#words that are not in my coworkers vocabularies

[abejapeludx]

at my new job, half of my coworkers think im a cis man, and half think im a cis woman. i do not see this ending well. idk what will go wrong, but it will.

[yenpondering]

ngl I wanna make a lil clown mascot for myself. just a lil one for fun.

[nay0hmeee]

More and more I realize that most people do not have an expansive vocabulary

Some of y'all didn't pay attention in English class and it shows

[amethysttribble]

I feel the need to reblog this old post- which I still think is useful and I stand by the original body of; though I’ve made a few edits to more accurately reflect my now greater knowledge of real world linguistic history- because it’s going around again lately with some additions.

Some of which I do not strictly align with in my own thoughts on the Matter of Thorn and some of which are… pure misinformation, I can’t put it another way. So I just want to clarify.

I think it’s important to remember as I go forward, though, that Quenya is a fictional language and the phase out of the Thorn we see in English is NOTHING like what happens in Tolkien’s works. It’s all made up. It’s fine, we’re all fine, okay?

Mostly, I just have two things to say:

1) I don’t think there is, frankly ever, a right or wrong way for native speakers of a language to speak that language. No one was in the wrong here.

Whether the Noldor used the Thorn or not, the accents that developed around it literally hold no moral or even linguistic weight. People have different dialects and pronunciations, it happens every day, it’s fine.

To make that point, I almost want to say ‘no one was speaking with a lisp, okay’, but it feels rude. Some people probably did speak with a lisp, though that wasn’t what caused this linguistic fight, and I don’t was to belittle or, honestly ‘other’ that way of speaking.

The almost point-and-laugh way ‘lisping’ is talked about surrounding Quenya as a way to delegitimize either side of this linguistic debate rubs me the wrong way. In the same way people have accents, some people have speech impediments. This is a normal thing, not an argument winner.

2) Indis had literally NO dog in the Thorn fight. Leave her out of it. PLEASE just leave her out of it.

Some key quotes about the whole situation from the Shibboleth:

“The change [thorn] > S must have therefore have been a conscious and deliberate change agreed to and accepted by a majority of the Noldor, however initiation, after the separation of their dwellings from the Vanyar. It must have occurred after the birth of Miriel, but (probably) before the birth of Feanor.”

By the word of god, Miriel was probably still alive when this debate started and Indis was far away. Even when she did marry Finwe and lived among the Noldor-

“Indis was a Vanya, and it might be thought that she would in this point at least have please Feanor, since the Vanyar adhered to [thorn]. Nonetheless, Indis adopted S. Not as Feanor believed in rejection of Miriel, but in loyalty to Finwe.”

As a note, just as I’m not interested in hating Indis, I’m not interested in hating Finwe either. That being said, so we have full context here:

“For after the rejection of his prayers by Miriel, Finwe accepted the change (which had by not become almost universal among his people), although in deference to Miriel he had adhered to [thorn] while she lived. Therefore Indis said: ‘I have joined the people of the Noldor, and I will speak as they do.’”

Okay? TLDR: Indis’s natural inclination was to speak as a Vanya, to use the thorn, and she didn’t, specifically to please the Noldor. If any ‘political statement’ was being made, it was by the VAST majority of the population of the Noldor and it started LONG before Indis arrived on the scene, and she just went with the flow. That political statement, should it exist, has NOTHING to do with Miriel as a person, it was just a debate she engaged in at the time and then she and her legacy were unfortunately caught up in it after death.

It was never about Miriel v Indis, it was about (insert any kind of interesting political debate you find interesting). Really, we should go wild with this more. What kind of involved, long standing political movement did this family issue co-opt? There’s a lot of room for freedom there! (I’m going to start headcanoning it as a class struggle).

But while we’re on the subject of ‘Indis’s line’ and any ‘benefit’ they might receive from this linguistic kerfluffle (none, in my opinion)-

“…[Finarfin] often sought peace among the Teleri, whose language he learned… loved the Vanyar (his mother’s people) and the Teleri, and in his house [thorn] was used.”

Finarfin used the Thorn, like his wife, relatives, and in-laws. So did his sons, but-

“It is clear nonetheless that opposition to Feanor soon became a dominant motive with Galadriel, while her pride did not take the firm wishing to be different from her own people. So while she knew well the history of their tongue and all the reasons of the lore-masters, she certainly used S in her own daily speech.”

The ONLY person stated to be making a political statement with lack of Thorn usage was Galadriel. Hot-headed, prideful, young Galadriel. Fingolfin doesn’t even get that mentioned as a motive. Frankly, I believe he didn’t have one, Nolofinwe was literally just speaking like all his friends and classmates probably did; like his father did.

The Thorn being used as a heavy political and familial complication during the unrest of the Noldor is fun. I love it. I think it’s such a neat worldbuilding and character building thing for Feanor, as he desperate tries to hold onto his mother’s legacy with his fingernails. It’s an interesting conflict and I encourage people to explore it.

But let’s be really clear here onwho was on what side here, who was on a ‘political’ side at all (frankly: just Galadriel), and who wasn’t on ANY side, because they just didn’t care (Indis; most characters). There was no mastermind or conspiracy going on.

It was a linguistic shift. They happen. One Indis simply did not care about.

———

I originally made this post specifically to try dispel some of the mystery, and, yes, some jokes I didn’t find funny, around the Thorn and the ‘Feanorian Accent’. I wanted to provide information, so that people could learn- no shame, no insult meant, no harm done or strings attached, just a little guide to help (and, yes, maybe cut down on those lisp jokes).

What I didn’t want to do was turn that linguistic ignorance around as a way to insult the ‘accent of Indis’s Line’ (not a real thing).

I just… I don’t know, friends, what I’m trying to say here is that no one should be insulted, mocked, hated, have aspersions cast upon, or belittled for the way they speak. This is an interesting inflection point in the Silmarillion but it’s only interesting if you let it be nuanced. Otherwise, it’s just mean.

About the Thorn (Þ, þ)

The thorn, as a letter, gets a lot of mention in the Silm Fandom, for obvious reasons. For such a petty linguistic fight in a very grand story, it’s pretty emblematic of Feanor and all his… Feanor-ness. It’s also a subtle, fun way to show loyalties through language!

That being said, I see a lot of people using the Thorn incorrectly, because the Shibboleth doesn’t explain it all that well and it’s pretty obscure trivia knowledge at this point. But I have too much trivia. So here’s a short run down on the Thorn- what it is, and what it isn’t- for all your general linguistic pettiness needs!

þ is a letter. It is pronounced ‘th’. 

It is not an alternative pronunciation for ‘s’.

It is an additional letter to the alphabet, an alphabet which would have already contained the letter ‘s’.

Historical and Linguistic explanation under the cut.

Keep reading

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐍 ✮ PEDRI

summary. your boyfriend loves you more than yesterday but less than tomorrow.

warnings. none just pure fluff. i’m so glad my starboy is back.

gabri speaks! listened to iman by maria becerra and it’s so pedri coded. had to write this immediately.

the herd of sweaty players heading through the tunnel to their respective locker rooms was a surreal sight. this was the biggest assignment you had gotten in the three years of you working for a sports journalism column. obviously you knew your boyfriend had a hand in the big step and often received sly remarks from the coworkers you had never gotten along with because of it. luckily for you, you had never been one to undermine yourself or listen to the comments of others.

there was also your boyfriend who would constantly read your pieces out loud and compliment you on your endless knowledge of the sport and plethora of creative words. it was like having your own personal editor. you yearned for the nights before his breaks where the two of you would cozy up in front of the tv revising your works in progress.

“why can’t you ever write about me like this? actually why can’t you write about me period?” he would whine with his flushed cheeks making a special appearance.

“i don’t write about you because they only have me covering the scandinavian leagues.” you said matter-of-factly.

“just tell them you’re dating me.” he would always say.

you never did but with the spanish press it was inevitable that your relationship would see the light of day. your world had flipped instantly and you found yourself on the next flight to germany. it took you a lot of reassuring words to help you understand that you deserved to be there. your boyfriend didn’t write your pieces for you, you did, you were the important figure. so, there you stood with a mic patiently waiting for the player you’d be interviewing to show up.

your co-worker had failed to mention who you’d be interviewing which had you scrambling for various questions to ask. you were fortunate to have an extensive vocabulary for different positions so you were sure that no matter who you’d be talking to your manage to make them comfortable. when you’re met with incredibly pink cheeks you realize why your cameraman was so giddy on the walk towards the tunnel. they were making you interview your own boyfriend.

“live in one!” your cameraman yells loud enough for everyone to hear.

“you’re such a dick!” you quietly scold pedri who’s currently smirking at you.

“you wouldn’t have done it if you knew.” he shrugged and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes because it was true.

you notice the cameraman counting down from three and quickly regain your composure. it’s fascinating for your boyfriend seeing how well you hide your affection for him. this is the first time he’s ever seen you in action and it’s quite mesmerizing the way the lights make you glow and how well you speak. somehow with all the chaos surrounding you two and the sweat dripping off his forehead you’re more beautiful than ever. it must be because you’re in your element he thinks.

“croatia has really done a great job of keeping the ball outside their box, do you think you guys will be able to break through?” you move the mic towards him waiting for an answer.

“of course i mean my connection with rodri is just working super for well for us i think we’ll be able to advance through the midfield more in the second half. modric will not make it easy but that’s why we’re here, to stop him.” he pants.

“lamine has been excellent throughout the first half how do you plan on using him to improve the play?” you scramble to say as time is running out.

“well lamine is excellent with the ball i think he’ll able to get us far into their zone. it’s really a team effort. he’s probably ecstatic right now and that’ll definitely help us.” he answers.

“thank you pedri. good luck in the second half.” your words contain honesty and you give him the most sincere smile.

“thank you, hermosa.” he compliments you on live television.

you want nothing more than to slap him but his hands around your hips take you by surprise. his lips are so close to yours and you immediately forget the camera is still rolling. it’s a quick peck but it’s a kiss nothing less. it’s your turn to display your flushed cheeks. in the blink of an eye he’s gone and you’re left alone to deal with the aftermath. you hear your coworkers tease you through your earpiece and the cameraman is currently laughing at you. you’re quick to redirect to the anchors back at headquarters. that night you and pedri make headlines for your performance in the tunnel.

[spookypete-94]

Marshmallows

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Been writing some about our lovely Captain, but figured it was time to give some love to our favorite skeleton man. A goofy drabble based off an incident with my coworkers at a gathering. Wrote with a female reader in mind, but could be read as either or.

If you had asked the members from TF141 to describe you, the first word that would come to their minds would probably be deadly. Methodical and practical would come next followed by intelligent. The ultimate fuck around and find out package.

Prankster would not even be in their vocabulary when thinking of you because you are so reserved, so quiet. How that was about to change in Simon Riley's book.

After a long, dangerous, and destructive deployment, Price had extended the invitation of a bonfire at his newly purchased hunting cabin that was secluded from the rest of the world. Happy to spend some time with them that wasn't meant to be where you were all on edge, you happily obliged.

For the party you had brought the items to make smore's and hot chocolate. A variety of marshmallows to be used. Big ones for the smore's, little ones for the hot drink.

As everyone gathered around, had a few drinks, and told stories outside of work. Like normal, you had kept quiet. Finally excusing yourself as you went into make yourself a hot mug, grabbing the marshmallows. Totally not suspicious right? Unbeknownst to you however, the tallest and largest one of the group always had an eye watching you. Everywhere you went, either on the battlefield or in this instance right now. He always had the urge to make sure you were ok.

He decided to go in after he could see your shadow stretching on your tippy toes and then crouching down below through the blinds. Quietly, he rolled the sliding glass door open peeking, taking steps to the side as he cleared the room. Leave it to him to use a battle tactic to find out what you were doing. He saw you with your arm up the ice maker on the front of the fridge.

"Wha' on God's green earth are you doin'?" he asked befuddled with such an action.

"Nothin'!" you squealed, turning around quickly, marshmallow falling out in suite hitting the floor. With haste, you kicked it behind you so hopefully he had not seen what it was. It was then that he took large steps, looking behind you and saw the half empty marshmallow bag in your hand. Looking up, he saw marshmallows on the cabinet door handles. Marshmallows on the buck's antlers that Price had shot adorned the wall, even some on his eyes. Marshmallows on the corners of the barstools. Marshmallows galore.

"You 'ave been busy." He said, tone coated in surprise as he took in your work.

"Just decorating Price's new place for a housewarming party." You quipped coyly. "Go look in the bathroom."

He did as you told going down a short hallway and peeking in. The toilet paper roll had been slid off, a large marshmallow impaled in its place. A slight inconvenience to anyone who wasn't paying attention. But it didn't end there. Marshmallows were in the shower stall, some with drawn on faces.

Coming back out of the bathroom, he saw you with your hand up the ice maker again, the bag you had now empty.

"Clever." Was all he could say, still stunned that you had planned such a joke.

"Just don't tattle on me." You said grabbing two mugs, one for you and one for him and actually started making the hot chocolate you had come in for.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Humor in his voice. Again, still surprised you had the ability to joke around like this. He took another freshly opened bag from you and placed some up high joining you in on your prank. You grinned up at him watching him stretch to reach the higher places.

Gaz and Soap then stepped into the open door, a slight stumble to their steps from their current buzz. Plopping small marshmallows in both drinks, you slid one to Ghost and stepped out of the way of Gaz who came in to make everyone another round of mixers.

Both you and Ghost watched out of the corner of your eye as Gaz lifted a glass tumbler to the ice maker and pressed. It took a few seconds longer, but finally a marshmallow tumbled out, and then another.

"Wha' the fuck??" Gaz said confused. "Capt'n I think your ice maker is messed up!" He called out the door. Taking the opportunity, you and Ghost went back outside and towards the fire, moving out of the way for Price who went inside to check out the ice maker.

"Shouldn't be, just bought the damn thing." He said approaching it and pressing the glass against the ice maker, where again more marshmallows fell out.

It was at this point; Soap came out from the bathroom.

"Real fuckin' funny," Price said looking up at Soap before throwing a marshmallow at him.

"Ya blamin' me? I didnea fuckin' do it!" Soap said laughing, before picking up the marshmallow and eating it. "Should take a look in the loo though."

You looked past the fire the entire time, watching it unfold inside. Price fully blaming Gaz and Soap for your harmless prank. Bickering amongst each other In this moment Ghost sat next to you, trying to hide his laughter. Now he understood who the master prankster was. He had seen this many times before. Something was done to either of them and they had placed the blame on everyone but you. Because you come across as aloof and sweet… but it’s always been you.

The thought crossed his mind. You were the ultimate package now. Beautiful, dangerous, and funny.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

John Price Masterlist

[manfuckthisimout]

This look RAHHHHHH

Your relationship with your boss was an odd one. It was obvious to everyone in the precinct that you and the detective were more than just boss and secretary. But you would never admit that, and August D had a weird way of showing his fondness. It was the same way every workday—come in at 6:30, find the detective already at his desk, make him coffee, start the day. He would fuss and scold you for little things, make excuses to stay at your desk and talk to you.

You two kind of danced around each other, an unspoken possessive from the detective, and you playing coy until he finally fesses up that he likes you.

He storms out of his office while you’re scheduling his next meeting.

“Didn’t I tell you not to mix up these documents?” he says, holding up a manila file folder. He looks quite frustrated, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled past his forearms.

Yelling at you like this does virtually nothing in his favor—if anything it just makes you rub your thighs together. “I’m sorry sir,” you smooth out, batting your eyelashes up at him. “I thought your desk needed some tidying, and you were out in a case so..” He gives you a pointed look. “That doesn’t give you a reason to touch anything in my office. If I want you to tidy anything of mine, I’ll ask you to.” You nod, turning your attention back to the computer screen in front of you.

“Did you schedule my meeting with Captain Jung?” He asks, leaning over the front of your desk. You can feel him staring into your forehead, almost trying to make you squirm in your seat. “Of course sir, I just finished. Your meeting is for 4:30 today.” “Good.” He gives you one last long look over before pushing off your desk and walking back into his office.

You look up from your computer, staring at the deep mahogany that separates you and your boss. “Y’know, we have a running bet pool on which of you is gonna confess first.” Your coworker, Su-min slides over to your desk and props her hand under her chin. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on between me and him,” you sigh. “Sure. Tell it to the rest of us.” She chides back. “Don’t you have a case to be doing right now? That missing girl right? How long has it been?” “About a week or so. I really hope we can find her alive, but it’s starting to look grim.” She grimaces. “I hope you end up finding her either way—“

“Y/N! My office, now!”

Suddenly his door was cracked, and you could see him walking back to his desk, waiting for you.

You turn to Su-min and grimace. “Duty calls. Tell me about the case after I get done with this.” She grins at you. “Don’t start fooling around in there, keep it PG!” You roll your eyes, standing from your desk and walking into the detective’s office.

“You called for me detective?” You answer sweetly. “Sit. I have something to talk to you about.” You sit in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. He gets up and rounds the front of his desk, leaning against it to look at you better. “We’ve known each other for quite sometime now,” he starts, arms folded and head down. He smirks. “You and I both know that I’ve been dancing around you these past years-“ “Is that what you call it sir?” He pauses. “Excuse me?” “Is that what you call it, this situation I mean. I was very aware of your feelings about me from the day we met sir. The whole precinct knows how you act around me.” “..I’ve been that bad at hiding it then?” “Pretty much.”

He sighs. “I know I haven’t been…vocal..about my feelings for you. I’d like to fix that. Do you want to go to lunch with me sometime?” You smile at his bluntness. He’s always been bad with words like this, saving his poetical vocabulary for high-stress situations with criminals. “What’s so funny?” He asks, brow raised, smile on his face. “You are. You’re so bad with words sir..” You giggle. He leans down, gripping either side of the arms on the chair. He’s so close to you now, noses almost touching. “I am, hm? And that’s funny?” You nod. He chuckles. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” “Lunch right? What time?” “Lunch time.” You grimace. “Well, I assumed that much. 12 or 1?” “12:30.” “12:30 it is. I’ll mark it on your personal calendar.”

He lifts himself from his position, rounding his desk again and sitting in his chair. He stares at you longingly. “I’d suggest you get back out there. Wouldn’t want to keep the office waiting on who won that bet.” You chuckle. “Yes sir.”

Second fic rawr

This came to me in a feverish daydream

Also because of boredom

Hope you like!!

[rodolfoparras]

The other day I was joking around with my coworker he asked me to hand him something and I jokingly told him to say please and without hesitation without any trace of embarrassment no mocking to his tone even with a soft smile he goes please like it’s the most simple word in his vocabulary thought I would pass out on the spot actually

[benkyoutobentou]

Beginner Manga Recommendations for Japanese Learners

It's time, you've done your due diligence in studying. Now it's time to jump into native material. But where to start? Here are a few manga series that I've read that I think would be a reasonable place for a Japanese learner to start their immersion journey.

Disclaimer: I haven't read every series, and the manga that's interesting to me might not be interesting to you. We also all encounter different words as we go along our language learning journeys. A series that I find relatively easy might have you looking up every other word. The trick is to not get discouraged and just keep on pushing through! As with everything, it gets easier the more you practice.

消え���初恋 - アルコ＆ひねくれ渡: This BL series follows a group of four friends and their experiences with love in high school (it also has a drama adaptation that I highly recommend! Available to watch for free on Viki). This series is so silly and just a fun time. The art has great visual gags and it's definitely a series where you can sit down and not even realize that suddenly you've gone through an entire volume and why didn't you buy more of this series to start with? It has furigana on everything, but the characters do speak pretty casually, so there's some slang and less standard language. This series is completed with nine volumes.

佐々木と宮野 - 春園ショウ: This is another sweet BL about Miyano, a high school first year, who catches the eye of an upperclassman, Sasaki. After asking to borrow Miyano's book, the two bond over a shared enjoyment of BL manga. The vocabulary is pretty simple in this one as well, but it does use quite a bit of otaku slang, which can be difficult if you've never encountered it before. It has furigana on everything, though! This series is ongoing with nine volumes and also has a spin off series titled 平野と鍵浦 which is also ongoing with four volumes.

月刊少女野崎くん - 椿いづみ: The first manga I ever read in Japanese! This series follows a high schooler, Sakura, as she confesses to her crush and classmate, Nozaki. However, Nozaki thinks that Sakura is just a fan of his shoujo manga series, and recruits her to be his assistant. This series is so enjoyably silly with a wonderful cast of characters that absolutely steal the show. There's a bit of vocabulary specific to the process of making manga, but it isn't too overwhelming. There's also plenty of casual speech and some great moments that can't quite come out in translation (bonus fact: I actually wrote a paper on this series and how humor is translated in one of my university linguistics class). It also has furigana on everything. It's ongoing with fifteen volumes.

加瀬さんシリーズ - 高嶋ひろみ: This adorable little GL series follows two high school aged girls, popular and athletic Kase and the shy gardener Yamada, as their relationship develops over their high school years. The vocabulary in this one is relatively simple with the exception of some more specific words, but those tend to pop up time and time again. This one doesn't have furigana but I think it's a great introduction to readying manga without furigana! This series is completed with five volumes, but there's an ongoing sequel series called　山田と加瀬さん that currently has three volumes released.

ささやくように恋を唄う - 竹嶋えく: This is a music based GL series about a high school first year, Kino, who tells an upperclassman, Nagi, that she loves her music. Nagi, however, misunderstands this as Kino confessing her love for her. The story follows both the relationship between Kino and Nagi as well as the trials and tribulations of Nagi's band. This is another one without furigana, but the vocabulary tends to be simple enough that I think it's still pretty accessible. It's ongoing with eight current volumes.

かけた月とドーナッツ - 雨水汐: Our last GL, this follows two coworkers, Uno and Satou, and their blossoming relationship in a society that pushes conformity and marriage on women. I really loved the way this series depicted coming into one's sexuality as an adult. Another one without furigana, but simple vocabulary regardless. A possible difficulty with this one might be the office vocabulary, though. This series is completed with four volumes.

[sorchathered]

Sweet Home Texas pt 1.

Summary- it’s here! Chapter one of my new series/ my submission for my birthday Rom-Com challenge! I am straying from the plot of Sweet Home Alabama a bit but I hope you all love it!

Pairing-Jake “Hangman” Seresin x oc (Ella Mcree Seresin), Bradley Bradshaw x oc (Ella Mcree Seresin)

Warnings- language, drinking, eventual smut

Stepping out of her shitty rental car into the dimly lit honky tonk parking lot Ella Mccree can already feel the pain of a headache forming behind her eyes. She flew out from San Diego on a red eye to get to this shithole, filled with enough anger to fly the damn plane herself. She swore when she was here the last time that she would never set foot in this damn town again and yet here she is, pushing through the sweaty bodies of horn dog cowboys and navy pilots to find the bane of her existence.

He’s here of course, holding court by the pool tables, looking every bit the cocky asshole he presents himself to be. He’s always been a bit of a douche, that was part of his appeal; well until it wasn’t. She couldn't help the way her stomach flipped as she looked at him, the memories flooding her mind would make anyone blush. First kiss, first time, her first everything had been with Jake Seresin, he was supposed to be the only one, but that hadn’t worked out as planned. Nothing had where they were concerned.

She squared her shoulders, his pretty boy looks didn’t work on her anymore and she was here in this tacky bar for a reason, he wouldn’t distract her. In her ridiculously expensive pumps and form fitting black suit she marched over to him and dropped her briefcase in the middle of the pool table, a chorus of what the hells ringing out as she rounds on him, perfectly manicured finger poking him in the chest, shock clearly written all over his face before he schools his features. She’d caught him by surprise; good, maybe this time he’d actually listen.

“Jake! You stubborn redneck hick, I swear to God if I have to cut your damn hand off and sign these papers myself I will.” If he was phased by her colorful vocabulary he didn’t show it, simply throwing back the rest of his beer and sitting it on the corner of the nearest table as he looked her over, the mischief in his eyes evident in his gaze.

“Hey baby, it’s been a while. How’re things at home?” He said with a grin, knowing it would absolutely irritate the shit out of her, he loved riling her up, it was almost like he had a death wish sometimes but then again being an ex fighter pilot just confirmed that.

“Hey. Baby?! Are you kidding me right now?! Oooh!! You are the most annoying person on the planet!” She said shaking her head jerkily and balling her hands into fists, she needed to get it together. There was a reason to be here, get it done and get the hell out of this town, don’t let him distract you Ella you’re better than this.

Someone behind her said something to the extent of damn I like this girl and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a brunette woman sending impressed looks her way. Well at least someone was entertained, she thought.

She leaned across him to grab the papers from her briefcase, his body stiffening under her and she knew despite his cool exterior she had him rattled. She ran a hand across his uniform top, noticing the falter in his grin as he blinked at her and slammed the stack of papers into his chest.

“I have sent these damn papers through your lawyer 4 times in the past 6 months and they keep coming back unsigned, if you are so incompetent that you can’t use a pen, maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to fly a jet, given your lack of a brain. Sign the damn papers Jake, it’s been 3 years. You very clearly aren’t interested in being a husband so why the hell won't you just divorce me?”

Everyone around them seems to go quiet at this, none of his coworkers even knew he had been in a serious relationship, let alone married.

He sticks a toothpick between his lips and pretends to mull over her words as she taps her heel on the sticky bar floor. She already knows what he’s going to say, the same bullshit line he’s given her their entire life. “You know damn well why Ella Bella, because I promised to love you til the day you die and as far as I can tell you’re still breathin’ so we’re still married.”

She rakes a hand through her wavy red hair and gives him a look that could burn the world down. “If I could go back knowing what I know now I’d have never made that damn promise. Stop holding me hostage and sign the damn papers, I’m not leaving town until you do.” She yanks up her bag and stomps out towards the exit, everyone in the group parting like the Red Sea to let her out. Meanwhile Jake still seems cool as a cucumber, completely unbothered as he lines up his next shot and chuckles as he watches her walk out of the bar.

“Uh you planning on giving us an explanation Hangman?” Natasha Trace is the first to speak up, she does enjoy seeing him brought down a peg from time to time but she’s pretty sure she’s seen him more upset over what was for lunch at the dining facility than he is right now.

“Oh that? Eh she’ll be alright, Ella is all bark and no bite. She knows how much I love her, just gotta remind her is all, she and I will be just fine when she comes to her senses.” He seems awfully sure of himself, but she’d noticed something he clearly didn’t. A big ass diamond ring on her ring finger, no wedding band in sight. She has a thought to say something but thinks better of it; let him crash and burn all on his own and maybe invite the girl out for lunch and some gossip if she can find out her number. Jake’s hometown is just a few miles out from the Kingsville Navy base they’re stationed at, maybe an old friend of his has her info, she files that away for tomorrow’s problems and grabs another drink.

Ella is heated, she clumsily fumbles her keys by her car door as she curses, she knew he wouldn’t go for it but damnit if she didn’t hope he’d come to his senses. They’d been split for almost three years?! What was keeping him from letting her go? Pride? Idiocy?! She didn’t have time for this, she had plans of her own and they didn’t include begging her delusional husband for a divorce for the millionth time.

Her phone began to buzz in her pocket as she finally got the car unlocked and settled into the seat. She heaved a sigh out and put on her brightest smile, answering the face time call with fake enthusiasm.

“Well? How’d he take it?” the raspy voice on the other side of the line says, tan skin and bronze hair and those puppy dog eyes she loves so much gazes at her over the screen, and he can tell she’s pissed. “About as well as I thought. I’m gonna be here a few more days I reckon, maybe I can get one of them to get him to pull his head out of his ass, because it definitely didn’t work like I hoped.” She says the last words with a waver in her voice, she hates that she’s tearing up over this.

Bradley Bradshaw sighs over the screen and runs his hand over his face, he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. “Need me to come down there? I can hop a flight? We can order a pizza and get trashed.”

As good as that sounds, his presence would only make it worse, and they both know it.

“No baby, it’s ok. I’ll see you soon alright? I just need to go to my hotel and sleep, I’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe call Natasha and see if she can help me with some intel though? She seemed pretty interested in what was going on, and might be an ally.”

He knows Natasha Trace well, and she definitely would be very helpful if he asked, so he nods his head in agreement and ends the call with I love yous and promises of a back rub when she gets home.

He knows the bomb that’s going to go off as soon as Seresin finds out everything, but he also knows the real reason Jake won’t give Ella what she wants. It’s guilt plain and simple, and Bradley isn’t interested in watching his fiancée get hurt by his former rival anymore. Only Ella knows the whole truth, but are either men ready for it?

A/N- this is gonna be a doozy y’all, prepare for these three to be put through the ringer! Next week we’ll get some more on Jake and Ella’s backstory and why they fell apart, hope you enjoyed chapter one!

🏷️ tagging- @attapullman @seitmai @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @jessicab1991 @roosterforme @bradshawssugarbaby @mynameismckenziemae

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two

TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary, nsfw, angst, forced proximity

After a hellish 24 hour shift, you’re starting to think you should have taken him up on his offer. Give me a foot rub then get the fuck out. However, it most definitely would not have ended at only a foot rub. You know yourself too well to think you can keep your grubby hands off that man in any sort of private, intimate setting. Yeah, you’re staying the hell away from Ludlow. 

It’s gross, but you don’t even take a shower, and pass out cold on the couch as soon as your rat's nest of hair hits the throw pillow. 

Dark, honey eyes welcome you to the land of unconsciousness. The place where you can’t control your disobedient vagina so easily. And, apparently, she liked Tom Ludlow a lot. Especially his hands. Fuck. Thick fingers, surprisingly gentle and teasing, tucking up inside you, coaxing at that sweet little spot you can’t quite get at on your own. His mouth swallowing your moans, tongue licking urgently against your teeth, practically eating you alive. Something hard and velvet pressed against your thighs. 

A loud knock wakes you up in the same position you started at. Face down on the couch, except now feeling even grosser because of the slick arousal between your legs. You stumble to the door, pull it open. It’s Ms. Higgs, your sweet next door neighbor. 

“Oh, hello, y/n, I heard…. Yelling? Is everything okay?” 

You look at her stupidly. “Yelling….?”

“Yes, it sounded like you were in distress. Sorry, is this a bad time?” She eyes your just-got-hit-by-a-semi-truck appearance, complete with gore and all. 

Oh. The dream. Oh… oh. You feel yourself freeze despite the embarrassed heat warming your skin. “Uh.” Yes, great, make her think you’re out of your mind. You try a terse smile. “Oh. Sorry. I had a long shift and I must have been having a nightmare.” 

How in the hell did you pass nursing school?

Thank God she looks like she wants to leave as soon as possible. “Right. Well.” Clears her throat. “I’m glad you’re okay. Have a good day.” She moves fast for an older woman, shutting herself back into the apartment next door before you can bid goodbye. 

Your neighbor now hates you, and you’re definitely blaming Ludlow for it. 

Shower, eat, masturbate. No, wait. Masturbate, then eat. No. Eat first so then you can masturbate as many times as it takes to get Mr. I’m a Pretty, Dark Eyed Cop With Huge Hands - 

You have to literally pinch yourself to stop this train of thought from turning into a derailed crash. 

Your plans fail miserably, and that is actually Ludlow’s fault, but you refuse to admit it. At least you’re eliminating two steps at once with the handy dandy shower head.

And then again after you eat. And then again in your bed. And, damn, you really need to invest in a vibrator like Sheila told you to do a long time ago. 

You don’t consider yourself a prude by any means; there’s just no time for adult toys or one night stands. Your job, more often than not, consumes your life, and you like it that way. The fast pace, the interesting medical anomalies you get to see, your funny coworkers, cute and oh so nice Dr. Julian who brings you all Starbucks on Sundays. You usually pick up more shifts than you’re scheduled, fueled by rising violent crime rates in the inner cities. There is a satisfaction in bringing someone back from the dead, especially someone young with their whole life ahead of them. Grim Reaper? Psh. Kiss my ass. 

***

Sometimes you need a break, and these next two days you have off are going to be that time away. 

Except, on the second day, you’re bored, so you end up going in for an eight hour shift. 

You have a bad habit of not viewing your patient’s info before you get into their exam room, favoring the ol’ fashioned method of actually looking at the person instead of a computer. As soon as you walk into your next assigned room, however, you vow to change your messy bitch ways. Handsome Cop - the one you refuse to admit you spent two full days rubbing yourself off to - sits on the cot, grinning at you like the cat that caught the mouse. 

You do feel a little bit like a tiny mouse under that hefty stare, scurrying in and going right to the computer so you don’t have to make eye contact longer than necessary - well, long enough for ruined underwear. 

“Hey.” 

“Hello, did your stitches come open?” You try to maintain a strictly professional voice, but you can tell by the sharpening of his grin it’s not working. 

“What? You’re not gonna fight with me today?” 

“Do nurses fight people where you’re from?” Here you are, playing into his game. Stupid. 

“There she is.” 

Your jaw tightens. “What are you being seen for, Mr. Ludlow?”

“Ouch, surnames? Really?”

“Surprised you know what that big word means.”

His gorgeous eyebrow cocks as he looks around the monitor at you, and you tuck yourself further behind the computer to hide. 

“Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Well, he puts his right hand up. His left can only rise so far into the air. “Yeah, I tore them.” 

“Can you show me?” 

He strips his shirt, revealing a long, toned torso that belongs in X-rated cinema instead of bed number 3 at the South Bay General ED. 

“Have you ever heard the phrase, close your mouth or you’ll catch flies?” He asks. 

“It’s actually, shut your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” 

“Okay, how about this one: My eyes are up here, darling.”

First of all, you didn’t even look at his bare chest that much. He’s definitely exaggerating. Second of all, well - ugh - second of all fuck you, Ludlow. 

His stitches are busted open right in the middle. You have to unstick the bloody dressing carefully and then spray the center with some antiseptic. 

“You should be more careful.” Is it just you or does he smell different tonight? Less sweat and copper, more spice and cardamon.

You do your best to shake it off. Plenty of men wear cologne everyday–it doesn’t mean he got cleaned up just for you. 

“I don’t really have anyone to be careful for.”

“Get a dog?” 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“What why? I don’t know, blue?” 

“So I can pick out a collar you’ll like.” 

He’s joking, but the feral urge to jam your thumb right into his tearing wound is palpable. 

He realizes he fucked up when you don’t have a witty retort. 

“Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean that you’re a bitch.” If you’re giving him credit, he at least looks sorry. And sorry looks far too good on him. The big grinning Doberman turns into a wide eyed puppy dog and it makes your heart squeeze tighter. “I’m sorry. I just meant - hey, hey.” He tips your chin up so you can see the apology in his softened eyes. “I’m an asshole.” 

You flick his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” 

He must be hard of hearing, because he dwarfs your arm in his grip and pulls you closer. “C’Mon, little nurse. Now you have to let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a fancy dinner or something.” 

Pulling away is not an option, so you come up with a better idea. “Okay, fine. I will. If you can answer one question.”

He looks delighted by this. “Try me.”

“What’s my name?” 

You relish the sight of his smile wiping clean. The big grin transfers from his face to yours. 

“Seriously?”

“Well?” It’s your turn to raise a cocky eyebrow.

He tries to flip your badge frontward, but you slap his hand away. He’s quick, catches your wrist, pulls you closer so that your body is pressing into his calves, traps both of your hands in one of his and spins the badge so that he can see your picture and name. He repeats it, first and last, grins back with a vengeance. This little tussle really bruises your ego, because it doesn’t even seem like you made him wince or falter even once.

“Cheater,” you snarl. 

“Takes one to know one.” 

“Let me go.” 

“Make me.” 

“I’ll scream.” 

“Oh yeah you will.” He winks. 

Fucking sexy bastard. 

“Want those stitches worse or better?” You threaten. 

“I don’t really care,” he shrugs, eyes light with humor. “Just did it to come see you anyway.” 

“You tore your own stitches?” 

“No. Someone else did after I insulted their mother.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You put him back together once again (you might have to start calling this man Humpty Dumpty, that will put him in his place) and start to peel off your gloves. “So when can I pick you up?” he asks, those dark eyes shining like high-polished ebony. 

“Half past never?”

“Hey, we had a deal.”

“We did, but then you cheated. Manhandling me at work is a major disqualification.”

“Pretty sure you liked it,” he fires back with a smirk.

You sigh, propping a hand on your hip, because he’s not wrong. You’re more than a little touch starved at the moment, and you’re sure the ease with which he manhandled you will haunt your dreams (your poor neighbor!) and fuel your fantasies for weeks to come. But there’s just something about this guy that warns you not to give in this easily. He feels…a little dangerous. To your physical health, or your personal sanity, you’re not sure. 

“Please try to be more careful with your stitches, Mr. Ludlow. Have a nice day.”

Understanding that he’s being dismissed, he stands, one step in the small room bringing him right in front of you–and boy, does he tower over you. You try to conceal how very much you like that, but fear you betray yourself in the shaky exhale that escapes you. “I’m just going to keep coming back,” he tells you, seeming far too pleased by the idea. 

“For your own health, I certainly hope you don’t.”

“I’m in a dangerous line of work. All sorts of things can happen.”

You pick up what he’s putting down pretty quick, and it annoys the shit out of you. “If you get yourself hurt on purpose, that is not on me.”

“Then save me some pain, sweetheart. Didn’t you take an oath or something? Do no harm?”

“That’s doctors. I took a pledge to practice my profession faithfully–which I’m doing. Didn’t you? What happened to ‘Serve and Protect?’”

“Sure thing. And I keep my oaths too.” The weight with which he looks at you makes something warm and uncomfortable coil in your belly, radiating outwards to your fingers and toes. 

A man who keeps his promises? 

Never heard of him. 

You are too young to be this jaded, but maybe it’s better that you learned the hard lessons quicker than most. Maybe it will save you some pain in the interim. Avoiding this utterly edible man in front of you probably falls into that category. 

You stand silently, waiting for him to leave. He seems to find this funny as hell, and tips an imaginary cap down at you. “See you soon, y/n.” 

You hope not, but you’re afraid that’s a promise he’ll keep. 

[that-was-a-bit-stupid-of-you]

ttpd review: thoughts (and prayers)

cuz wtf was that. (also providing my two cents that no one gives a shit about)

Is the promotion in the room with us?

Not going to lie, this part pissed me off. As a post evermore release swiftie, the first album release I got was midnights. And while the promotion for midnights wasn't astoundingly genius, the track list release (midnights mayhem with me) was smart. Everyday, there would be chaos all over social media of taylor taking out a number and releasing the track name. The excitement over YOYOK was to die for. But after reaching peak fame, girlie just decided shit wasn't necessary anymore. Absolutely no promotion for ttpd, except a few lyrics that provided no context (or excitement) whatsoever. That, and the very non subtle "hinting" of some big reveal of what went down between her and joe, by making some playlists, that not only ruined the perspective of many of her fans and the relationship they had with her previous songs, but ALSO. THE ALBUM HAD BARELY ANYTHING ABOUT JOE. (Not that i personally care about what happened, but it was so unnecessary to center the ONLY promotion done around someone who was barely a part of the album). Swifties went on the internet to harass joe alwyn (and his female coworkers) who might as well be called a special mention on a matty healy album. Why even do all that then? We will never know.

Confusion?

taylor released 31 songs, and while a double album theory coming true would be a dream come true for any swiftie, it just... wasn't. Out of 31 songs, barely 10 stood out. Some of it just didn't make sense, in any way. "Why is this on the album?" "This sounds like a midnights vault track." "No issues, maybe this is just a skip. I'll listen to the next. Oh wait nvm. Um." Like girl what. It just feels like a giant vault album of synth pop music.

Also, it's called the tortured poets department. There is barely anything poetic or tortured about the album aesthetic. Except maybe it's torturing me, but I'm as much of a poet as she is, which basically means I'm not one.

The album just feels so different than the other albums, in the sense that they followed an aesthetic, a certain style of music and lyrics, and created some sort of story. This one just feels like she wrote many songs and put them all on an album, picked whatever track name seemed interesting enough as the album name, and called it a day. Some of the songs are gems, some create a confusion as to why they are on this album, and some just make you cringe- or atleast go "wtf". Which is fine, but if not even half the songs fall under the first category out of 30 songs, then it's a problem.

These were written by... taylor?

The lyrics omfg. I'm not going to be one of those ppl who go around saying that the lyrics sounded like an emo middle schooler (I've heard this take) BUT again, some songs have lyrics that make you question how taylor, someone who wrote the albums folklore and evermore, and many great songs like would've, could've, should've, story of us, all too well, fearless, white horse, dbatc, daylight, red... I could keep going tbh, produced...this.

It was very weird to listen to the words "tattooed golden retriever" from someone who wrote "handsome, you're a mansion with a view" (also who the FUCK is calling matty healy that??)

A very important part of taylor's music is how it is focused on the lyrics. The music itself isn't the most special, or different, in most of her songs, but what makes them (and her) special is her songwriting. However, from her songwriting going from commonly used phrases and idioms to make them tell a story, use a wide range of vocabulary, heavily using personification, allusion, transferred epithet, and a few other figures of speech that she uses in her songs to make elements such as colours, for example, tell a story, in a way it seemed effortless and fit perfectly, to this... now it feels like she's trying to do that, but that's it. She's TRYING, and it's not yielding results, and seems more like a try hard "poet" rather than... whatever she was going for. The songs are filled with self-satisfied "clever" metaphors that are being reused and recycled over and over. This is not what ppl meant when they asked you to be more environmentally friendly, taylor.

Final thoughts I guess?

While the songs are basically only an empty shell of something that taylor used to make, the album isn't all bad. Some of the songs do sound good and go well with taylor's voice (aaron dessner, the fucking legend you are) and are quite enjoyable, if not as memorable as her other songs.

There are songs such as the prophecy, clara bow, so long, london, loml, guilty as sin?, etc., that really do come through and honestly I really like them.

I do feel that the album can grow on people, but it's just... not the best. Like she says so much, and not to quote taylor swift, but genuinely the only thing in my head right now is "the more you say, the less I know".

Overall, the album is fine, but not in taylor swift standards. It's just... not bad, with some exceptions.

[irisintheafterglow]

More Than It Seams (Chapter 1)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 3k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader

note: aaaaa ok first chapter of my first series. hope you enjoy!! i'm planning on this to be five chapters, and the second chapter I'm planning to release this friday. i <3 shoto todoroki

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated!!!

She couldn’t be serious. You shake your head as if to reset your eyeballs and read over the two scribbled cursive sentences over and over until the reality of your situation set in. 

Hey, not gonna be in starting today for maternity leave. Don’t disappoint me. Xo, M 

You counted the days on your fingers and groaned, dragging a palm down the front of your face. 7:00 A.M was too early to find out you had to run a multi-million dollar business that wouldn’t hesitate to fire you if you disappointed at the most important fashion event of the year. The coffee maker beeped its readiness right on cue, and you debated making two cups instead of just one. You settled for one but left out a cup with your name on it for a possible second, and plopped down at your station. The sun was just starting to shine through the glass walls of the building you called your office, an odd combination of exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. Crooked rows of work tables lined up on one side of the expansive area, with several dozen mannequins and rolls of fabric occupying the other side. A long counter separated the work area from the sitting area, where clients waited for their fittings on plush couches and sipped on complimentary sparkling drinks that M paid for instead of giving her workers a raise. 

“G’morning!” The other designer for the company swung open the gate allowing access between the work area and the sitting area, deflating when he saw you throw your head down on your desk in frustration and slam it a few times for good measure. “Or not…” A loud gasp of shock indicated to you that he had read the note, and a long string of expletives left his mouth as you lifted your head and nodded. “She has to be joking.”

You clicked your tongue in agreement. “She is not.” 

“HB’s in two weeks, and she decides now is a good time to have her baby?”

“If it were up to me, she wouldn’t even be the head of this place, or having another baby. God knows we don’t need any more of her.” Your coworker scoffs in disbelief, throwing his bag down on his desk and wheeling over a mannequin. “Hey, did you finish working up that fabric design for Cellophane’s suit? He’s supposed to come in on Friday and I think it’d be smart to have a sample of the fabric ready so he can tell us if he doesn’t like it.” 

“Yep, I’ll have that over to you ASAP. You don’t need to remind me what happened last year with Dynamight two days before the Ball.” 

You cringed at the memory of the Number Two Hero burning your work to ashes right in front of you and telling you to get a color that matched his eyes better. To be fair, the color that his stylist had chosen clashed with his skin tone and you respected Bakugo for recognizing that, but he could have given you back the suit to use as scrap fabric. “It’s the price of working with the best.” 

“You mean for the best,” he corrects, giving you a grouchy look before switching on his machine and beginning to hem the miles of fabric for Creati’s dress. You’d asked him if he wanted you to hem the fabric since your quirk would have it done by lunch, but he declined and said that you should focus on designing the remaining heroes’ pieces. The rest of your seamstresses trickled in as the morning progressed, filing into their stations with a polite “good morning” and picking up their scissors. Soon, the office milled with the familiar sounds of cutting fabric, sewing machines, and rolling mannequins, and you spaced out as you sketched your idea for Pinky’s updated costume. 

At 11:30, your receptionist sitting at the counter slammed down the phone in alarm, startling the entire room into silence. Her face was nothing short of panic, and you rose quickly from your station to pull her into a corner and figure out why she looked like she had received a bomb threat. 

“What’s going on?”

“Shoto is here.”

“Who?”

“Shoto. The pro hero. Is here,” she hisses at you through her teeth, her hands shaking with uncontrollable anxiety. 

You blinked at her. “Okay… and?” Pros showing up to the office themselves rather than sending assistants was uncommon but had been done numerous times before. Deku and Creati tended to visit a few times a month, and Pinky liked to stop by on Fridays to treat her favorite staff to ice cream. It was Shoto’s first time appearing in person, as he usually sent an assistant to drop off what was essentially his laundry; you’d always assumed that being a top-ranked hero controlling large sums of inheritance was just too busy to worry about his costume. Still, a customer visiting the office in person, no matter how attractive they were, was the least of your laundry list of problems.  

Your receptionist stares at you like you’ve sprouted three heads, and addresses you with an attitude that would have had her fired if M was in office. “What the hell do you mean ‘and’? It’s Shoto… the Number Three Hero. ProMagazine’s #1 ranked hottie.” 

“I’m aware,” you state a little impatiently, annoyed by her insistence that this was much more significant than it actually was. “I’m struggling to understand the fuss over just another client–” 

A chorus of shocked excitement washed over your staff as the elevator doors dinged and a lean, well-dressed silhouette entered the office. Several of your seamstresses had stood from their chairs and huddled together for moral support, whispering to each other about the stranger who had exited the elevator. Your receptionist’s eyes widen to the size of dollar coins, her hands coming up to your shoulders to push you toward the counter as she disappeared behind rolls of fabric. You rolled your eyes and took a breath, adjusting the measuring tape around your neck and meeting Shoto as he approached the vacant receptionist’s computer. His voice was polite and soft when he spoke, and you swear you hear your workers swooning behind you. 

“Hello, I’m here to drop these items off for repair,” he states, gently placing a small stack of folded fabric on the counter in front of you. You couldn’t help but notice how pretty his hands were, and how one ran through his two-toned hair, combing it with elegant fingers. His eyes were each an enchanting shade of blue and grey, and you found it hard to break eye contact with him. ProMagazine was definitely correct.

“Great, I’ll, uh, have this ready in just a bit,” you reply, gesturing towards the waiting area and encouraging Shoto to have a seat. Taking a deep breath in and out and shooting your staff a stern look to get back to work, you unfold the tattered costume on a nearby station behind the counter. His suit wasn’t in the worst condition, but the tears on the arms and chest area posed a significant safety hazard, especially if they continued to open. As hot as it would be to have muscle windows in Shoto’s suit, it’d reflect badly on you if you’d refused to repair the costume for the sake of professionally shot ab photos. 

After another steadying breath, you visualize a sewing machine dial in your mind, picking up a spool of strong nylon thread and running your thumb over the torn pieces of fabric; like clockwork, it repaired itself with a neat straight stitch wherever you touched. Your quirk is why M hired you in the first place since you could assemble three pieces in the time it took a machine to do one. You couldn’t send sheets of fabric flying like Best Jeanist, but your ability to telekinetically manipulate thread into stitches proved useful for a career in fashion design. With a few more reinforcement stitches to some worn edges and a quick polish of the suit’s buckles, Shoto’s costume was good as new. 

“Here you go; you’re all set.” He turns to look at you, surprised and preoccupied with examining the large posters of costumes M’s company had designed. Frames of initial sketches for his first professional costume were flanked by life-size prints of Pinky, Deku, and Red Riot’s attire. A plaque engraved with Creati’s endorsement message for the company hung in the center, surrounded by fabric swatches and Post-It notes scribbled with measurements. It looked like he had just finished reading through Creati’s statement when you informed him that his suit was ready. “I went ahead and cleaned off some of the grime from the suit’s hardware and sprayed it with anti-rust so it shouldn’t be tarnishing any time soon.” 

Shoto looks at you with an expression that you can’t read, gazes down at the repaired suit in front of him, and then back up at you. “Oh. That’s it?”

You release a slightly nervous chuckle to try to ease some of the awkwardness that had settled between you two. “Uh, yep. That’s it.” After another painfully quiet beat, your customer service persona finally kicks back into gear. “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?” 

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, it was a pleasure working with you today–”

“How does your quirk work?” His question arrives completely out of left field, and your brain short-circuits at his genuine expression of interest in your abilities. 

“Well, um, I can manipulate thread to follow certain stitch patterns, like the stitch selection on a sewing machine. See, like, here.” You point at one of the newly repaired tears in his costume, running a finger over the fresh seam. You’re keenly aware of how his eyes follow your finger and you attempt to keep your voice even. “I mended this panel of fabric torn down the middle with a straight stitch, which is the sturdiest stitch I can create.” 

“So you wave your hands and the threads start moving?” The boyish cluelessness on his face makes your heart flutter. A smile breaks its way into your expression. 

“I wish, but I actually have to be touching the fabric.” 

“I suppose it’s very useful for a fashion designer, then.” His face is carefully put together, but the tiniest hint of sarcasm bleeds its way into his voice. Was he… joking with you? 

“Definitely. I’m essentially a human sewing machine but without needles sprouting from my thumbs.” Your thumb pops up on its own accord for added effect, but then you realize what you just said and shove your hand back in an apron pocket. It was meant as a joke, but the macabre nature of your last quip slips your mind and a part of you dies inside when Shoto physically cringes at the grotesque image. Before you have the chance to apologize for such a distressing remark, he politely nods his head in farewell and gives you a soft “thank you” before returning to the elevator. 

Releasing a frustrated noise from your throat at the fact that you just scared off Todoroki Shoto, you lay your forehead on the counter between your elbows. The elevator button dings, and to your horror, you realize that he hadn’t left the office yet. Instead, he was looking at you amusedly over his toned shoulder. The corner of his mouth quirks up the tiniest bit as he watches your burning face attempt to regain its composure, and then he’s gone. 

“That was a shit show,” your other designer mutters under his breath, handing you another cup of coffee. 

Tuesday morning at 11:30 on the dot, Shoto visits again and catches your receptionist off guard, reducing her to a puddle of “How can I help you?” and “Can I get you a sparkling drink?” With your back turned to the doors, you don’t notice him immediately as you concentrate on draping expensive maroon fabric around Creati’s mannequin. Eyebrows drawn in concentration and holding a pin between your teeth, your hands work meticulously to create perfect pleats under the waistline of the bodice. It isn’t until your receptionist nervously calls out your name that you abruptly drop the fabric, Shoto’s mouth twitching as he watches you hurriedly place your box of pins on a nearby station and approach the counter. You lightly tap your receptionist’s shoulder, snapping her out of her daze to find Shoto a drink that you knew was out of stock and leaving you two alone again. 

“Shoto, it’s a pleasure to see you.” You try to mask the unease in your voice with a forced smile. “What can I help you with today?”

His face is blank, but his eyes shine like he’s analyzing you. “I ripped the suit again.”

Your face falls in comical disbelief. “Again?”

He shrugs. “I guess I need stronger stitches.” His heterochromatic eyes stare into yours, and you meet his challenge with a slight squint. 

“Guess you do.” You take the folded suit from his hands and drop the volume of your voice. “Or maybe you need to stop tearing my work.”

He huffs out a breath that sounds like a choked laugh and you smile innocently at him, hoping this interaction replaced the awkwardness of yesterday. Your hand gestures to the seating area again, but he shakes his head, instead crossing his muscular arms and watching you intently as you work. The damage to his suit could barely be considered a tear, and you don’t even bother using your quirk to repair it. You feel him staring at you as you easily patch up the suit with a backstitch, and you swear you could hear him hum thoughtfully behind you. Minutes after he entered the office, you slide the garment back to him with a satisfied smile. 

He does that thing again, looking at you, down at his suit, then back at you. “You didn’t use your quirk.” 

It was your turn to shrug. “Didn’t need to.” As entertaining as his presence was, it would have taken longer to repair it with your quirk, and you had three mannequins of patterns demanding your immediate attention. “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

Shoto dodges your question, instead scanning the seamstresses at their work areas trying not to stare at him. “You’re awfully good at getting people in and out.” One eyebrow quirks in question. He’s testing you, silently asking whether you were trying to get rid of him quickly. 

“With all due respect, a rip on a Pro’s suit is the least of my worries right now.” 

“What are the most of your worries?” You direct his attention to the three mannequins behind you, covered in multi-colored pins and beige pattern panels. “Red Riot, Pinky, and Cellophane’s Ball outfits. Need to have them done by next Friday, and I was just in the middle of pleating the skirt of Momo’s dress. It’s taking a lot longer than expected because I tragically only have two hands.” 

Shoto’s mouth opens in an ah of realization, taking in the elaborate construction plan of the layered asymmetrical gown. You couldn’t have predicted his reply to save your life. 

“May I help you?”

Your mind halts the production of coherent thoughts. “Oh, no, really. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Why not?”

“It’s not your job.”

“But there is something I can help with.”

“I mean, yes, but–”

“Then please, show me what to do.” You decide that it would be pointless to fight his stubborn determination, so you try not to notice the gasps from your staff as Shoto pushes open the gate into the work area and stands beside Creati’s mannequin. You knelt into the same position as before, sitting back on your heels as you searched for the last pleat you made. 

“So I just need you to hold the fabric in place so that it doesn’t unfold, like this,” you direct, scrunching the edge into a carefully measured fold. He watches you diligently, allowing you to reposition his hands so that you could effectively create a seam. His hands were soft beneath your fingers as you brushed veins and lean muscle. You push away the thought of what else he could do with his hands, refocusing on your work and delicately rotating the mannequin as you made your way around its waist. To your surprise, Shoto made soft conversation with you, asking about other Pros’ looks and the design inspiration behind them. Small talk flowed easily as you worked, and he proved to be much more witty than interviews captured. 

When you finished, Shoto ran his finger over the pleats you had just made in admiration. A glance at the rest of the mannequins leads to his expression becoming puzzled. “Where is mine?” He offers an open hand to you as you rise from the floor, and you revel in the cool touch of his palm against your tired thumb. 

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth was, his stylist had ordered a simple black suit for him, barely different than the suit he wore the previous year and all of the years prior. Shoto’s media reputation had him notorious for attending as few public events as possible, and donning safe solid-colored suits when he did appear. His eyebrows rise in anticipation of your answer, still holding your hand, and you finally conjure up an explanation. “Well, technically, your look is already finished. It was one of the first looks we finished because of its simplicity.” 

“Simplicity?” He releases your hand, flexing his fingers like he was squeezing a stress ball. Shit, were your hands sweaty?

“Yeah, your stylist tends to request subdued designs for public appearances.”

A low hum is all you receive in acknowledgment, and a look of deep thought washes over his handsome expression. 

“Maybe I will aim for a different design this year, then.” 

And just the same as Monday, he nods farewell before heading back to the elevator, leaving you frozen by the mannequin. A split second before the doors slide open, he gives you a mischievous look and a single thumbs-up, a reminder of the embarrassing interaction from the day before. You roll your eyes at him and are delighted to see the corner of his mouth turn up again.   

The elevator doors shut, and you can’t help hoping he creates another tear in his suit for tomorrow.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I’ve got a high school teacher AU rattling around in my head right now, and I was wondering what you think about American history teacher!Bucky trying to get to know his coworker who teaches both global political science and a few Russian classes.

Their classrooms are right next to each other, so he can hear the conversation(s) she’s having with her students very clearly. Her world language students ask her the translations of different words, and her enunciation is perfect (as would be expected).

Listening to her students learning numbers is uncomfortable for him… especially a certain three of them. They discuss homecoming, obviously— it’s high school. They’re excited to learn to drive, and so they learn about other forms of transportation, too. But everything else can be found in a series of vocabulary tests. That’s not all they learn, but it’s what sticks out most.

He has a hard time with it because she makes him extra flustered, beyond his typical introversion and social anxiety, but she’s oblivious to his OOC behavior (it’s all she’s ever interacted with, after all).

I know this is a lot, so feel free to skip it entirely, I just wanted to share my thought(s) with you :)

(Could you imagine an anatomy teacher!Steve just teasing the hell out of Bucky because Steve just loves the scent of anxiety/fear in the morning, tho?)

I don’t even know if I want to add more to this🥰 you explained this scenario very well and I couldn’t have said it better myself🩵

[papermonkeyism]

It's kinda funny.

As someone who practically lives online, did their higher education in multimedia production and mostly consumes international media, as do majority of my social circles, I sometimes forget english skills aren't actually necessary for most Finns, and understanding it isn't a universal trait among my fellow country peeps.

And as much as I do get frustrated about lacking half my vocabulary in english and at least as much in nuance, I am actually a Very Valuable Coworker here in the warehouse because I can just throw out translations to words like "representative" or "a beanie" off the top of my head. ("Edustaja" and "pipo" respectively.)

Suddenly something mundane I do all the time turns out to be a super power?

[writing-with-sophia]

I usually find myself using the same range of ages in my stories (young adults, teens), and just plotting a crime story, I realized how unrealistic it was to have almost every single character in early stages of adulthood, especially the team researching the case. Of course I have in mind a lack of experience in certain things for them and stuff but it's pretty hard for me to do older or much younger characters idk why 😭 what would u recommend? Is it somehow bad not to have a variety of ages or making it less realistic? It makes me feel like I'm doing a teen novel, sry for my english and uh ty <3

How to include a broader spectrum of ages in stories

Well, in fact, it's not necessarily bad to focus on a specific age range in your stories, as long as it serves the narrative and the themes you want to explore. If you find it difficult to write for a wide range of ages, you can certainly focus on teenagers. A story about young detectives can also be engaging and exciting, right? But if you want to incorporate a variety of ages to add depth and richness to your story, here are a few suggestions to help you:

Tip 1: Develop characters

Create well-rounded characters of different ages, each with their own distinct personalities, perspectives, and life experiences. Develop their backstories, motivations, and goals in a way that reflects the impact of their age on their thoughts and actions.

Then, explore how age can influence characters' motivations, goals, and challenges. Older characters may bring wisdom, life experiences, and a different perspective, while younger characters may have a sense of idealism, curiosity, and growth potential. By considering age-related motivations, you can create more dynamic and believable characters.

Tip 2: Build relationships for characters

At different ages, people develop various types of relationships. For example, a 16-year-old girl may have relationships with peers, teachers, and family members, while an adult man may have relationships with family, coworkers, and friends in social settings.

Relationships between older mentors and younger proteges, or clashes between generations, can add depth and conflict to your story. These interactions can also provide opportunities for growth and learning for your characters.

Tip 3: Pay attention to characters' dialogue and language

The vocabulary, tone, and communication styles of characters from different age groups are different. Younger characters may use contemporary slang or have a more informal way of speaking, while older characters may have a more formal or seasoned approach. You can observe closely how the elders around you communicate and make notes in a notebook.

Tip 4: Research

If you find it challenging to write characters of different ages, consider conducting research or seeking firsthand experiences from people of those age groups. As mentioned above, you can make a small notebook to record the words, actions and behaviors of people around you in certain situations. Reality is always a great source of information if you know how to take advantage of it.

Tip 5: Beta and feedback

You can share your work with beta readers or writing groups that include individuals from various age groups. Their feedback can offer valuable insights and help you refine the portrayal of different age groups in your story.

Remember, storytelling is an art, and there are no set rules. Ultimately, it's about finding a balance that aligns with your creative vision while ensuring your story resonates with a diverse audience. Embracing a variety of ages can add depth and realism to your stories, expanding the scope of your narratives and making them more relatable to readers of different backgrounds and experiences.