.”

Deacon spins quickly, confirming what you thought. “He’s coming over here. Your call.”

“Let me dance with him if he asks. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I’ll be close.”

“Excuse me,” the man interrupts, looking at you as he talks to Deacon. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Not at all,” Deacon answers, though the look in his eyes says the opposite. 

The man takes one of your hands as his other finds your waist. He pulls you close, too close. Deacon held you against his chest, and it felt right and safe, but being against this man’s chest is completely different.

“My name is Andres,” he introduces himself. Your target. “And I must say, you are the prettiest woman on my yacht tonight.”

“Well, I like to dress to impress,” you reply, moving your hand on his shoulder toward his collar.

“I don’t think it’s just the dressing.”

His hand on your waist moves slowly, but it’s easy to deduce he’s reaching down and around.

“One of my friends was on your yacht last week and told me how beautiful it was, so when he got an invite I begged him to bring me.”

“That’s your friend?” Andres asks, looking at Deacon.

You turn your head, seeing Deacon with a too-tight grip on a champagne glass and a forced smile. Tipping your head to the right, you signal that you’re okay just before Andres turns so you can’t see Deacon anymore.

“Yes. His wife is one of my best friends and she offered to watch the kids so he could bring me. She gets seasick when she steps foot on a boat, so I guess he decided I was a better date option.”

“You, dear, did not need to prove it, I am sure.”

“He also told me that you might be willing to show me your operation. Like I said, I dress to impress.” You pull yourself closer, looking up at him as you flirt. It makes you sick to your stomach, but it’s necessary.

“Has your friend seen my operation?”

“No. He’s more of a buy it and move on kind of guy, but I find your product, and you, fascinating.”

“Impress you did,” he says quietly, his hands moving to their original positions. “Meet be on the top deck in ten minutes, and we can work something out. Bring your friend’s wallet and we’ll show him exactly what you’re worth.”

You nod, batting your eyelashes as he steps back. Walking toward Deacon, you shake your arms and try to lose the feeling of Andres’s hands on you. Deacon’s jaw is clenched as you walk past him. He follows you behind a pillar, his eyes boring into yours as you reach up and cup his jaw.

“He told me to meet him on the top deck in ten and bring your wallet,” you tell him.

“My wallet?”

“He wants to show you what I’m worth.”

“Trust me, I know exactly what you’re worth,” Deacon says under his breath.

You look to your left, and before Deacon can see what you’re looking at, you rise to your tiptoes and hide your face in Deacon’s neck.

“Drop your head,” you whisper.

His breath fans against your collarbone as his head dips beside yours. You circle your arms around his neck, guarding your faces from passersby. The man you saw approaching walks behind you as Deacon’s arms tighten around your waist. His touch removes the discomfort you felt after dancing with Andres. Trying not to lose yourself in the moment, you reluctantly pull away from Deacon.

“I’ll come to the deck with you,” Deacon says, his hands dropping from your sides.

“You can’t come all the way. He’ll know,” you argue. “Stay close enough to hear me?”

“I’m not letting you face down a drug lord by yourself.”

“I’ll be okay. I know I’m not alone with you nearby.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You wander around the top deck, close to the staircase where Deacon is hiding.

“There she is,” Andres announces, spreading his arms as he approaches you. “Did you bring it?”

You flash a fake credit card and an overly flirty smile. “Yes, I did.”

“Perfect. We’ll go to my,” he brushes a finger over your cheekbone before finishing, “private area, below deck.”

His hand moves down, over your arm, and to your hip. He’s nearing your gun, and you rush to grab his wrist.

“Is that where you keep everything? Below deck?” you ask.

He looks over at an armed security guard before speaking. “Everything, yes.”

Your arm twists as he jerks his hand, pulling you close harshly.

“There you are!” Deacon exclaims as he walks onto the deck.

Andres shoves you sideways as his guard aims his gun at you.

“What’s going on?” Deacon asks.

“Something private. So maybe you should go,” Andres spits angrily.

“Maybe we should both go, yeah?” Deacon asks, raising a hand toward you. “We haven’t seen anything, we’ll stay quiet.”

“You won’t see anything. Get him out of here.”

Another guard barges onto the deck behind Deacon, and you pull your gun out of its holster, firing a shot before Deacon has time to turn around. The man groans as he hits the deck, cradling his arm against his chest. You move your gun to Andres as Deacon covers the other guard.

“You’re out of time,” Andres threatens. “More men are coming.”

“Yeah,” Deacon replies with a smile. “I know.”

A helicopter approaches, and Luca and Tan prepare to drop onto the yacht as it passes overhead.

“We got ‘em,” Luca tells Deacon. “Get back in there.”

Deacon grabs your arm gently, pulling you into the stairwell as he leads you below deck. You run into a locked door and turn toward Deacon.

“This has to be it,” you say.

He pushes against the door and freezes as footsteps descend, nearing you quickly. You look at Deacon and apologize before shoving him against the wall opposite the locked door. You pull yourself up and kiss him, deaf to the footsteps as boots scrape to a stop.

“Uh,” someone says, clearing their throat, “this is a private area, no guests are allowed on this level.”

Deacon gently pushes your hips back as you separate from him. He wraps an arm around your waist, giving an easy smile to the guard blocking the stairs.

“Sorry, man, but you know how it is,” he says.

The guard looks you up and down, ignorant of Deacon’s grip tightening on you as he rumbles, “I sure do.”

“So, we’ll just get out of your way and go back up.”

The guard raises a hand, stopping Deacon as his eyes remain on you.

“You head up, I need to ask her a few questions.”

“Not happening.”

You look at the guard and press a hand between Deacon’s shoulders. “Unless you answer a question for me first. Right, handsome?”

Deacon looks at you from the corner of his eyes, warning you not to do this.

“Any question,” you add. “And you have to tell the truth.”

“Deal,” the guard agrees quickly.

“Are there drugs in that room?”

He hesitates, then nods once.

“Move in,” Deacon says, his smile growing as you both step back.

“Don’t move,” you tell the guard. “LAPD S.W.A.T. You’re under arrest.”

The guard hesitates, then sighs and lowers his weapon before kicking it to Deacon.

“They’re always too good to be true,” he mumbles.

You hear yelling and footsteps as your team and the Metro squad enter the boat, breaking up the party. Hondo appears behind the guard with the Metro sergeant from earlier.

“This is why we chose you instead of a UC,” the sergeant says, winking at you.

“That was quite the kiss,” Hondo teases, pulling you into his side.

Deacon pulls you back into his arms as you ask, “Cameras?”

“Everywhere,” Hondo says. “There isn’t an inch of this place that isn’t covered.”

“Wish I’d known that before I went for my gun,” you mumble.

“Ready to get out of here?” Hondo asks as the guard is hauled away in handcuffs.

“Yes,” you and Deacon sigh together.

✯✯✯✯✯

Back at S.W.A.T. HQ, you change quickly and sit in the locker room, your head in your hands as you wonder if you and Deacon should talk about the kiss. It was just for work, but it felt like more. Maybe that’s just your heart talking, though.

“Hey,” Deacon says as he enters.

You look up, smiling when you see him. “Hi.”

“So…”

“I’m sorry.”

“I- why’d you do it?” Deacon asks, leaning against the lockers beside you.

You keep your eyes away from his face, knowing that if you see him you’ll tell him everything. “It seemed like the right move. We are- were pretending to be a couple, and you know, that’s what couples do. We needed an innocent reason to be there and that’s all I could think of.”

“Were we?” Deacon asks.

You pause, glancing up at him. “Were we what?”

“Pretending,” Deacon answers, turning to sit beside you. “Because that felt really real. All of it, the dancing, the kiss, the touches.”

You fall silent, looking at Deacon’s hand resting beside yours.

“Sorry,” he begins.

“I wanted it to be real,” you admit quietly.

Deacon smiles, and turns your chin toward him. Kissing him the second time is just as magical as the first. He pulls you close, uninhibited in how or why he touches you. Breathless, you pull away but keep your forehead pressed to his.

“What took us so long?” you ask.

“I was wondering the same thing. We should go on a date. One where we don’t have to run for cover or kiss just to stay alive.”

“Your kisses are pretty deadly,” you joke, “they make me breathless and make my heartbeat too fast.”

“Not funny,” Deacon says, chuckling.

“But they also make everything better,” you whisper.

Deacon smiles before kissing you again, a promise to never pretend again. After pretending not to love each other and pretending to be in a different relationship than you were, you both decide that keeping secrets and being someone you aren’t only delays what you really want. Being someone else with Deacon helped you to admit that you’re in love with the real Deacon, just as he loves the real you.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

An essay about Barbara Gordon. Part two: Clowns and Catharsis.

Welcome back.

Part one, which was mainly about Oracle Year One.

This part will be discussing lasting effects of Barbara’s new role, and also about how certain writers handle catharsis.

@mrsbertinelli

@spoilerqlert

Following Oracle Year One, Barbara is reinvented as Oracle, who to give the basic rundown of her skills: is an information broker for the superhero community, helping out not just the bat-family, but the justice league, and even forming her own hero team in the Birds of Prey.

She even got a new arch enemy in the form of the Calculator (basically another hacker who was obsessed with learning who Oracle was) and acted as a mentor towards Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown later on.

But even though Barbara was settled in a new role, one that could only be filled by her, there’s always the enticing intrigue for writers and readers alike:

What about The Joker? What would happen if he showed back up? Would she freeze up? Fight? Would she obsess?

Depending on the writer, there’s been a few different ways:

Sometimes, she takes physical revenge, beating him up. (We know my feelings about Babs getting ‘cured’ and becoming Batgirl again, but that’s not the point)

Other times, she plays more of a psychological “I am not taking you seriously.” This typically gets under Joker's skin as a chronic attention-craver, not being taken with any threat or seriousness.

However, while I will never refuse either beating Joker up or making him look pathetic as a half drowned rat with green hair, one of the personal favourite ways comes in Joker: Last Laugh.

Basically, Joker learns he’s gotten a deadly illness and goes “Welp. Gotta cause as much havoc as possible via infecting folks with joker venom."

And in the Secret Files, basically the prelude, we learn something about Barbara.

Barbara, in her head, still possibly has a little bit of self blame. If she was more careful, that wouldn’t have happened. So in the Belfry, she’s set up cameras in so she can monitor and watch him while imprisoned.

“If he does something. I’ll know. I won’t be caught off guard again.”

And Barbara isn’t portrayed as a villain or as a hysterical and trembling victim who needs to stop, she’s portrayed with this sense of calm because this is logical to her.

Anyway, Joker breaks out, causes chaos, (turns out he's not actually dying the doctor's just told him in the hopes he might turn his life choices around) Nightwing beats the life out of him but Joker gets brought back to life by Batman because of the no kill rule.

And the story ends on Barbara, watching the screens and deciding to shut them off. Because The Joker thrives on attention, and even if he doesn’t know, he’s still in her head, still winning.

Still laughing. So Barbara shuts off the screens, depriving him of silent attention.

And the art tells that she’s conflicted. Maybe she’ll regret it, Joker could break out again. But she’s not going to let him make her feel powerless and obsessive again.

So, in summary: The Killing Joke viewed Barbara as a victim. An easy way to wring out some pain for Jim Gordon, Batman and the audience. The Batgirl special released afterwards from TKJ, while it did add some info, doesn’t change that Barbara was crippled just as a vehicle for angst.

Oracle Year One reinvented her, breathed new life into a character who could’ve been left as just “a victim in a chair” someone for the heroes to brood about how unfair it was.

And from that, Oracle became a major heroic powerhouse, an informant, a friend, a mentor, an inspiration.

Barbara hasn't always been written well, but the fact of it all is that someone looked at a disabled woman and went “No, this story isn’t going to end in a hospital bed.”

And, for all I have my complaints about later comics, that’s pretty cool.

Love you, Babs. Please come home.

[h0neytalk]

Mango v. LingQ v. Anki

I’ve been using the above apps for a while now and I couldn’t find a ton of somewhat easy to understand comparisons/explanations of how to use these various cult favorites. I figured I would make one if anyone is wondering where to start or making a departure from Duolingo.

Standard langblr disclaimer: I am ultimately just a person on the internet, I’m not an expert in language learning or a world renowned polyglot. I’m not even an expert in any of these apps/programs. These are all just thoughts and opinions I have about the value of each app to myself as an average consumer trying to learn a language and intended to help other people decide where to spend their time.

Anki

Anki is an open source spaced repetition flashcard program. It has an incredibly loyal fan base of med students and people who just want to learn things. This is also the one I have the least experience with so I recommend diving into forums and other blogs who go in depth on all the ways you can use this program. The web version is completely free and there is an official paid mobile app. There are also unofficial paid apps, this is the source of great drama and discourse and I’m not touching that here. Spaced repetition essentially means that the program will present you with cards at intervals designed to maximize your retention. When you flip over a card, you have four options that boil down to: fail, hard, good, easy. This is how the program determines what to show you and when.

Key Features:

The main draw is obviously the spaced repetition system. It’s much easier and more effective than sorting manually.

Because it’s open source, there is a way to customize the settings and cards to do basically whatever you want. There are also tons of premade decks to import and either use as-is or use as a base.

The online web version is completely free.

You can add really any media type to the cards. You can add sound clips of pronunciations, images, even drawings and diagrams.

Having the four options is particularly useful for the nuances of learning a language. For example, for general vocabulary decks I’ll assign one “point” to general meaning, tense/part of speech, and pronunciation. Getting the general meaning but not the other two means I select “hard” when I flip the card.

Best uses:

Vocab or learning a new alphabet. Specifically for drilling any of those “slippery” words. I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but there are some vocab words that just refuse to stick with me. I’ve found the Anki SRS does help pin them down.

Potential downsides:

While there are decks to import, there could always be errors that you won’t catch just seeing single vocab words with no context.

The available customization is labor intensive.

The UI for the official app and web version isn’t super slick and intuitive.

Even the best flashcards are ultimately just flashcards and have limits to their usefulness.

Mango

Mango is similar to Babbel or other programs that focus on speaking (and doing so quickly). I much prefer Mango to Babbel or any other similar app and find that it does what it says it will. Languages are split into units. Each unit has chapters and each chapter has lessons. A lesson will start with an optional pre quiz and a brief recording of a conversation that you will be able to follow by the end of the lesson. Each lesson concludes with a listening and reading quiz. It also utilizes spaced repetition and gives you daily flashcards to review.

You learn based on phrases rather than individual words. A long sentence will be presented in its entirety. The lesson will then go through each word individually before combining them into phrases and, finally, the full sentence from the start. Then you will learn vocabulary needed for variations. The activities are fairly standard for a language app: speaking, listening, multiple choice. You can also turn off the interactive feature and have the lesson run as a “speak and repeat” style podcast. It tracks the hours you’ve spent learning a language and there is an activity log, but no in depth stats.

Key features:

It is focused on speaking immediately.

Has a ton of languages and several dialects for those languages.

Focuses on phrases and patterns that are most useful if traveling or having brief, friendly interactions.

Presents information in a digestible way and isn’t overwhelming.

Includes culture and grammar notes.

$12.99 a month but most public libraries and schools give you free access. You can also set up a household account for multiple people and split the cost with friends/family.

The first lesson of any language is free, and some rare and indigenous languages are completely free to access.

Audio is native speakers. When you record yourself, your vocal wave pattern appears that you can compare with the native speaker.

Best uses:

If you are traveling soon and want to navigate basic, friendly interactions, this will get you there quick. Within 1-3 months easily, depending on the language and how often you practice.

I also recommend this as a starting place when you are totally new to a language or to learning a language in general. The structure is excellent for getting a feel for things.

This is also great if you studied a language previously and need to refresh your memory or get back into it.

Potential downsides:

The “record yourself” feature is fairly buggy and often freezes up. It can also be annoying to try and match the timing of the native speaker, but you don’t have to record audio to progress past those lesson points so it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.

It isn’t meant for total fluency. As stated, the lessons (at least that I have done) are focused on speaking while traveling and making small talk. Some of the early lessons teach you to say “sorry, I don’t speak [x]”. Which is very useful if going abroad soon, but less so if you would rather just be able to speak that language.

The regimented nature can make it feel slow/too easy if you are also using other methods.

The review flashcards only have a binary “yes/no” option which feels annoying for longer phrases or after using Anki-style cards.

With any course like this, you aren’t going to have much choice in the vocab you learn or prioritizing topics.

LingQ

I am honestly surprised I don’t see more about this. I think they have been making a bunch of updates recently so maybe the version I’m using is miles above previous ones, but it is shockingly powerful. It’s also the hardest to explain (which may be why I don’t see much written about it and why this is going to be a long section.) LingQ (pronounced “link”) operates on a hybrid comprehensible/massive input model. While Anki prioritizes memorization and Mango priorities speaking, LingQ focuses on comprehension and listening. LingQ is comprised of courses which are made up of lessons. There are pre-built courses made by LingQ but the real goal is to make your own (more on that later).

Each lesson within a course has an audio recording and a written transcript. Words you haven’t seen before are highlighted blue (when you start, that’s every word). You click the word to see the definition and assign it one of 5 statuses: ignore, new, recognized, familiar, learned, or known. “Ignore” is used for things like names or borrowed words, they won’t be counted in your stats. “Known” is for words you knew before seeing them. You likely won’t have any of these if you’re starting a new language with no prior experience. Levels 1-3 highlight the word yellow and it becomes a LingQ. You can create a LingQq using as many words as you want. You can manually change the status of a word when you see it. You can also do various review activities similar to Mango, and if you get a word right twice in a row it will automatically bump up a level. You can always adjust it back down if needed. LingQ is very focused on the value of listening to a language. You can add lessons to playlists and listen to them like a podcast.

My personal favorite part of LingQ is the ability to import lessons. Especially YouTube videos. The site has a browser extension that will import any content in your target language into a lesson as an embedded item. You can then read/listen to/watch that content right in the app and get “credit” for it. LingQ’s statistics are some of the coolest/most motivating I’ve seen. You get coins for completing tasks but those are really just to see a number get bigger. It also tracks the words you’ve read, how many words you know, the hours listened, and speaking/writing if you utilize their tutor marketplace or writing forum.

The free trial is very limited but it’s enough to poke around and get a feel for things before signing up, not necessarily to learn anything substantial. The monthly membership is $12.95 and there’s a $199 lifetime option as well. I definitely recommend spending some time playing around at the free level and then upping to monthly if you like it.

Key features:

The ability to import lessons. It will also create a simplified version of shorter content. This is an AI generated summary of whatever you’ve imported. I use this for videos where natural speaking cadence can make it hard to parse things sometimes. It’s easier/more productive if I know generally what’s going on.

The creation of LingQs. I just think it’s a really cool and useful way to approach comprehensible input. You can visually see the yellow fading as you understand more and more of a lesson.

You can export LingQs to Anki (theoretically). I’ve never done this myself and I’ve seen some forum posts saying it doesn’t work super well all the time but it is a built in feature.

In-depth stats tracking and the ability to consume all the content easily in app. The stats would be annoying if it wasn’t literally easier to watch a video via LingQ than on YouTube.

Community features. There are community challenges (like Duolingo) but also a forum to submit writing that will be corrected by native speakers and a marketplace of tutors to easily sign up for speaking lessons. The forum is free and volunteer based, but scrolling through I didn’t see anyone who didn’t have at least one reply. The tutors are paid at an hourly rate and you can also pay by the word to have them correct written work.

Super flexible. There really isn’t any one right way to use this app so you can structure it however you like and set your own goals/metrics.

Playlists and focus on listening. It really does help to constantly be immersed in what a language sounds like, and being able to read and listen to the same thing has been so nice.

Actually decently helpful emails and not just spam.

Best for:

Hardcore language learners. The app/site provides some guidance on how to get started and the basic idea, but you’ll need to play around with it and spend some time reading forum posts or the emails they send to find what works for you.

Getting to higher levels of fluency after maxing out other apps/self study methods.

People looking to spend a lot of time on language learning because they enjoy it. This isn’t snarky, but there’s a difference between wanting or needing to learn Spanish to communicate at work or on vacation and just really enjoying learning languages. This is an app for language nerds.

Potential downsides:

Very overwhelming. They technically say you can jump right in with 0 knowledge of a language and be good to go, but I think it would be hard to make a lot of progress unless you’ve learned other languages before. If you’re looking to learn a new language for the first time, I recommend starting with Mango to get your bearings.

Doesn’t teach new alphabets. This isn’t a huge issue for Mango since it’s speaking focused, but I wouldn’t jump into Arabic or Russian on LingQ without spending some time learning the alphabet with other methods.

User generated definitions. This is a double edged sword. The definitions being linked to sites like Globse can lead to wrong definitions, but because you’re seeing things in context it’s easier to catch. And looking into what a phrase means is a great way to learn if you are really into languages.

The import feature isn’t 100% perfect when it comes to videos. It will only create a transcript when the video has captions enabled or a transcript provided, otherwise it just shows up as an audio file. It will also sometimes randomly just not be able to import a video which can be annoying, but in the grand scheme of things these are very minor annoyances.

Time commitment. The method doesn’t require a ton of actively sitting down and reviewing vocab or reading new words, but it does assume that you’ll swap out listening to music or podcasts while going about your day with listening to content in your target language. This is all well and good unless you really enjoy listening to specific content while doing tasks or need help not getting distracted. It’s going to be a lot of incomprehensible noise for a while before you can parse it. This might not be a downside as much as something to keep in mind when considering how effective it’s going to be for you.

Not as active of a community. Maybe it’s just for my particular languages, but there definitely aren’t a ton of people actively doing things like challenges. This really doesn’t matter much to me but it could be a bummer if you’re looking for that.

tl;dr just tell me how to learn things

If you need to learn a new alphabet, start with that. Otherwise, Mango to get your bearings, Anki to add to your vocab as you get bored with Mango, and LingQ to realistically get “fluent”. Then start writing and speaking either using tutors or people you know or local language groups.

[nottskyler]

I’m really disappointed in the amount of history we get in the book of Helaman. I don’t know if it was caused by poor record keeping at the time (mildly supported by Christ telling them to add Samuel the Lamanite’s prophecy to the record) or if Mormon just didn’t think it important (supported by Helaman 3).

Because literally this is a period of time where race is a problem. Helaman 3:1–3 tried to claim there was nothing wrong and then all of a sudden a whole bunch of people who used to be comfortable with the Nephites move north and the majority of these people happen to be descendants of Laman (Helaman 3:12). Hmm, I think someone thought racism wasn’t contention and wasn’t actually a problem. I don’t think large groups suddenly up and migrate for fun. Did the Nephites enact a black priesthood ban or something? We don’t know except for the fact that Samuel the Lamanite’s prophecy was not considered important enough to record.

There is also the prosperity gospel that seemed to be mainstream enough that the record writer first said the Church had pride entering into its heart, only to remember that the organization is made up of people and they were truly the ones culpable (a truth we need in our “corporations are people too” era).

And even though Nephi and Lehi were the prophets and imprisoned, it was the dissenters and the Lamanites preaching to each other and the voice of presumably the Lord. Nephi and Lehi did nothing, which makes me wonder if the Lamanites and Nephite dissenters were the only ones being called to repentance that day. Especially since Nephi and Lehi went home and the Lamanites became more righteous even though the Nephites had their prophets back (because they were rejected by the people up north, you know the people who moved because of racism).

I’m fairly certain I’ve already expressed my disdain for Nephi praying on a public street and prophesying murder and how it doesn’t really feel legit. Also, he only goes on about stop seeking gain over everything else (while he can afford a garden next to a major road in a city) but Samuel goes on more than that and warns them about lifting up false prophets and following them while decrying true prophets as false (though Nephi does not seem to be included in this group so maybe he did repent). Nephi just doesn’t seem like a great prophet because of all these things.

So yeah, the best part of Helaman is always the prophecies of Samuel, but I’m wondering what we could’ve learned if we had better records of race and what actually caused the strife between the former Lamanites and the Nephites. If we were given insight as to what was convincing people to dissent (though most of the time this fact isn’t shared except when they want to have a king; we never learn why Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah dissented from the Church even) so we can better relate in our day.

But sometimes we are forced to learn the same lesson because people refuse to admit they had the same problem. We are forced to make mistakes that could’ve been prevented if previous generations were more willing to share their learning process. It’s just that I see an excellent lesson on race issues that we have needed forever but it is only a vague outline and so we have nothing.

Honestly, I feel the lack of repentance for the Priesthood and Temple ban is why the Church is going through something similar for LGBT people. Because we haven’t had a true change of heart in our doctrine that eradicates oppression. The Church still glories in being better than others through things we can’t control. Hopefully our history won’t be recorded with such broad strokes to hide our mistakes so that no one else has to go through a similar process of repeating these mistakes.