#ALL HER TESTS ARE LIKE A MILLION PAGES LONG TOO

[spikrock]

bro i love the language spanish but my fucking spanish teacher is actually insane shes fucking crazy shes so RAHHHH she makes me so MAD ive never hated a teacher as much as i hate her shes SO BAD YOU GUYS I SHOULDVE TAKEN FRENCH

#ITS SO WILD BECAUSE THE FRENCH TEACHER IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF HER #i know the french teacher i had a non french class with her once #my spanish teacher had a test planned for tuesday but she wasnt there so it was supposed to be TOMORROW but shes not gonna be there either #so shes making the ENTIRE CLASS come AFTER SCHOOL next wednesday AFTER MY STATE TESTING #I DONT WANT TO DO THAT?!?!!!!!!!!!!!! #JUST MOVE THE TEST THE WEEK AFTER???? WE HAVE A NORMAL WEEK????? #but nooo cus she has ANOTHER TEST THAT WEEK TOO on TOP of our FINAL EXAM #SHES SO INSANE #ALL HER TESTS ARE LIKE A MILLION PAGES LONG TOO #I HATE YOU MS JOHNSON PLAGUE BE UPON YE #rant

[bensonoliviasstuff]

“Turning Page”

Chapter One! “ ‘I'll never leave’, never mind”

Masterlist for “Turning Page”

Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader

Summary: Once Bucky regained consciousness and was no longer the Winter Soldier, all he missed from the 40s was his wife. But maybe she's closer than he thought.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language, so I'm sorry if there are too many errors. Futhermore i don't think there are many warnings, a little bit of angst, memory loss, betrayal, trauma, Insecurities and other things that you will discover throughout the story. And the best part: Thanos doesn't exist here

The infirmary doors were opened in an angry shove, making a loud noise as the metal of the door met the wall. A nervous Bucky walked past with hurried steps.

“Bucky, Wait!” Steve shouted trying to keep up with his friend's steps. “No one can enter the room yet, they are carrying out tests”

“I need to see, Steve!” He shouted in a broken voice as he continued his way through the corridors of the compound's medical wing. “I need to see with my own eyes...”

The sentence died down when he stopped walking, facing the glass window of the hospital room.

It was you.

Bucky had the image of you memorized perfectly in his head, he could describe everything that had changed since 1940 with just one look, your hair was a few inches longer, there were a few small scars on your face. But it was still you.

He felt like his heart had stopped beating for a few moments.

He ran a metal hand over his face, holding back the sob that threatened to escape his throat. “It’s her Steve” Bucky placed a hand on the glass, almost as if he could feel it.

“It's her, Bucky” Steve said cautiously “But... We don't know what happened to her this whole time, we'll only know how she is when she wakes up.”

That's when realization hit Bucky, his fist closed against the glass, about to punch the wall.

“I’m going to kill those bastards” Bucky said, unable to calm the anger he felt towards those men, what if you went through everything he went through? All the torture he had to endure for years and years? The thought of you suffering like he did made Bucky's heart sink towards his stomach.

“Natasha is interrogating the man who told us she was there” Steve said “She’s waiting for us.”

“I was waiting for you” your voice echoed through the room before Bucky took you by the waist and gave you a kiss full of love. “Sergeant Barnes now then?”

You pulled away to take a good look at your husband, he was wearing the brown suit of a WWII soldier.

“For you it’s always ‘my love’, doll” Bucky said taking you in his arms, this was something you loved about your relationship, even after so long together you still acted like teenagers who had just started a fiery passion.

But Bucky didn’t fail to notice when you lowered your head to hide your teary eyes.

“Hey, doll, what’s wrong?” He already knew the answer, he knew it and it left him almost inconsolable before going to sleep.

“I’m afraid Bucky, what if you don’t come back?” Her voice became lower and lower as the doubt became more terrifying in her mind.

“I will come back doll, I promise you, not in a million years i'm leaving you alone” He placed a hand on your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“You can’t promise that” You said unsurely. “You don’t know if you’re really going to come back. ”

“Then you can marry Steve” He tried to joke to lighten up, and you couldn’t help but let out a tearful laugh, punching him in the shoulder.

“This isn't funny, you know?” You said wiping away your tears. “I know, I know” he apologized pulling you into a tight hug. “I will never leave you doll, that's the only thing I'll keep in mind while I fight: I can't leave my princess behind.”

“How did you know Y/N Barnes was alive?” Natasha asked the man chained in front of her, Bucky and Steve were on the other side of the mirrored glass.

“She was never dead, Hydra has been with her since Steve Rogers was presumed dead” Steve looked down, he still blamed himself for that, for leaving you alone even after you losing your husband.

“What did Hydra wanted with her?” Natasha asked coldly, leaning over the table. “Why did they taked her?”

“Even after we erased the Winter Soldier's memory, he always ended up remembering her at some point, we wanted to create an advantage in this regard, if he decided he was no longer on our side, we would threaten to kill her”

Bucky kicked the nearest chair, cowering in rage. He was ready to go into that room and kill that man in the most violent way ever recorded. “And why didn’t they do that when he disappeared?”

“He was already gone, we couldn't find him, but she didn't lose her usefulness, during the time she was at the base, she made a lot of noise after finding out that James Barnes was alive, sometimes she could spend an entire day screaming for her husband, it was irritating, so we decided to erase her memory, it became much easier to experiment on her after that.” The man was dismissive, he had nothing left to lose, he was already sentenced to prison, now he just wanted to see Sergeant Barnes suffer.

“Still, she always remembered him eventually, we also used it to test the soldier's memory, every time after we erased his memory, we took him to her, only to see he didn't recognize her, she would cry for days.”

At this point, Bucky was curled up in the corner of the wall, holding his head as the tears fell. You called out to him, you spent days screaming for him, you were in the same place as him all the time and he was never even able to recognize you.

It was tearing him apart, it was breaking everything inside him. He was about to leave, unable to listen any longer, when Natasha's question reached his ears.

“Experiments? So she has the super soldier serum?” Bucky turned around, waiting for the answer “No, but we trained her, she was very good at carrying out the missions she was sent, Y/N Barnes killed a lot of people”

That was the final straw for Bucky, they made his precious sweet girl spill blood.

He walked into the room, ignoring Steve's comments about calming down. He grabbed the man by the collar of his clothes and pushed him violently against the wall, starting to throw punches with his metal arm, he could spend hours beating and it still wouldn't be enough, but Steve ripped him off before the man's face was deformed.

“Never put her name in your mouth again! Your bastard! I'll kill you!" Bucky screamed trying to free himself from Steve, Natasha got in front of Bucky and ordered Steve to get him out of there.

Steve left dragging a nervous Bucky. “Look, I have the same desire as you, I wanted to go in there and finish him off, but that’s not how you solve things Bucky!”

Bucky sat on the chair he had kicked minutes ago, putting his head in his hands, everything in him was shaking, a mixture of hatred, anguish and guilt. “They put her through hell, Steve!” He stood up abruptly, putting his hand over his mouth. “All this because I left her alone, I forgot about her! I promised I would always be there for her and I just forgot about her!”

Steve looked at his friend with a very strong tightness in his chest, this whole situation hurt him in a way he couldn't even explain, imagine how much it was hurting Bucky? How much did it hurt you, going through all of this alone?

He still remembered when he had to break the news to you.

“Steve!” You said happily after opening the door to the apartment you and Bucky shared. “Oh, I'm so happy to see you! I still haven't gotten used to the fact that you're taller than me now” You walked forward giving Steve a hug, noticing that his face wasn't looking good but you wanted to ignore all the crazy theories in your head. “Where is my husband? Why didn't he come with you? I already said you can't steal it from me” You joked, despairing when Steve didn't laugh.

“I'm so sorry Y/n... Bucky...” Steve started to speak but you interrupted before he could finish his line of reasoning. "No! Don’t say that Steve, it’s not true, it can’t be true, don't you dare to lie to me!” You said taking steps back, with your hand on your stomach, feeling like you were going to throw up.

“He promised... He told me he would come back!” You started to cry as Steve walked over pulling you into a hug.

Your legs no longer had the strength to keep you standing when you started crying and sobbing in Steve's arms. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry” Steve kept repeating, even though his heart was breaking more and more.

“He promised me Steve! He has to come back” You repeated between sobs, Steve didn’t know what to say when your pain seemed to be consuming you.

That day, he laid you in bed, made you some tea and sat next to you until you Say a sentence that ended that super soldier.

“The worst lie I’ve ever heard: ‘I’ll never leave.’” You sighed with heavy eyes “Never mind”

After saying that you fell asleep, Steve couldn't put into words how painful it was to see your red and swollen face sleeping.

“I promise to take care of you Y/n, I won’t leave you alone, for Bucky”

Even so many years later Steve's heart hurts knowing that if he hadn't left, maybe you wouldn't have been alone, and now he feels even more guilty knowing that if he had been around, Hydra wouldn't have taken you.

He felt like it was his fault, even if it wasn't.

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by the door opening.

“Sergeant, Captain” Tony appeared in the room, a curious and relieved look on his face “She woke up”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #marvel mcu #mcu #marvel #the avengers #iron man #tony stark #natasha romanoff #black widow #steve rogers #captain america #imagine #writing

[daisyblog]

Niall Horan and YN Tomlinson Take a Friendship Test

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Niall Horan and YN Tomlinson take the ultimate friendship test. From sharing their first impressions and stanning over each other to bonding over a minute-long hug and mirroring each other's sweet dance moves, these two prove that all some friendships need is lots of love and laughter. Warning: swearing

“I’m gonna ask you about your friendship with YN” A woman’s voice speaks to Niall from behind the camera. “Oh how long have ya got?” Niall sarcastically says with a small chuckle. “Who?” YN questions with a serious expression and Niall’s famous laugh is heard from behind the camera. “We met when I auditioned for The X Factor..and I was put into a band…One Direction with her brother Louis..and she came on tour with us and now we’re the best of friends” “Niall was in a band with my brother…not sure if you’ve heard of ‘em One Direction…yeah and..Niall begged me to go on tour wiv ‘em to style his hair..such a diva” YN joked whilst trying to not laugh at Niall shaking his head at her, from where he was standing behind set. “It’s because of me…she’s so famous..nothing to do with her brother or boyfriend” Niall joins in on the teasing. “Seriously now…Niall’s like a brother to me…he’s my best friend, he’s just so funny and he’s there for you no matter what and…he’s been there for me through some of my darkest times..and I’ll always be grateful to him” “YN…she’s one of the strongest people I know..even when she’s been goin’ through some tough times..she always wants to know how everyone else is and if they’re okay…she’s one in a million that girl”

Niall and YN were instructed to give each other compliments in the next part. As they're both standing opposite each other with their little notebooks and pens in their hands, Niall tries to peek at what YN is writing. “Don’t look at it” YN protests and hides her notebook away from Niall’s prying eyes. “I just wanna know how funny you’re being” Niall defends himself. “I’m not bein’ funny at all” “Yeah you fuckin’ are” Niall teases “She’s writing a massive list” Niall continues to laugh as YN flips the page over to write on another page. “I’m writin’ in big letters” “She paid me to be her friend” Niall continues with his jokes. “Yeah..yeah oh fookin’...if anyone’s payin’ anybody for anythin’..you’re givin’ me some fookin’ money” YN’s Doncaster accent is heard making Niall chuckle and continue to write on the paper in front of him. “I love your sense of humour..’cause you just laugh at everythin’ even if it’s not funny..and it makes me feel funny” YN compliments Niall.

“I like how creative you are..you’ve gone from touring with the band..to running your own business..and I’m proud of you and you should be proud of yourself” “Okay..movin’ on before I cry” YN talks “You always smell amazin’ every time I see you” “Thanks..I’ll take that one considering who you sleep next to every night smells like heaven”  Niall responds making YN laugh “I love how strong and determined you are…like most people would give up..but you just keep going and I admire you for that..so yeah” Niall compliments YN again. “Aww Niall…stoooop..you’re gonna make me cry” YN playfully scolds but inside feels her heart melt at the words spoken by her best friend “I think you’re an amazin’ songwriter…and a fookin’ boss on the guitar..and I love your music” “She’s a massive Niall fan…I’ve always been her favourite” “He’s not lyin’” YN said with a flick of her hair, causing them both to laugh. Niall and YN were instructed to hug each other for one minute in the next part.

Niall wrapped his arms around YN’s shoulder whilst her arms went around his back like they had done many of times over the years. “Oh he smells greeeat” YN’s voice is heard.

“You smell good too” “Thank you” “I like your shoes too” YN begin’s to sing ‘I like the way you talk, I like the things you wear, I want your number tattooed on my arm in ink, I swear” whilst her and Niall swayed back and forth. Niall began singing the lyrics “Watermelon sugar, high, Watermelon sugar, high, Watermelon sugar high, Watermelon sugar”. YN’s giggling is heard as the pair continue to sing together “Why that song?..Of all the songs you could have chosen” Niall and YN were instructed to mirror each other’s dance moves in the next part.

Some upbeat music was heard playing, Niall starts by pointing his hand up to the ceiling and shaking his hips slightly, and YN begins to copy his movement. Niall then abruptly points to the floor and leans down, and points back up again into his starting position. Then move his fingers in a circle around his body “This is us goin’ ‘round the world”. And after a few more arm movements, jumps to the side and begins to imitate Beyonce’s Single Ladies dance. “Your turn”. YN begins to jump around laughing and shows everyone her impression of how back up dancers dance, which Niall copies her every move whilst they laugh infectiously together “Do you know wa I mean?” she asks Niall as she continues to hop around. Next, YN decides to swing her around her head and tell Niall to “Giddy up, giddy up” as they gallop around the space. “What the fuck just ‘appened?” Niall asks as YN nudges his shoulder playfully.

“Welcome to the life of being a Tomlinson” YN defends her behaviour. Niall and YN were instructed to harmonise with each other in the next part. “Do you know what’s so annoyin’…she can actually sing so this isn’t even gonna be funny” “Ahhhhhhh” Niall and YN are heard harmonising together, before harmonising happy birthday and YN made Niall laugh. “You fucked it for me” Niall laughed.

“Nobody, nobody” YN began singing and dancing at the same time.

“Nobody can drag me down” Niall joins in, before singing his own song “Nice to meet ya” “what’s ya name, let me treat ya..to a drink” Niall and YN continue to sing together whilst clapping and waving their hands.  Niall and YN were instructed to perform trust falls in the next part “It’s called a trust fall” a woman’s voice behind the camera spoke. “Oh fook” and “Okay fuck” Niall and YN spoke at the same time. “What if I don’t catch you?” YN panicked. “Well..ya better help me up when I fall” Niall teased and laughed. Niall turned around so his back faced YN whilst she held her arms out ready to catch the brunette lad “Come one...come on I’ve got you” she reassure s him. Niall falls back gracefully and YN just about manages to hold him up for a couple of seconds “Okay..get up now before I drop ya”. YN prepares herself to fall into Niall’s arms as she turns her back to him “Don’t fookin’ drop me now Horan” “Just trust me will ya Mini Tommo” Niall uses her nickname from when she toured with the boys. YN delicately falls back into Niall’s arms as he catches her small frame easily in his arms. “Do you trust me?” Niall turns to ask YN as she stands back up. “I trust you with my whole fookin’ heart” “Aww come ‘ere ya softy” Niall teases as he pulls YN into his arms and squeezes her tight “She’s like the sister I never had”

“Horan and Tommo are in town” Niall and YN say together as they sway from side to side.

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney fanfictioncafe lilfreakjez jerseygirlinca iamahallucinationnn

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harrystyles #harry styles fanfic #one direction #harry styles x fem!reader #one direction fandom #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles x tomlinson!reader #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles series #harry styles series masterlist #harry x yn #harry x you #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry styles x yn #harry styles masterlist #1dff #harry 1d #1d era #1d fandom #1d imagines #1d imagine

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 7 - Trust

You help Mohawk give the crew their annual medical checkups.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

Apparently the Kid Pirates took their health more seriously than Yin would have guessed, because during dinner it was decided that tomorrow Yin would start her new job in the infirmary by assisting with annual medical checkups. Apparently Mohawk was adamant that the crew have regular health assessments, though to be honest only the top dogs ever usually made it through more than one annual checkup. Henchmen and cabin boys didn't often survive that long. Regardless, he kept well organized records of everyone currently on the ship, with manila folders containing sheets of information, from medical history to blood types to work he'd done himself. They were all kept in careful alphabetical order in filing cabinets that sat in the infirmary, organized by first name since many of the ship's occupants didn't have a surname.

With the addition of Yin's skills he was determined to add a new sheet of paper to each file, documenting old bone breaks, as well as any current internal issues that he might not have been able to catch without scanning equipment. The crew wasn't due for their annuals for another month or so, but he was excited to test out her abilities, so he'd convinced Kid to bring it forward.

She followed him to the infirmary after breakfast, where he gave her a quick tour of the room before performing her own checkup. He usually liked to do an initial interview when a new crewmate came on board but there hadn't really been the opportunity to do it till now. Anytime she'd been free, he'd been busy.

She gave him the short version of her life, he wasn't shocked to hear how the marines had treated her. They discussed contraceptives for a short while, but in truth he didn't really know much about them, since he was used to working for a crew of only men. She told him she had some sort of implant the commodore had forced on to her, so he made a note to look in to it, but left it be at that. The entire female reproductive system was something he was going to need to study now. He at least didn't need to inquire about her last cycle, or how irregular her period was, since he'd heard from Heat what happened during her initiation. He'd been unsurprised to discover the slave mark burned in to her skin in the middle of her back, it was long healed since it had been probably twenty years since she was branded.

“Any old injuries to note?” He asked, pulling out the new page he'd whipped up yesterday and photocopied a million times. It had a simple outline of a human, duplicated and labeled ‘front’ and ‘back’, with space around the edges so he could make notes and draw arrows to mark notable injuries.

“I broke my left ankle when I was learning to moon step, when I was about fourteen,” she said, tapping her lip with her index finger while she tried to recall past injuries, “oh and I dislocated my right hip when I was eight”

“How'd you do that?” He asked, making quick notes on the page.

“Got raped by a man too big for me,” she said plainly. He paused and put down his pen, letting out a heavy sigh. She seemed indifferent, like she'd just told him she'd fallen from a tree or something. You know, something normal for an eight year old to have done. He didn't pry further, she'd already given him her life story, he didn't need more information.

“I just need to check your eyes and ears and we can start calling the crew in for their checks,” he said, wheeling his stool over to sit in front of her. She was sitting over the side of the examination table. The infirmary wasn't large, but it was big enough for a decent size desk, an examination table, and a couple of more comfortable beds for those who needed a quiet place to recover, or required observation. The walls were lined with cabinets, many of them under lock and key, bookcases containing medical journals, and several tall filing cabinets. The room didn't have any windows, since it was smack in the middle of the building that sat above deck towards the back of the ship, and it smelt heavily of medical grade disinfectant.

“Can you remove your mask for me?” He asked politely, otoscope in hand.

“I can but you have to be quick, did Killer explain how my mask works to you?” She asked.

“He did, you won't be able to hear or see me properly, correct?” He said, “I'll be quick, just look straight ahead and stay still, I'll put your mask back on as soon as I'm done”

“Okay then, I think I trust you,” she slid her mask off and placed it on the bed beside her, sitting as still as she could, “okay, go ahead,” she couldn't make out her own voice, but she hoped she was speaking.

He gasped as he looked at her eyes and saw the grey-pink, no whites or iris or discernable pupil visible on them. He pushed it aside for now, he had to check her ears first. He moved quickly, knowing that every second he took was another second for her to become overwhelmed. Killer had warned that in the past she'd been known to become feral when she was without her mask, and he didn't feel like getting bitten today.

Her ears looked healthy, so he swapped his otoscope for his ophthalmoscope, rolling his stool to be directly in front of her and gently pulling her eyelids away to see more of her eyeballs. It was useless, he couldn't make out anything remotely human on her eyes other than the shape - whatever was going on with them was outside of his skillset. He sighed and gave up, putting the tool down and picking her mask up to slide carefully over her head. She felt it starting to touch her, so she quickly took over and shimmied it into its usual comfortable position.

“All done?” She asked.

“All done, thanks for not biting me,” he half laughed as he scribbled notes in her chart.

“I only do that to men who ask nicely,” he assumed she winked after that but he couldn't tell past the visor.

“Right,” he tried to brush it off, he wasn't one who was comfortable or who knew how to react to open flirting, “so, with the others. I'll do all my usual examinations, and when I'm done I'll have you scan them. I want to hear about any current or old injuries, and any abnormalities you see. I've never had access to scanning equipment so it'll be mostly new information for me.”

“Okay, can do doc!” She replied, moving from the exam table to the desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet.

“One last thing,” Mohawk said as he stood to go find his first patient. Most of the crew thought medical checks were for pussies and would no doubt be unwilling victims, “everything in this room comes under doctor-patient confidentiality okay? You're my nurse now, everything you hear is to be kept private. And keep it professional, you may be surprised how many of these men have STIs. If I hear a single laugh while I'm looking at someone's dick I'll have Killer drown you, got it?”

“Genitals don't phase me, most of the showers in the marines were mixed gender,” she shrugged, “you may be surprised to hear how many dicks I've come face first with to check for UTIs”

“Okay, good, we should have no issues then,” he said, “get off the desk, it's not professional. Sit in my chair till I need your assistance. I'll be mostly on the stool anyway”

“Roger that, doc,” she gave a mock salute and slid off the desk as he left.

Yin really was surprised at how many henchmen had STIs, and by the time they were done she was sure she could recite Mohawk's safe sex spiel of the top of her head, word for word. A few henchmen had been suffering in silence with bad constipation, and one had a badly broken toe. The cabin boys were all relatively healthy, but Mohawk gave them all the safe sex talk anyway, since it wouldn't be long before they started getting curious about the women, and he desperately hoped he could keep them from turning in to disease-ridden henchmen. Some of them were already partaking, but had been lucky enough to not catch anything.

It was well in to the afternoon when they got to the officers and commanders. The officers were all healthy, being that they'd been on the ship long enough to have regular checkups and knew well to follow Mohawk's advice. Yin had to stand on the examination table to check Wire's head, since he was just so damn tall.

She was surprised to find during Heat's examination that he actually had several hidden piercings that she could see through his clothes while she scanned him. She didn't ask why his dick was pierced, it didn't seem like an appropriate medical question. Kid wasn't happy about being examined, and complained the whole time that he was too busy for this shit. Mohawk gave him a long, stern talking to about drinking less beer and more water, if he didn't want a repeat of yesterday. She hadn't realised that the metal arm didn't have a real arm inside, she'd just assumed it was some sort of cover. She bit back a gasp when he removed it so Mohawk could check the stump of what used to be an arm. The base had metal embedded in to it, assumedly to help the prosthetic stick. She did her best to not gawk.

Last up was Killer, who they had to wait quite long for since he had been busy with some new recipe he had wanted to try that required being cooked slowly for many hours. He smelled of freshly cut herbs and bread when he entered, mixed with his usual scent of musk and spices. He locked the door as he entered, and Yin came to the jarring realisation that he was probably going to need to remove his mask. Mohawk went through his usual line of questioning before standing in front of Killer, he was too tall to examine from the stool. He did the same flexibility and grip strength tests he'd done for everyone else, and tapped his knees with a little hammer to check reaction times, before picking up his otoscope and turning to Yin expectantly.

“Right, sorry,” she said, turning and facing the wall. She heard something click and hair rustling as Killer removed his mask. “Hey um.. should I examine his head while the mask is off? I can't see his face if I'm scanning him, I promise”

“My head is fine,” Killer said flatly.

“I'm making notes of old injuries as well though, its important for my records,” Mohawk explained, “she's fast, it'll only take her a moment to check your head if nothing is wrong”

“Fine,” he sighed, “as long as she can't see”

“If my visor is dark green or red, I can't see you, just your insides,” she said, “to be honest I can only make out faces when its purple or like a neon green”

“Neon green is what you had when you killed the seaking right?” Killer asked, “is that some sort of night vision?”

“Yeah,” she explained, still awkwardly facing the wall, “and I can see pretty deep in the water as well, thats how I saw the seaking. I'm gonna turn around now, okay? I'll only be able to see your bones”

“Okay,” he replied. Mohawk finished checking Killer's eyes and stepped aside for her. She couldn't see well, but she'd spent all day in the room so she knew there was no furniture between them, and she could see their skeletons, the metal base of the examination bed, and Killer's mask sitting on the bed bedside him. She used what she could see as a guide to carefully make her way over, but she couldn't see the floor so her steps were awkward and she tripped.

“Woah, careful,” Mohawk said as he caught her, “what's wrong with you?”

“Can't see the floor,” she laughed, “I can only really see your bones and the metal things in the room, like Killer's mask and the base of the bed. Hard to walk without a floor”

She righted herself and stood carefully in front of Killer, who was definitely too tall. “You're too big, I'm gonna need to get on the table,” she climbed up on the side of him that didn't hold his mask, thankful that the base was metal and the mattress was thin so she could even see what she was doing. In her mind she was adding thickness to all the things she could see to account for what she couldn't.

“Ah- my hair-” Killer growled and pulled away, she'd unknowingly knelt on his long blond locks that had been resting against the bed.

“Fuck, sorry Kil,” she said, kneeling behind him, “I couldn't see it”

“It's fine, just get it over with,” he muttered, pulling his hair over his shoulder to the front so she couldn't catch it again.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” She asked as professionally as she could, “I need to turn your head”

“That's fine,” he replied.

She put her hands gently on either side of his head, carefully turning it and moving her hands around as she examined. It felt like he had thick bangs over his forehead, which definitely surprised her.

“Fuck you have a lot of old fractures for someone who wears a helmet,” she noted, “I can see… seven, Mohawk, if you want to note that down”

“Got it,” he replied, scribbling in his notes.

She turned Killer's face to look at her, her thumbs tracing his cheeks as she inspected them. She didn't even realise how intimate she was being, it was a natural process for her. His jawline seemed strong and his cheekbones looked prominent, if she had to guess she'd say he must have a sharp, attractive face. It looked symmetrical at the bone level, but who knows what kind of scars or deformities he might have on top that caused him to wear a mask.

“Old fracture on the left cheek as well,” she said, “I'd bet good money Kid did that”

“It'd be a winning bet,” he replied, suppressing a smile. Mohawk was busy with his notes, and she couldn't actually see his face, but he felt exposed anyway, and he didn't want anyone to see his ugly smile - the real reason he wore a mask.

“I'm gonna switch to red now okay?” She said, removing one of her hands from his face to fiddle with her mask. The visor turned red and her hand returned to his face, “Nothing of note on the front, eyes look healthy, frontal lobe looks fine,” she turned his head and made her way around, checking the side, then the back, then the other side. She paused, holding his head firmly in place. “Mohawk?”

“Mmm?” He looked up from his notes.

“There's something here, on the outside, towards the base of the neck,” she said, running her hand through Killer's hair and pulling it gently aside to clear the area she wanted Mohawk to check, “right here,” she pointed as she saw the bag of organs and veins that formed Mohawk stand beside the bed.

“It looks like a small cyst,” he said, prodding it with a gloved hand, “Killer I thought I told you to let me know if your mask did shit like this, it looks like it's about where the edge would rub”

“It's nothing,” he pulled Yin's hand out of his hair, entirely ignoring how nice her delicate hands felt woven through his locks, “I was just gonna deal with it myself”

Mohawk sighed and returned to his desk, “you're staying when she's done checking you over, so I can deal with that. It needs draining”

“I have shit to do,” Killer grumbled.

“Will you stop being a baby and let him do his job?” Yin scowled as she slid off the bed carefully, “now stand up so I can finish the scan, you can put your mask back on but I still have to check the rest of you”

He sighed and put his mask back in place before unwillingly standing, she tugged his arm to pull him further from the bed so she could walk all the way around him and quickly went about her scan, checking his bones first, then switching back to the red mode. She lifted his left arm as she checked his side.

“Your heart is beating a little fast Kil, you okay?” She noted.

“His heart rate was fine before,” Mohawk mused, quirking an eyebrow at Killer, who scowled under his mask at the clear insinuation.

“I'm just pissed off, now hurry the fuck up and quit touching me,” he growled.

“Anddd mister grumpymask is back,” she smiled, “relax, I'm done. He's all clear, doc, fit as a fiddle”

“Good, thats everyone then,” Mohawk said as he made a few last notes and stood to start collecting the supplies he needed for Killer's cyst, “you can go, Yin, thank you for your help. It won't always be this much work, I promise”

“Its fine,” she replied, unlocking the door to leave, “this was fun, I was happy to help. See you two at dinner,” she sung as she left. Mohawk gave her a weak goodbye, and Killer remained quiet.

Dinner wasn't far off, in fact by the time Mohawk was done with Killer it was time to head to the dining hall. Everyone else was already there, and Killer quickly finished off the special recipe of slow cooked beef and beer stew that he'd been working on earlier, with several fresh loaves of sourdough he'd made earlier to go with it.

“Anything of importance to report from the annuals?” Kid asked Mohawk as he dipped his bread in the hearty stew.

“Just that your henchmen need to keep it in their pants if they can't learn to use a rubber,” Mohawk sighed.

“The usual then,” Kid laughed, “dirty cunts”

“Oi, Yin,” Wire interjected, “I've got a question for you”

“Hit me,” she replied with a smile, inhaling another mouthful of the delicious stew - Killer's cooking really was the best she'd ever had.

“How did you know anything about us or our reputation if you've been locked away for the last five years?” He asked in a serious tone. It felt like an integration, like he was about to crack open that everything she'd told them was a lie, “you knew who Heat and I were, you knew the Captain and Killer, you said you knew you'd fit in here. But you've been in a cell for the last five years, and we only got our first bounties a few years ago”

Eveyone else turned and stared at her, and Kid stopped eating entirely, mulling it over in his head and coming to the same realisation Wire had, that the dots didn't connect. “How did you know about us?” Kid was almost growling, it felt like a threat.

She sighed and put down her spoon, looking across the table at Killer's expressionless mask, like he could offer some sort of support. “You really want to know? You're not gonna like the answer”

“Answer the fucking question,” Kid said sternly, grinding his teeth.

“Okay, fuck, don't bite my fucking head off. I'd been with the commodore you found me with for most of my imprisonment, and I guess you could say he was a fan of yours,” she explained, careful to speak to Kid directly, so as not to incur any further wrath from him, “when you came on to the grandline he started getting a bit obsessed. Every time he came to… visit me… he would tell me about your crew, and the big promotion he was gonna get when he took you down. Which is ironic, in hindsight. Anyway at some point he started bringing in your bounty posters, the four of you, mostly Kid's, and he'd use them against me if I wasn't obediently letting him have his way with me. He'd say shit like ‘you're so lucky you have me here to protect you and make you feel so good’ and then he'd wave Kid's poster in my face and say ‘this cunt would rip your legs off just so he could fuck the bloody holes left behind, he'd rape you to death and then he'd keep going. His whole crew would rape your dead body till you were nothing but a pile of rotting bones’. Sometimes he'd leave the posters in the cell with me, to remind me of my place, so I got familiar with your faces. Of course I never believed that shit, it wasn't hard for me to see that the marines are the bad people in this world, I've seen pirates as the good guys for a long time now. The second Kid let me go the day you found me, I knew I was right and the commodore was full of shit. Not that I think there aren't pirates that rape, I just knew for sure that you guys didn't. Anyway, yeah. That's how.”

Kid was visibly angry, not at her but at the commodore, as he tore a huge chunk of bread from an untouched loaf and dipped it with a little too much force in to his stew, making liquid spill out around the edges of the bowl, “Fucker…” he said through a full mouth.

“I did say you wouldn't like it,” she grumbled, looking mournfully at her stew. She no longer had any appetite but forced herself to keep eating anyway. She didn't want to offend Killer by not finishing the food he'd made them.

“Sorry,” Wire said solemnly, “I shouldn't have pried”

“It's okay Wire,” she forced a smile for him, “I get it. I'm a stranger, you don't trust me, and things didn't add up. You were just protecting the crew. I hope you'll come to trust me, in time, like I'm trying my best to learn to trust all of you”

“Trust is hard earned,” Killer added plainly.

“You think I don't know that?” She almost yelled in clear annoyance. Heat spooked a little as she slammed a closed fist on the table, “You think its easy for me to be sitting here on a ship full of men when every man who has every touched me has raped me? You think I don't know how hard it is to learn to trust someone? Cut me some fucking slack, Killer”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I'm not very hungry anymore,” she said, frustrated and angry. She felt like she was being treated like the enemy, and she'd done nothing to deserve it. She'd been working hard every day to earn their trust, and she felt brushed off. “Sorry, the food was delicious Killer, I'm just… not hungry anymore”

“Leave the bowl, I'll finish it,” Kid told her. He grabbed her hand before she left, “you'll have our trust, Killer's is just a little harder to earn. You're doing good work here, just give it time. I hope I can earn your trust as well, as your Captain”

“Thanks, Kid,” she sighed as he let her hand go. She didn't say anything more, and they watched as she quickly disappeared out of the galley and the doors swung shut behind her.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

[cosmerelists]

Ranking Cosmere Characters by How Good They’d Be at Housesitting

[Previous in this series: Ranking Cosmere Dads for Father’s Day]

Let’s say you’re going away for a long vacation, and you need somebody to watch your house. For some reason, you’ve decided to hire a Cosmere character for this job. Well, don’t stress--I’ve created a very accurate tier list to help you choose the best person for the job!

S-Tier: The Stand-Out Choice

Taln

I mean, I don’t know how Taln is at watering plants and remembering to pick up your mail, but I do know that when faced with a promise, he kept that promise so hard that he put up with torture for thousands of years. And while your house is hopefully not torturous to watch, you can rest assured that Taln WILL pick up your package even if doing so kills him. Like, literally.

A-Tier: Will Do A Great Job

Marasi, Adolin, Renarin, Jasnah, Navani

Any of these fine folks would do a great job watching your house. Marasi is a reasonable person and very good at her job. Adolin kept to the Codes even when he didn’t really agree with them just because it was his job, so he will definitely be able willing to, like, sing to your plants or whatever quirky thing you request. Renarin threw himself off the top of a wall, repeatedly, because his teacher told him to, so he too is able to commit to something once he’s agreed to it. And while I’m not sure Jasnah or Navani would have the time or patience to housesit for you, they’d both do an immaculate job if they did agree, because that’s the type of person they are.

B-Tier Will Do a Good Job But At What Cost

Steris, Kaladin, Szeth

Your house will be immaculate with Steris watching it--perhaps even better than how you left it. On the other hand, the 40-page document you have to read and sign is a bit much, given that you only have like three houseplants. Kaladin seems to have interpreted “housesit” as “guard your house from incursions” so on the plus side, there is somebody there 24 hours a day, but on the downside, he got his entire squad involved and your neighbors are asking about the armed men sitting on your roof. Szeth also incorporates sitting on the roof--24/7, unblinking, staring into the night. He does water your plants, at least. Since you asked him to and Szeth is good at instructions. 

So with any of these folks, your house will be in great shape, but you may not like everything that comes along with it. 

C-Tier: Your House Will Be Fine, Probably

Shallan, MeLaan, Elend

On the one hand, Shallan is perfectly capable of watching your house for you. But on the other hand, Shallan always has 1 million things going on--she probably agreed to watch like three other houses at the same time and is planning a heist and trying to infiltrate a gang of international art thieves, etc. Your house will probably be fine, but she may not respond to your texts for three days. 

Similarly, MeLaan would probably agree and do her sort of best, but she’s also a kandra and she might not 100% understand Human Things. She left that rotting meat on the counter as a friendly welcome back gift, you know?

And Elend will definitely research all of the best housesitting practices, all of that housesitting philosophy that definitely exists...and then it will inevitably go wrong. Like, he’ll put your lights on a timer and accidentally short out your fuses, that sort of thing. But he won’t, like, destroy your house or anything.

D-Tier: Definitely Not an Advisable Choice

Hoid, Moash, Ranette

Hoid definitely only agreed to watch your house as part of some bigger scheme. And if that scheme requires your house to be sacrificed, he will do it. I just couldn’t relax in that scenario, even if might be okay. Similarly, Moash is passionate and great at what he does...unless he’s feeling particularly unchained or needs to go kill a god or something. He’s definitely not invested in your house being okay, you know? And Ranette will not stop testing her guns, so you’re going to maybe have a few new holes around.

F-Tier: Didn’t You Used To Have a House?

Wax, Wayne, the Stormfather

If you ask Wax or Wayne--or, heaven forbid, both of them--to watch your house, you will not have a house upon your return. Oh, maybe they’ll try, but there will inevitably be an explosion or a gunfight or a water tower breach and your house will be no more. Plus, Wayne will “trade” for a bunch of your possessions. So as you sort through the sopping and/or burned remains of your home, you will wonder why you keep finding strange shoes and perhaps a carrot, but your beer is missing. 

And if you ask a sentient storm to watch your house, then I don’t know what you’re expecting. I’m not sure the Stormfather even can water plants that are inside, and your mail is gonna be a thousand miles away.

Maybe it’s better to just stay home.

#I couldn't do them all so let me know where you'd rank others if you want! #cosmerelists #cosmere #Taln #Marasi #Adolin #Renarin #Jasnah #Navani #Steris #Kaladin #Szeth #Shallan #MeLaan #Elend #Hoid #Moash #Ranette #Wax #Wayne #Stormfather

[3collecurei]

Homestucktober 2023 (1-5)

1) Patron Troll

Seer gang rise up ✊🏽 (I'd done two classpect tests since 2012 and both times I was a Seer, my aspect just changed from Void to Doom which isn't a good sign lol...although the one I just tried from 4chan is telling me I'm a Page of Void now...I mean I'll take it because it's an aspect I've gotten before but I'm not really trying to be Jake or Tavros out here they both got so screwed over lol)

Anyway if she were my actual patron in a game session I'd be fucking terrified because of what she puts John and Dave through but also probably laughing my ass off at her antics and impressed by her intense sensing ability despite the blindness

2) Favorite Beta Kid

Dave Strider is much needed comedic relief in such a tragic tale and his ramblings are often as deeply philosophical as they are deeply ridiculous. I don't even have the right words to describe all this character has done for me. I'm in love with the Time aspect even though it's probably the last aspect I'd be assigned to because I think Time players have to deal with the multiplicity of the self the most out of everyone (except maybe Space players), and what a fucking difficult thing that must be. I will always wonder how he managed to spend IIRC weeks in the game whereas for everyone else it was just 24 hours (and of course Davesprite spending IIRC four months trying to fix his doomed session...my heart)

3) Favorite Beta Troll

(IIRC the beta trolls are technically the dancestors but I just call the original 12 the betas sometimes because they deal with the beta kids and we meet them first. Anyway)

Again I don't have words enough to describe what Karkat has done for me. Karkat rounding up and trying to lead eleven other insane motherfuckers and losing his cool often but almost always asserting, in his way, that it's because he deeply cares. You really see this in Act 6 Post Murderstuck when we find him in Openbound and he's obviously dealing with the weight of having failed at leadership so hard that over half of his teammates are dead. It probably took him a while of raging at how long the meteor trip would be (and upset Sollux didn't stay after "dying" in front of him again) before the sadness set in, but if there's one thing Karkat isn't, it's afraid of emotion. Also the PCG, CCG, FCG conversations remain some of my favorites in the entire canon, especially the one where FCG berates CCG for "wanting [Terezi] in every quadrant like a desperate fool." If there's one thing I can relate to about Karkat it's that I will also always read past me for filth even if it's hard. I use it as a form of self pruning and improvement and eventually I think FCG gets that too.

4) Favorite Alpha Kid

It was Dirk for a long time until maybe the last year or two, but I realized after re-reading the Epilogues that relating to him as much as I do is probably really bad lol, but Roxy was always a close second. Obsessed with the fact that the wild alcoholic, who one might think would be the worst team member because of that, instead sobers up and fully embodies John's role as the "friendleader" which is why I think they end up getting along so well. Despite the obstacles Roxy is full of love for their friends, and with friends like the people who they end up becoming in the Epilogues, you gotta hand it to them for their persistence. Considering that they were in a Void session their positivity throughout was pretty amazing to me, also shout out to them for fully embracing Calliope's skull appearance and finding them beautiful anyway. Alien love wins

5) Favorite Alpha Troll

Okay but can we talk about the fact that she ends up alive??? As a huge stan of hers since we started seeing her I was fucking living my best life lol I can't hate it whatsoever even though it was at John's expense 😭 Meenah's one of the most determined characters in the entire thing fr, she really said "fuck being dead for millions of years after isolating myself on the moon to avoid responsibility, now I want all the responsibility, all of it." Fully meets Karkat again in Candy and is like "lemme reverse what HIC did and use my ancient Queen powers to benefit the mutant," imo an incredible foil to her future self even though they're very much the same troll and speak pretty much exactly the same. Fish puns are hysterical to me most of the time, her unwavering dedication to the shtick 4x as hard as Feferi did it and editing/improving ones she doesn't like in the middle of her sentences 😂 I cosplayed as her at AX 2013 and had a blast, except for that Cronus cosplayer who tried to hit on me in character, I had no idea what to do lmao

#homestuck #homestucktober #terezi pyrope #dave strider #karkat vantas #roxy lalonde #meenah peixes

[moonstonehailstorm]

I recently discovered that I am autistic. I wish I could say I took it calmed and with positivity, but no: it was a mess.

A friend of mine shared a page called Embrace Autism, and I know a lot of people don't value the self diagnosis, but those tests are validated, updated and revised by several doctors and professionals.

When I did the first, my score was high but I laughed. Everybody is a bit autistic, right? This can't be right. Then I took another test, a longer one designed for adults who scape diagnosis due to masking and other conditions. I scored high again. I was not laughing anymore, it started to feel weird. Then I made another, and high again. This couldn't be real... I started to look for information focused on autism in adults and it slowly started to make sense. I couldn't believe it, I didn't want it to be real.

I surely started to cry, because the reality sunk in like million bricks. I've always related to Sheldon Cooper, but that was a joke, right? Well, maybe not so much... And all those times my mom would tell me to sit down correctly, to do or not do certain things, the way I don't understand sometimes social cues, how I learned to smile to people copying one of my cousins because I watched her do so, I never smiled as a kid and nowadays people think I'm too serious... Things like fidgeting, hyperfixate on stuff and having special interests, infodump my friends and be very conscious that I annoy them, categorize things, having misophonia and sometimes misokinesia, being absolutely unable to eat hot food or shower with hot water, and be extremely sensitive if someone pokes my arm... A lot of stuff that people considered exaggerations or calling me straight up crazy now have a name.

It was not easy... It still isn't and I'm still discovering stuff. And it hurts to think that I've changed things due to criticism, or just to fit in. And sometimes I catch myself remembering things and realizing it was my autism. For example, I once said in a job interview that I tend to focus on details a little bit too much as a weakness... It is not appreciated by neurotypicals for us to focus on the little bits instead of the big picture, and that's just wrong, that's rejecting myself and that's not who I am.

It's been a complicated process. And this takes me to another point: no therapist ever told me I may have autistic traits. And all of my problem regarding to selfharm was actually related to my autism. It was selfinjurious stiming. Needless to say I started to cry again when I read an article about it because every single piece that was missing finally found their place and the huge amount of relief that came after was incredible.

This is going to be a long process of self acceptance and discovering. I've spent almost all of my life wondering why anxiety didn't fit at all, or obsessive compulsive traits, things I thought I had and that have been suggested by professionals in therapy. None of them noticed I am neurodivergent. But now that I know, I can take the following steps that I actually need, and finally heal parts of me that were not broken, they were just misunderstood.

#actually autistic #asd #self diagnosed autism

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Playing in a Safe Space

This pic is from a FB fan page

Summary: Y/N is incredibly excited to be working on her favorite TV show, Supernatural! But what happens when one scene hits a bit too close to home?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: TW for brief mention of physical and emotional abuse, nothing graphic or overly detailed. Panic attack symptoms described.

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Jensen Ackles x teen!reader

Word Count: 2,286

A/N: I got the following request from a fellow SPN family member:

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Jensen x teen!reader where they’re shooting a scene with Demon Dean and it scares the reader and she goes off and hides. Then Jensen fisher and comforts her. I also had another idea, maybe Jensen finds her having a panic attack and talks her through it?

I didn't tag you here, hon, in case you wanted to stay anonymous. 😊 But thank you so much for this request - I ended up writing it right away, cause it all just flowed. Hope it's what you were looking for! 💓

As always, of course this story is about a Jensen from a different part of the multiverse. This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist || Tag Lists

You were so unbelievably humiliated. It was like something out of a nightmare - and just this morning you’d felt like you were living in a dream.

Your joy and excitement had begun a few weeks ago when you’re agent called to tell you that you landed a guest starring role on your absolute favorite TV show, Supernatural.

You auditioned a couple months ago, with only a tiny hope that you’d land the part. The show was very popular these days and lots of girls had gone out for it. But after many call backs, and screen tests, you got the call that the role was yours.

You flew in to Vancouver four days ago to start shooting the first of your three episode arc. Arriving on set you had a million butterflies rocketing around inside your stomach, so nervous to meet everyone and to walk through the sets.

I’m in the BUNKER! You thought to yourself, trying desperately not to geek out.

But you knew you failed to hide all your fangirl leanings when you met the cast. You met Mark and Ruth first, and they couldn’t have been kinder and more welcoming. Ruth gave you some pointers for finding your way around the many stages you were filming on.

“I got lost every day for three months when I first started.” She said, her gentle accent decorated by her soft laugh. Mark was hilarious and very warm and kind, putting you at ease immediately.

Your first day of shooting was all with them, and you didn’t actually get to meet Jared and Jensen until the next day. You had almost no scenes with Jared, since Sam was off scouring the countryside for his brother, who was currently, unfortunately, a demon. 

But he still came by to say hello, and welcome you to set. He was so sweet, and so unbelievably tall; you thought you might get a permanent crick in your neck if you spent too long talking to him!

But the bulk of your scenes over the next few days were with Jensen. You were fairly nervous about meeting him, partly because you had a little crush on him, (who didn’t?) but mostly because he was one of your favorite actors. You thought he was incredibly talented, and you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of him.

Jensen was playing Demon Dean in this first episode you were in, and you were playing a young witch named Talia, whom he steals away from Crowley and Rowena.

They want Talia for her powers and Deanmon wants her, simply to use as a bargaining chip with them. Mostly he finds her annoying and is always about 5 minutes away from killing her.

Though you felt a bit ill with nerves that first day of shooting, you quickly found, that you didn’t need to be nervous around Jensen. As it turned out he was everything people had said he was - kind, and funny, and such a generous actor to work with.

Most adults you worked with tended to treat you like a little kid, talking around you, not including you in conversations about the work you were doing, and they were very often condescending or patronizing.

Jensen was none of these things. He was professional and inclusive, bringing you into the discussions about how to work the scene, and being completely open to questions you had, or ideas you thought might work. He was an amazing scene partner, and a fantastic mentor. Filming over the last two days was absolutely wonderful and you enjoyed every minute of it.

And then came the scene this morning. Scene 149, Interior, Day.

You and Jensen had discussed the scene a couple of times and practiced it a few more, because it involved some physicality and Jensen wanted to make sure you were comfortable with it.

He had to push you backwards into a closet where Dean was locking Talia away while he figured out a way to power down her magic.

You’d gone over the pseudo-stunt a few times in the open practice area, with Jensen showing you that he’d actually be pushing you very gently, forcing you to help him sell the idea that Dean had shoved you very hard. There would be a mat, just out of frame for you to fall on, and by the end of a couple practices you felt confident that you could make it all look believable.

Then this morning, less than an hour ago, you’d begun the scene. And everything had fallen apart.

The very first time Jensen immersed himself in Demon Dean completely, his face cold, angry and brutal as he shoved you backwards, something had pinged in your brain and you could feel something heavy and chilly settle in your stomach.

As planned, Jensen pushed you lightly, but instead of falling backwards on to the mat like you were meant to, you just fell to the ground on your butt.

“Cut!” The director called out. Everyone chuckled lightly thinking that you’d just mishandled the stunt. Jensen checked that you weren’t hurt, and you could see the trace of worry in his face. You shook your head, embarrassed, but determined to do your job.

“I’m fine.” You said with a small smile.

You all started back at one, and “Action!” was called.

Again Jensen transformed into Demon Dean, and shoved you back. You tried harder to fall properly, but that terrible heaviness had begun to rise up into your chest, and it felt like your lungs were being crushed.

You heard, “Cut” yelled again, but it sounded far away. Everything was moving a bit as if you were in a fog.

As you stood up to go again, you could hear Jensen calling out to the director, “Hey Tom, maybe…could we take a couple minutes.”

But you shook your head, panicky and desperate. Flashes of memories were crossing your mind’s eye and you knew that if you didn’t get this shot right away, you were never going to be able to do it.

“No, no, I’m good to go again.”

“Y/N…” Jensen said softly, but you shook your head.

“No, let’s just go.”

“Back to one!” You heard someone call and you moved into the right position.

This time when Jensen came at you, you could see him holding back; you could see Jensen’s worry taking over Dean’s face. At which point all the panic set in.

Not only am I screwing up the scene, I’m distracting one of the best actors out there with my crap! You thought, and you began gasping for air you couldn’t catch.

Jensen never even got to try and push you again because you started hyperventilating. “Cut! We need a cut!” He called out worriedly as he stepped toward you.

Without thinking, you simply bolted, running off the stage and out to your trailer, ignoring the calls from cast and crew as you ran past.

When you reached your trailer, you flopped onto the brown couch and just sat there, humiliated and ashamed. You’d blown your chance at this amazing opportunity, and why?

Because for just a moment Deanmon’s brutality had reminded you of him.

It had been years since he’d been in your life…a not-very-long-term boyfriend of your mom’s that had treated you both horribly. Your mom had finally tossed him out the day she came home to find he’d shoved you down the basement stairs and locked you down there.

It was a far away memory that you thought you’d long since silenced.

But today, at the most inopportune moment it had reared its ugly head and now you were going to lose your job because of it. Maybe you’d even get a reputation for being a screw up on set.

Damn, don’t hire that kid, she’s a crack up, she lost it one day and just ran away from set!

You were shaking, and trying desperately to breathe when a soft knock came to your door. You didn’t answer, and the knock came again.

“Y/N, honey, are you in there?” Jensen’s deep voice carried easily through the trailer door. “I’m gonna count to five and come in okay? I just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

After counting to five, Jensen slowly opened your door, and you panicked more because you knew you were a complete mess. You’d buried your head in your knees, completely messing up the cute braids the hairstylist had given you that morning. You’d also ruined the makeup artist’s work since you knew your makeup was a smudgy mess.

But Jensen made no mention of any of that.

“Hey.” He said softly as he came into the trailer. He had a cup of something warm and he passed it to you. “Chamomile tea.” He said with a gentle smile as he sat next to you on the couch. “Ruthie swears it’s real magic.”

You took it in your shaking hands and tried to take a sip, grateful for the gesture. But you were shaking too much, so Jensen just took it back.

“That’ll be for later.” He said simply, as he set it on the counter beside you. Then he took you by the hand. “Come with me, I have an idea that might help.”

You let him lead you out of the trailer and across the lot, winding through trailers and tents, until you were suddenly in a wide, open, field, with the many buildings and sets behind you.

There were a few other people sitting out on blankets eating their lunches, or just lazing in the soft grass, far enough away from each other that there was space to breathe, but close enough that the space didn’t feel lonely. Soft laughter came back towards you both on a breeze and Jensen took a deep breath.

“Breathe, sweetheart, just in and out for a while.”

You nodded and tried to let your breathing slow, tried to focus on the green grass, warm yellow sunshine, and the steady feel of Jensen beside you.

“Come on, stretch your muscles with me.” He said, and then reached his arms up towards the sky, taking in a deep breath. You copied him. When your shaky limbs made you stumble slightly in the stretch, Jensen reached over and steadied you.

Over the next few minutes, Jensen encouraged you to touch your toes and then reach to the sky, over and over, and eventually you felt your oxygen levels returning to normal, the circulation in your limbs returning, making you feel more balanced, and in control, like you weren’t just going to fly away.

Finally Jensen lowered himself onto the soft grass with a groan. “That’s as close to yoga as I get.” He said with a sarcastic smile.

You smiled gently as you sat beside him. After a moment’s silence you shook your head. “I’m so sorry, I -”

Jensen cut you off. “No, kiddo, no apologies. I should have made us stop after that second take. I could see you weren’t okay.”

He paused briefly and then spoke softly. “Did I do something to scare you, or hurt you? Did I change anything from practice?”

You chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, you acted really, really well.”

Jensen frowned in confusion and you shook your head.  “No, it wasn’t anything you did. You were just acting, the way you were supposed to. But something in your expression, the cold fury, or…I don’t know how to describe it exactly. But then combining that look with shoving me down, it just…”

You trailed off and looked down, picking at a blade of grass.  “It just reminded me of something that happened a long time ago.”

“Wanna talk about it, sweetheart?” Jensen asked quietly.

You shook your head and gave him another shy smile. “Hell no.”

He nodded and chuckled. “Fair enough.  But just know if you ever need to talk about anything, you have lots of people here that like you a whole lot and we’re always willing to listen.”

You bit your lip, tears threatening again. “Except, I’m pretty sure I just threw the job away. I acted so unprofessionally and I wasted so much time and money.”

Jensen scoffed. “Pfft! Are you kidding me? That’s about a tenth of the amount of time and money Jared and I waste just screwing with Misha.”

He smiled widely and pulled lightly on one of your braids. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. We broke for lunch and when we come back, we’re gonna have one of our incredible stunt actresses do the fall, and then you and I will carry on with scene 156, when we’re out on the street, waiting for Crowley.”

You ducked your head, incredibly grateful to him. “Thank you.” You said softly. “I really, really appreciate it.”

He stood up and then pulled you to your feet. “No worries. Look, honey, we all have limitations. You just have to know it’s okay to stand up for yourself and tell us if there’s something that makes you uncomfortable or that’s stressing you out in a scene. We’re a problem solving unit, and sure we work together to make a great show, but we also make sure we’re taking care of each other too.”

You nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

“Good, then let’s get to the catering tent before Jared cleans them out.”

You laughed as he ran forward and you started jogging behind him. You truly loved it here, and never wanted to leave.

Maybe you’d get lucky and your character would be a hit and you’d end up with more than three episodes. But whether or not that ever happened, you’d bring home the lessons you learned in this safe space, and always carry them with you.

NEW TAGS:

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @siospins2 @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @nt-multi-fandom @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @sunshineandwings86 @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @awkward-and-indecisive @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @b3autyfuldisast3r @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @fangirlxwritesx67 @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @mysherlock221b @jensensgotyoudean @stixnstripesworld @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @norman1967 @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @b-i-t-c-h-i-e @twirpbunwarrior @mysweetlittledesire @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural

#jensen ackles rpf #jensenxteen!reader #non-romantic pairing #tw: panic attack #tw: mentions of abuse

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The arrival - Chapter 1

warning : comfort , tiny angst , little emotional , fluff , making friends

next chapter , masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Earth, a planet which in the drawings, the old books, the old documents was once a beautiful blue planet. For millions of years it was, until the people exaggerated it. Now it was nothing but a dying planet that could not heal itself. Not if humans continued to live on it.

It was a sadness to see all this, a sadness she only saw in part. ,,Miss, is this going to be on the test?" she heard the question of one of her students as she moved away from the blackboard. ,,Yes, it will be, I want you all to look at the plants on page one hundred and two by the day after tomorrow. The phenotypic and genotypic structure will be covered," she explained, smiling as she heard the sighs and laughter of some.

She let her gaze wander, saw the colors passing through her vision, the light from above coming from the lamps, the little light from outside.

She had her own vision. ,,So please-," she began, but stopped when the door to her room opened. Who is that? she asked herself, not recognizing the footsteps.

They were not the happy ones of the teenagers, or the bouncing ones of the children. But neither were they the determined ones of the other teachers. They were heavier, more disciplined. ,,How can I help the military?" she asked, looking at them questioningly.

Her reluctance was subliminal in her question. She did not see it and yet her students seemed to giggle. ,,Please, students, go take a break," she said and waited until all the students had withdrawn. ,,Sorry to disturb you, Miss Wilder, could we have a few minutes?" asked a man walking towards her. Leaning against her table, she sighed.

,,Why? If you've already sought me out, you should know my dislike for you," she said snappishly, folding her arms in front of her chest. ,,We are not here because of our dislikes. We are here to make you an offer," he said, and she heard his dislike as well.

Shaking her head slightly, she reached for her bag before taking her folded cane and walking past the two. ,,No interest and stay away from me," she warned and had already put her hand on the handle when his voice went through the quiet classroom, ,,Not even if we give you a trip to Pandora and funded research as well as the opportunity to see again". She stopped.

Her hand hung over the corner of the clinic, slowly realizing what he meant. Despite all the technology on Earth, nothing was free. And getting her vision back was something she could not afford. One thing she had to accept. The possibilities that opened up.

The possible journey to the planet she had been admiring, learning about, writing her thesis about since she was a student. The planet she emptied at school in the hope that the younger ones would try to save what could be saved. The plants and animals, the miracles she heard. A paid research, with like-minded people.

The possibility of seeing again, the possibility of seeing Pandora and not the broken earth. ,,What do you want from me?" she asked and turned to the two. She didn't know if they were smiling or not.

It was all the same and yet she hated herself for her weakness. ,,They are involved in our research. You have all the resources you need on Pandora, in return you just give us some data about nature" he said almost too easily.

A simple offer, but an offer that hurt. Am I cheating myself? she asked herself, not knowing if she was. ,,You would join Doctor Augustine's research, a project with the inhabitants of the planet," he added, and even if she didn't see him, she knew he could already guess her decision. ,,Doctor Augustine...how long has she been there?" she asked another question, hoping to avert her decision.

Not to give people the satisfaction of needing her. ,,It's been a while, but it's clear that we don't want to do without you. Your studies of plants are important, despite the fact that you have never been to Pandora, and your results are a source of research, teaching and study," he said.

She shook her head again, knowing that if she did, her life would probably change. But did she want to? Of course, and yet she left her students alone. They will understand, she thought to herself, thinking about her lessons, the happy stories, the films and the lectures.

They would manage without her. ,,You don't have to read my life to me...when do we start?" she said, avoiding their gaze. Even if she did not see them, she knew that they were smiling.

Maybe she was cheating herself by working for the men she hated, the men who mined and threatened Pandora. And yet the prospect of finally going to Pandora, feeling nature, studying it, watching it.

To get her sight back. A chance to see Pandora. ,,Tomorrow morning I'll be glad to have her with me," she heard him say before he held out his hand to her. ,,I'll be at the dock," she said dismissively before walking out, leaving them both behind. Her heart was beating too fast for her own good.

The excitement flowing through her was indescribable. I'm going to see Pandora, it went through her mind and she couldn't help but smile happily.

Walking down the hallway, she was about to disappear into the teachers' lounge when she heard the quick footsteps of her students. ,,What did they want from you?" asked James, a young boy standing excitedly with the others in front of them.

Her smile faded a little. ,,I'm going to Pandora," she said and was about to start explaining when she was almost knocked over by her students. The children hugged her warmly and she could hear the sounds of joy.

She was moved by the children's congratulations and cheers. ,,You are happy for me?" she asked, slightly surprised, and stood upright without being knocked down again. ,,Of course, you have told us so many times about Pandora", ,,You must send us photos and videos",,Yes, by all means, we want to see something too" came the explanations and she couldn't help but get a few tears of joy. ,,I will definitely do it, I promise" she said and promised to send a photo to each of them.

It touched her immensely that her students were so supportive. I have achieved something she thought hopefully and was grateful for the support of her students. But not only her students, but also the other teachers and her mother were happy for her.

Her mother even baked her a cake and they both celebrated a little together. But the later it got the more nervous she became and the doubts came. ,,What if I'm useless?" she revealed one of her worries to her mother as they sat at the table and ate dinner together.

Her mother's loving gaze did not reach her, but she felt her mother's hand on her. ,,My darling, you are not useless. You are an expert, my wonderful expert. You are the best researcher I know and that Doctor Augustine is lucky to have you," her mother cheered her up before she stood up and pulled her into a hug.

,,Remember, sweetheart, you don't have a weakness, you have a gift," she heard her mother say lovingly and felt the kiss on her head. ,,Thanks mom" she said and gave her a hug before they cleaned up and washed up together. ,,A gift," she thought, smiling slightly sadly. Blind.

She had been blind since her teenage years. She knew colors, how her environment looked, how most things looked. She saw things on her own things. The colors she saw replaced her vision and the images in her head were her own imagination. But Pandora.

Would be a completely different world in the true sense of the word. ,,I'm going to bed, have a good night" she heard her mother say through the small apartment. ,,All right, good night mom," she replied and waited until she heard the door close.

A sigh came over her lips as she moved towards the small shelf. ,,Hey Dad" she said and stroked the photo that was there. ,,I won't be around for a while...I'm on Pandora you know. They need me for their research. I don't know if I'll be back to be honest. Take care of mom until I get back" she told him everything and for a moment she hoped he heard her.

He just had to hear her. She stroked the picture one last time before disappearing into her own room. Undressing and slipping into her pajamas she lay down. The blanket was warm and seemed to wrap around her like a protective embrace. ,,It will be all right," she murmured before lying down on her side and closing her eyes.

But her night was not dark, it was full of dreams, dreams with colors, strange beings, stories. It was the time when she saw again, felt the world, it was her favorite time.

As if she could switch off from everything and finally see the real wonders again. The colors in her dreams changed to colorful plants, shining trees, many different animals like she had never seen before.

The forest around her seemed endless and yet was not threatening. The forest seemed to welcome her, to watch her. ,,Come to me, my child," she heard a voice she had never heard before. Her footsteps were cautious as she walked forward, the colors seemed to never stop, always reshaping themselves. It was unbelievable.

Suddenly, something like a giant tree appeared in front of her, but it seemed to be in motion. Its branches moved up and down as if it were really alive. She wanted to move forward, it seemed as if the voice would come from there.

Before she heard a screech in the sky. Looking up in confusion, she saw that the colors were broken by bright light and an eagle was circling in the sky. But before she could observe it further, the animal swooped down straight toward her. And with the stretching of his claws he collided with her.

Opening her eyes, she found herself back in reality. Her heart beat fast, her vision calmed down and was replaced by darker colors. Not as beautifully luminous as those in her dream. ,,What was that?" she murmured questioningly and ran her hand over her face.

But her eyes were still there. The eagle had not scratched them out. How could he? It wouldn't change her vision.

Sighing, she took the blanket off herself, got up and went into the bathroom to get ready. The cold water of the shower was pleasant on her warm heated skin. It not only cooled but also seemed to take away the pain. Since her blindness, her eyes sometimes hurt, but only after dreaming.

It seemed as if her dream vision was straining her nerves too much and resisting it. It will be alright she thought as she tied the towel around herself and went back to her room to pack her things. ,,Y/n honey coffee?" she heard her mother ask at the entrance of her door before the click of the light switch sounded. ,,Coffee, and you know I don't need it," she replied, shaking her head at the lack of light from the lamp. She knew her room inside out.

Only the light made the colors seem a bit brighter which hardly changed anything. ,,I know but you like the bright things" her mother said lovingly before she started to make the coffee. Continuing to pack her things, she came out of the room dressed in her clothes a short time later.

The smell of the fresh coffee rose in her nose and she went into the kitchen. ,,Thank you" she said before taking the cup from her mother and leaning against the kitchen table. ,,How are you?" the older woman asked and took a sip of her drink as well. ,,Excited, I mean, this is the planet I always wanted to go to. It's what I studied for, but it's also scary...Pandora is dangerous," she admitted, feeling her mother's hand on her shoulder.

,,Earth is also dangerous and you have adapted. The school, the streets, our apartment. You know your way around better than anyone else. Your colors show you the way," she said, knowing how her daughter was adapting.

She learned her surroundings and remembered people. ,,I will always be with you...your father too" she reminded and the younger one heard the jingling of something metal. ,,Here, this belonged to your father," said the older one, putting the dog tag chain in her daughter's hand. ,,I can't accept this," she protested, wanting to give it back, but her mother shook her head. Instead, she put a hand on her daughter's cheek.

Tears had gathered in her mother's eyes even if she did not see them. ,, I and your father are so proud of you. Keep this close to you so we can be with you," she heard her mother's brittle voice before they hugged. ,,I promise I will," she heard back, just as touched, and she already missed the security she felt. After they both talked a little more they decided it was time. She could not be too late.

The cab they had ordered drove them to the drop-off point. It was an environment in which she was only rarely. Too many people, too loud and too confusing.

Because of the many boxes, containers and machines that were moving, she could not get a clear picture. ,,I love you and I'll take care of you," her mother said as they stood in front of the cab. The bag with her things hung over her shoulder.

The chain around her neck jingled lightly as she wrapped her mother in a final hug. ,,I will, as soon as I get there, I'll send you photos and videos, I promise," she replied, wrapping her mother in a final hug. She detached herself and unfolded her blind cane before heading for the transport vehicle.

She tried to get a picture of it, to figure it out. She dodged a machine coming toward her. She went around a crate and kept going, but at the latest when she heard a ,,Watch out!" she knew that she had almost run into something. ,,Sorry" she apologized and waited for an answer, but it didn't come.

Astonished, she turned around to find the noise. Rollers? she asked herself and tried to listen more carefully. ,,Hey, do you need help?" asked a friendly male voice. She was not quite clear as if he was below her. She looked down and carefully moved her cane forward. A wheelchair she recognized and decided to go the friendly way.

She held out her hand to him, which was accepted after a short hesitation. ,,Hi, I'm Y/n Wilder Biologist, I'm supposed to be on this transporter, you too?" she asked, smiling slightly at him.

He seemed slightly surprised by her question and cleared his throat. ,,Ehm I am Jake Sully was taken here because of my brother as a soldier as I see we are already two side groups" he tried to ease the mood a little. ,,Side groups?" she echoed and started to move again but heard him next to her.

,,Well, me in a wheelchair, you blind, that's a good team for application photos and the press," he joked, and she understood what he meant. ,,Then we are probably the cool special cases" she joked and they both smiled a little.

Together they got in and even though she didn't want to, she stuck with Jake. Better to have some eyes she thought to herself before they both stopped and waited for someone.

Since they both didn't know where exactly they were going. ,,Ah Miss Wilder how nice to see you here I see you already made friends.Sully your brother is waiting for you back there. For you, Miss, just go down the hall, I'll walk with you a bit" she heard the same voice of the man as yesterday.

His footsteps hadn't changed either, at least she could still make that out among all the noise. ,,Well then, Jake, I hope to see you again," she said and shook his hand in conclusion. ,,We have to fulfill the quotas," he called after her and she smiled. ,,What kind of quotas?" the soldier asked, but she waved him off. ,,You wouldn't understand a joke, so where is my capsule?" she asked and walked next to the man.

She knew that she could only reach Pandora in cyrosleep, but still. ,,Maybe I'm dreaming again" she thought when she arrived at the capsule. ,,Here's your stuff, you can give it to me, I'll stow it," he said and she suspected a slight smile on his face. ,,Thank you," she said curtly before putting her hand on the capsule.

It was cool, no wonder the metal and the special compunents were made for sleeping in space. ,,Miss would you please get ready" she heard a strange voice.

But a certain smell of disinfectant was in the air. A doctor or a nurse, she thought. ,,Sure," she said curtly and began with the preparations. Minutes later she was ready in the capsule, waiting to fall asleep and wake up on Pandora. She took a deep breath and surprisingly the capsule was comfortable.

It was quiet and the sounds of the crew's machines were barely audible. ,,Two more minutes," she heard the doctor say and tried to relax further. Her hand closed around the chain.

The metal was cool and yet reassuring. For a moment, she imagined her father. How he hugged her and saw her off with her mother. A beautiful thought.

Until it suddenly became cold. Colder than anything she had ever felt. I'm freezing alive, she thought, and even though the feeling was strange, she wasn't afraid. She would never see the end, only the surge of colors would show her the end. Taking a last breath she felt herself getting more and more tired.

Before she fell asleep surrounded not by darkness but by the same bright colors that greeted her. How long had she been lying there? How long had she been sleeping? Decades, days, minutes she did not know. But it didn't matter because she had her colors.

The colors of her dreams, the same forest. The same landscape was beautiful. She wandered through the forest, looked at the plants, saw the animals that passed her by.

Saw the bright blue sky, the clouds. ,,Pandora" came softly over her lips and she ran over a bright plant before it suddenly retracted and hid its blossom. She smiled and began to touch the other flowers and they all retracted.

She had touched the last one when a breeze passed through the forest. Blossoms and leaves were stirred up and danced around her. ,,My child, come here," she heard that voice again and looked around.

The giant tree had reappeared and was moving its branches. She walked towards it and tried to reach it. But no matter how fast she ran, the tree kept disappearing. It remained unreachable.

She suddenly heard another screech. Her gaze went to the sky where she saw the eagle again. Knowing what would happen, she hid under the large leaves of a plant.

But the eagle did not come, she heard neither the screeching nor the fluttering of its wings. She winced as she suddenly heard a crackling sound coming from behind her in the forest. Not daring to turn around, she tried to remain calm.

If she didn't move, whatever it was might stay away. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, whirling around to ward off something if possible, but she only met darkness.

Darkness that tore the ground from under her feet and made her fall. Before she suddenly opened her eyes and woke up. ,,Good morning sunshine" she heard the doctor's muffled voice before she ran her hands over her face.

Slowly the sharpness returned to her vision and the colors became clearer. I'm floating, she suddenly realized, lightly waving her arms. ,,Yup you are, well we all are to be exact" he said and she felt him pull her out of the capsule. She again rowed around a bit and felt helpless. Moving around in the spaceship with gravity was one thing.

However, without proper support it was quite another. ,,Don't worry, it won't take long to get your things and your cane, just try to navigate a little" he said carefully before she got the things in her hand. ,,All right, I can do that" she tried to encourage herself and pulled the bag over her shoulders before unfolding her staff and trying to float along something.

Despite her uncertainty, the feeling of weightlessness was a fun thing. She didn't know exactly where she was floating.

A few people avoided her, but once she caught someone with her staff. ,,So we meet again," she suddenly heard Sully's voice, who seemed to be floating around. ,,How nice that you made it. Do you know how long this will take?" she asked and continued to hold on to the metal.

,,I don't know, but I think we're about to be passed on," he said and she thought she could hear a certain sadness in his voice. ,,Is there a window around here if so could you describe Pandora to me?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

Jake seemed to look around for a moment. ,,Yeah, wait, come with me," he said, taking her by the arm and they both floated through the ship. ,,Here" he said and put his and her hand on the cold window. ,,It looks like the Earth, only less broken, more like the Earth in its prime," he described and she nodded. ,,A beautiful image," she murmured, but got no response from Jake.

The two stayed together, talking for a while. She learned about his brother's death, offered to come and they talked about their relationship.

Jake had truly become a good friend despite the fact that she had known him for so little time. She already called him that and the soldier seemed happy to have someone.

Before the two of them went to the shuttles where they sat down next to each other. Her ears were ringing from the engines, the talk of the soldiers and the commanding troop leader who was giving her an earache.

It took a few minutes for the shuttle to break through the atmosphere and begin its approach to Pandora. There were no windows in the room where they saw, which is why their colors were faded and dark. Having the mask on her face was strange.

A new feeling not necessarily oppressive but rather unfamiliar and yet she would also get used to it. ,,All right ladies I want you all to go out now and remember without the mask the planet will kill you if I don't" he shouted and the soldiers stood up.

She too unfolded her staff and waited for Jake to get into his chair. ,,Well, let's go," he said, and she nodded in agreement before they both walked down the ramp and set foot on Pandora's stone floor for the first time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist : @mooniequeen , @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

#avatar pandora #avatar james cameron #avatar 2009 #jake sully #pandora #avatar rda

[realhousewives-fan]

The Wedding Vows Crashers

This looked like the longest night ever, not in a good way, but in the most boring possible way.

It might have been a beautiful night, but it didn’t look like that on the screen. All the pages, all the speeches, the long speeches. And no food.

Brynn Whitfield was so bored that she started to flirt with Erin Lichy’s husband!

But Erin seems to have a really great relationship with her husband Abe Lichy.

He surprised her with a beautiful ring, and he said it was pricy, but she deserved it.

They’re celebrating their 10 years anniversary and wanted to share their vows as they didn’t do that when they got married.

Ubah Hassan was an amazing friend and helped Erin with borrowing diamonds worth 2,5 million dollars! Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.

Sadly Ubah was tested positive for Covid and couldn’t come to the anniversary – and I think Erin really missed her that night.

Jenna Lyons is a fascinating person! All her stories, her connections, and her quirkiness. I’m just obsessed with her!

She was grabbing Erin’s ass in her armour dress – and Erin’s dad appeared to be staring Jenna down.

He kept on commenting that Erin’s dress was too revealing, and it didn’t seem like he liked the ass grabbing.

Brynn and Jessel Taank were joking with Abe, and Brynn was a little more flirtatious with him, but he was laughing with them.

They were a couple of troublemakers at this anniversary, but Brynn mentioned multiple times that she was bored, and the speeches were never-ending.

Jenna pointed out that the speaker had four pages in his hand, and the women understood that it was going to be a long night at that point.

It wasn’t fair that it was only Sai De Silva, Brynn, Jenna and Jessel that was corrected by Erin’s sister, as it was obvious that there were a lot chatting during the speeches and vows.

It seemed like it was a boring night, and Sai ghosted the party as she was hungry and complaining once again that there was no food around.

#Real Housewives of New York #RHONY #Brynn Whitfield #Erin Lichy #Abe Lichy #Ubah Hassan #Jenna Lyons #Jessel Taank #Sai De Silva

[the-lunar-library]

How I Spent Years Figuring Out My Book's Cover

I don't have any experience in advertising, and my digital art skills are limited, and every article on self-publishing urges you not to do your own cover, and probably they are right. But I did my own cover, and I thought I'd share some of the process. The figuring out how it should look part, not the technical part.

For a long time, I just practiced playing around with images. These weren't finished products by any means.

This image from early 2019 was one of my favorites. It's supposed to represent my protagonist Yew, reflecting on her ruined village and, by extension, some of her choices. The set up is straightforward – tragic woman gradating into a creepy graveyard. I felt it looked very similar to other covers I'd seen, which is both a good and a bad thing. A cover should clue you in to the tone and genre, so having set symbols and moods is helpful. On the other hand, you don't want your book to look like a million other people's.

Silent-film-era actress Mary Astor is standing in for Yew. The painting is by Caspar David Friedrich. To the best of my knowledge, both images are in the public domain.

For a while, I played with collages. (Pretty much all the stock photos/art is from Pixabay, which I found to be extremely helpful.) I liked the way these gothic windows formed frames, and I wanted to include both protagonists, Eider and Yew. This never made it fully into a test cover, but I did a few versions of this image, both with just photos and also including original art.

(Please admire my stock photo Iron Stag with his candle-antlers. I worked hard affixing each little flame to each little tine.)

The background I used here (Image Source: Freestock.com) is unromantically called “Plastic Chunks” in my files.

I also really like the ceiling paintings of Jules-Edmond-Charles Lachaise, so I experimented using one as a frame.

Above is a Yew cover, and below is an Eider cover.

I can't remember where I picked the asset(s?) for this background, but I suspect it was also Freestock.

I eventually decided on having both heroines front and center, each paired with an antler from one of the two mysterious stags in the story. This focal point would be a hand-drawn piece of art with less obtrusive public domain stock stuff framing it. I wanted the picture to be intricate, feel fairy-taleish, and include different elements from the story – a snake, a diary, flowers, mirror shards, a pear, seeds, antlers, and a hand mirror.

My first sketch had the basic idea down, but it was very long and skinny and with the title as part of the drawing it felt too tattoo-y to me. Though, looking closely, I see I included Pete the mule's head (upside down, just under the word “magic”), and it's sad he didn't make the final cut.

So I made the image more of a circle and worked really hard until I was proud of it.

From there, I just had to decide on which assets to use and what colors to go for. I really liked the combination of dark desaturated reds and blues in this one, along with the very gothic doily frame. However, it also felt somewhat cluttered, maybe a better design for a poster than something that was going to have text on top of it.

There's also a lot I like about this one, the cold colors, the blending of ice and aged iron. (The original title for the novel was The Iron Claws.) But again, that border felt like it would be fighting with any text thrown over it.

I was also concerned whether the central image would look too small and muddled in thumbnail, so I did this very stripped down version. I wasn't a big fan of it, but it's interesting.

(By the way, you may have noticed that none of these share the actual dimensions of my real book cover. I hadn't even done the page layout yet at this point, and this was all very much in the testing stage.)

As it turned out, I was on the right track with the earlier gothic doily cover. Aside from the hand-drawn image, I ended up going with different assets, most notably a smaller frame, deeper colors, and additional borders along the sides. (This image also isn't in the proper scale.) I did this cover over and over again, making little adjustments until I was satisfied.

What do you think? Did I make the right call?

Here’s info on the book itself: THE PRICE AND PREY OF MAGIC

#fairy tale #indieauthor #writers on tumblr #writeblr #fantasy #book design #yew bosse #eider isarna #iron stag #the price and prey of magic #long post

[daytura]

"I am plantae" ... — updates on Calculus of Eschatology

Calculus of Eschatology is a WIP traditional oneshot of Archbishop Leucoryx journeying out of the Sanctuary, across the Realm of the future, and eventually defeating Oryx the Exalted God.

"I am plantae, one lily and a million seeds all charred at the end of the world. We all want to sing to our gardens; few trust their voice long enough to." — from the draft of Calculus of Eschatology, post-script

"I am plantae, one lily" 👉 implied that the person speaking is Lily, Archbishop Leucoryx's final student and the latest one who failed the Sanctuary's grisly death test. Lilies are a mild motif throughout Calculus of Eschatology, and Lily's death particularly affects Leucoryx's strength of will in Soteriology of the Coherent.

"and a million seeds all charred at the end of the world" 👉 The final battle at the end of The Hierophant destroyed much of the Realm. Lily's post-death physical form as a literal lily almost didn't make it (even though technically they don't need it).

"We all want to sing to our gardens; few trust their voice long enough to." 👉 Executing idealist beliefs and desires is inherently tricky, rare, and difficult. Leucoryx's permanent victory over Oryx the Exalted God is one of those successful executions. Even though he never literally sang to his garden, he metaphorically trusted himself enough to continue on his journey and win the final battle.

---

Even though I haven't actually completed the main story of Calculus of Eschatology, writing this first draft of Lily's post-script was such a tone shift for me that it would be remiss not to reflect on it. I heavily inspired it from The Poisonwood Bible's "The Eyes in the Trees" section, which itself has Barbara Kingsolver's wordier writing style. I can't help but feel like I'm immortalizing Lily as much as I will immortalize Leucoryx.

Something I did not expect to do at all while writing Lily's post-script was establish Leucoryx as her father. It makes too much sense not to edit out. I don't think it matters that Leucoryx actually is her biological father as much as the utter guilt is. He's very selective about what actually intrudes on his mind, so remembrance and grief are choices. Is Lily still "just" a student when Leucoryx chooses to feel her loss, time and time again?

From Lily, at the very end: "The pen in your hands will guide your words, and the cream pages will flutter but remain resolute under your fingers, and the bookshelf will creak once and never again. Father, you will hold on but forgive, for both of us, forgive and give and run, run for me, I forgive you."

#postrox #homegrown by postie #writing #the hierophant #calculus of eschatology

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday!

IKEA a.k.a. The Swedish Divorce Maze.

The record for most female orgasms in one hour is 134.

White chocolate doesn’t actually contain any chocolate.

45% of people falsely claim to have been skydiving.

People are more likely to lie in the afternoon than in the morning.

There is a road in Rome built in 312 BC and it's still in use today.

Love is neurologically addictive.

Jacob Rees-Mogg has just tested ‘negative’ for Christianity.

The largest military tank was made by Porsche for the Nazis.

Every public tweet is recorded in the Library of Congress.

Dostoevsky wrote ‘The Gambler’ to pay off his gambling debts.

60% of the alcohol in America is drunk by 10% of the people.

Replacement eyelids can be made from foreskins.

19% of Americans think they're in the top 1% of earners.

Nigerian email scams were introduced to Nigeria by the British.

The Wikipedia page for 'Pedant' has been edited over 500 times.

In Italy, it's illegal to build a house that doesn't have a bidet.

Research suggests women make more jokes when they’re not being interrupted by men.

Male coin spiders only have sex once. After mating, they chew off their own genitals.

The FBI estimates that there are 300 people pretending to be US Navy SEALs for every genuine one.

There are mountains in Antarctica called Nipple Peak, Dick Peaks and Mount Cocks.

If Napoleon's sister Pauline got cold feet, she would warm them in the cleavage of one of her ladies-in-waiting.

Having regular orgasms can improve your decision-making skills, creativity, and even make you more social.

The chocolatey filling between the wafers in a KitKat is made out of recycled KitKats.

US rapper 50 Cent announces that he now wishes to be known in the UK as 1 Pound.

Castration prevents male pattern baldness, as long as it's done before any hair is lost.

Knowing you have the next day off is more relieving than the actual day off.

When you kiss someone, you get a spike in the neurotransmitter dopamine, making you crave more.

Ottoman emperor Murad The Cruel put 25,000 people to death for smoking.

Ironically, Truss knows all too well what a weak pound from Kwasi Kwarteng feels like!

South Korea shut down its entire space programme in 2014 when its only astronaut resigned.

The worlds shortest international bridge connects Spain to Portugal and is 3.2 metres long.

If Elon Musk lost 99.9% of his net worth, he would still have about $273 million.

Greece's first national airline was named Icarus Airlines. It went bankrupt within months.

The Eiffel Tower was originally supposed to be in Barcelona, Spain, but the project was rejected for being too “expensive and strange”.

The sports bra was invented in the 1970s by sewing two jockstraps together.

Research at MIT has shown that only half of perceived friendships are mutual. Only half the people you consider friends think of you as a friend and vice versa.

Caffeine doesn't actually give you energy, it just blocks the adenosine receptors in your brain; the ones that let you know when you're tired.

Twitter is the second-most educated social media platform in America, with 42% of its users having a college education. LinkedIn is ranked first with 56%.

Genghis Khan killed so many people that the earth began to cool. 40 million people were wiped off the planet, vast areas of farmland were reclaimed by the forests and carbon levels dropped significantly.

Ernest Hemingway often told friends and family he thought the FBI was following him, but they just told him he was paranoid. Years after he died, the FBI released files showing that they had been following him and bugging his phones for the last 20 years of his life.

In 1991, a naked, bleeding boy was spotted by Milwaukee police fleeing a man's apartment. The officers returned with him, spoke to a man who said they had a "lovers' quarrel" and then left. The 14-year-old boy had been drugged and the man was Jeffrey Dahmer.

In Norse mythology, Thor was once disguised as a bride and brought to Thrym (a giant) with Loki as his bridesmaid. Thrym became suspicious after Thor ate an entire ox, eight salmon, and drank several barrels of wine.

In 2007, a Bosnian couple cheated on each other with each other. They had spent time in a chat room bonding about their marital woes. When they met in person, they found out the person they had been complaining to was their spouse. They got divorced.

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #lockdown #new blog #coronavirus #books #democracy #brexit #cronyism #election #tuesdaymotivation #autumm

[growsiterank]

How I got 100 leads in 24 hours with a single landing page

A few weeks ago a startup asked me to discover the cheapest and most sustainable method for her to collect 25 leads to try her product. Like most of these companies, the startup didn’t have enough budget to conduct marketing experiments, so it needed to “nudge its way” to get its first customers.

After 24 hours I was able to generate 60 qualified leads by simply using a landing page and a group on LinkedIn: It was so successful that they decided to repeat the experiment again.

Discover your targeted audience

There are billions of articles and books out there that talk about the importance of defining a targeted market, so I’m not going to teach you a lesson on this topic; I will only tell you what, for techniques, I am going to list, and you will need to know exactly to turn your users into leads.

Target anyone you believe can fit into your ideal customer image.

Not long ago, I had an idea for a new app, and I invested in recruiting 10 paying customers before I even made it, just to figure out who my ideal audience was. So my goal was to gather 10 people who would buy and use it, and that’s how I figured out who my targeted audience was even before building the app.

But this is only one of the methods you can use; there are millions of other ways you can test to recognize your target market. In the case I mentioned earlier, they were companies looking for an easy way to collect subscribers.

2) Create groups on LinkedIn or Facebook

You will need to find a substantial and very active group on LinkedIn or Facebook: be careful that the chosen group is the largest and the one that is really active as there are many that consist of only a handful of robots.

In my case, LinkedIn was better than Facebook. Taking a look at their discussions I realized it was what I was looking for, much better than the ones on Facebook.

Another thing to look for is any kind of promotional material advertised in the group because, after all, you will be doing marketing here too, so you will want to know how others have done it before you; in my case, I found updates that looked like promotions as if it were Native Advertising.

So, become a member of the group and test everything you can: post some updates, get an idea of ​​the threads entered and how people respond, then start familiarizing yourself with the group and make sure it contains those users you intend to transform. in lead.

3) Write bomb-proof content for that group

Now find old content written by you or your team and write a new one: the content produced will have to bring a high level of engagement with the people in your group; I’m talking about something that moves the masses, that leads users to respond and read 80% of what you have written.

Not long ago, BuzzSumo wrote an article titled: ” Why Content Goes Viral: What the Analysis of 100 Million Articles Taught Us “ in which they talked about which types of titles received the most shares and why: take a look at it to get an idea of ​​which title to use.

In short, then, you will need bomb-proof content for your audience, do you want examples? Go to BuzzSumo and enter the keywords for your ideal target, you will immediately find the most shared content. Have you written and published your content? Good! Now start collecting leads!

4) Create a PDF in addition to your article

This step is self-explanatory: create a downloadable PDF in addition to your article by including a biography of you, your company or useful information at the end of the whitepaper.

In any case, remember to enter dates to prevent your readers from knowing that it is an old writing or an article published elsewhere.

5) Create an opt-in landing page for your PDF

These are the so-called squeeze pages: the idea is to tap the email from your visitor who wants to have something in return.

The page shows the beginning of the article in which the visitor is asked to enter their email address in order to have the full version of the PDF: the idea is to attract them to your landing page and then convince them to leave you their email address. So try to be very precise and concise in the text you are going to insert in the section.

Learn More:

#online marketing #digital marketing #email marketing #lead generation

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

[dreamerstreamer]

A Terrible Tutor

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [High School!AU] He’s cocky, annoying, a total tease, has a laugh loud enough to shake the stars, and you hate him. But as luck would have it, he’s also your tutor.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: minor cursing

A/N: this is based on a classmate i had way back! (we did not fall in love. he was awful.) i’ve also never taken physics, but i tried something a bit new for the reader’s personality. i hope you enjoy :) <3

You glared down at your physics textbook, the open pages staring back up at you with beady eyes made of diagrams and labels. Off to the side, your notebook was strewn across your desk, a list of questions scribbled across the top line in a hurried rush. The handwriting was messier than you would have liked, but the thought didn’t irritate you.

What did irritate you was that it was nearly half past four, and your so-called tutor still hadn’t shown up.

You could still envision the concerned look on Mr. Craftson’s face as he held you back a moment after class, watching as the rest of your classmates poured out of the door with an anxious look. He had offered you a kind smile before pulling out your test from the week before, and you winced at the numerous red marks scattered across the front page alone.

“I know you’ve been struggling in this class,” he said, gazing at you almost pitifully.

You tried not to glower at the sight of his apologetic eyes trained on you, instead nodding your head slowly. “It’s been… hard,” you said slowly.

He leaned an arm on his chair, pushing your test toward you. “You ask questions in class,” he hummed, “and from what I’ve seen, you complete your homework diligently.” His smile fell. “Yet here you are me, with the lowest mark in my class.”

You wanted to shrivel up into a ball. Maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but he wasn’t wrong, either.

At your silence, he prodded at you. “Is there anything going on at home that might be hindering you, or…?”

You whipped your head up, your eyes wide. “No! Things are—things are great. It’s just…”

You swallowed, then sighed, fidgeting your fingers on your lap. “I guess,” you murmured, trying to quell the shame flaring up inside you, “I’ve just been really struggling with the material, and none of it’s really been clicking.”

Mr. Craftson’s face softened in an instant. “That’s alright. Thank you for being honest with me. If my teaching hasn’t been working out with you…”

He paused, rubbing at the blond stubble on his chin for a moment. Then, his face lit up and he leaned forward. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ve got a great student who I think might be able to explain things to you in a way you might be able to grasp a little better. He’s got the best marks in this class.”

Your eyes widened. The best in the class? He had to be a genius.

“I have a good feeling he can meet you tomorrow at four after school to help you out,” he continued, leaning against the arm rest of his office chair. “What do you say?”

You blinked, a thoughtful look passing over your face. Lord knew you needed the help—you were practically failing the class—but an uneasy stone settled into the pit of your stomach. You’ve never needed tis much help to pass a class before. The thought made you want to gag. Slowly, you opened your mouth.

“Do I have to…” You gestured vaguely. “Pay him or something?”

His cerulean eyes blinked at you for a second, then he laughed—the kind of deep-belly laugh only teachers seemed to be able to have. “No, no,” he said, waving his hand at you, “not at all. He’s a good kid. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

You bobbed your head, your insides crumbling. You didn’t want to accept, you really didn’t. Part of you guys wanted to believe that you could just work harder, study by yourself even more. You were a dedicated student, and you were doing just fine in all your other classes. Surely the content couldn’t get that much harder, right?

But as your gaze lowered to the red ink staining your test once more, you felt yourself swallowing the lump in your throat. Straightening your back, you let your stubborn pride seep out of your shoulders and onto the floor.

It looked like this was a sacrifice you were simply going to have to make.

“Thank you so much for the offer,” you said, letting your lips curl up into a genuine, grateful smile. “It—it really means a lot.”

Mr. Craftson grinned at you, an easygoing flint shining in his eyes. “Of course. You’re a bright student. Sometimes we all just need a little push.”

You could still remember shaking his hand in thanks before bundling your stuff in your arms and shuffling into the hall, tucking your feet between the pages of your textbook. That had been yesterday, and now, the same one was sitting on your desk, open to a new page full of jumbled words you could hardly decipher.

The chair across from you was distinctly empty.

He—whoever he was—was late.

You distantly wondered to yourself who your tutor even was, your gaze drifting down to your textbook. Mr. Craftson had said he was the best student taking the class. Would it be George? He always seemed like he knew what was going on, and he never really asked questions. But sometimes, he looked like he was just zoning out. Maybe it was Technoblade. He was smart. You paused, then shook your head. No, everyone knew he was one of those English kids.

The thought made you furrow your brows, wracking your head even more. The words on the page grew muddled and fuzzy as you thought even more. Just who was it?

Just then, you heard the classroom door swing open with the same loud creak every door in the school seemed to have. The sound of heavy breaths and panting filled the air, then a haggard voice spoke up.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

You didn’t look up from your page, letting a sigh escape your lips as you lifted your head. Plastering a polite smile to your face, you let your gaze travel toward your tutor. “Hi, it’s nice to me—”

Suddenly, your voice died in your throat as your eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway. Towering over the desks with a duffel bag resting against his hip, his dirty blond locks were damp and matted against his forehead, his emerald eyes blinking at you. Something bitter and warm twisted in your gut at the sight, and the smile dropped off your face and into a scowl.

“Oh,” you said flatly. “It’s you.”

The smile he offered you was easygoing, but you didn’t miss the strain in his gaze. “It’s me.”

You bit on the inside of your cheek, your heart practically revolting against your rib cage with the way it was hammering. A million questions were darting around the inside of your skull, only making your blood boil even more with each passing second.

Of all the people you had expected to show up, Clay was easily the last.

The two of you had first met back in freshman year in your first science class—he had sat behind you and had the loudest laugh on the planet, or so you were convinced. You were quieter back then, but just as stubborn and snappish as now. Soon enough, one thing led to another, and you swore the two of you were suddenly enemies for life.

Although you couldn’t remember what had caused your little feud, you knew that he was the one who started it. He was loud and kicked your chair, he just loved to borrow your pens and never return them, and you could never figure out just why he loved to tease you so much. You don’t think you learned a single thing in that class, always distracted by the presence staring a hole into your back, and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

Naturally, that meant your teacher assigned him to sit behind you for the rest of the year. To this day, you were convinced she hated you, and you still avoided her in the halls.

To say that science class was your least favourite would be an understatement, and soon enough, everybody was in on your hatred for each other. Clay never seemed to stop pestering you no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, and you would never forget the day you finally snapped at him, whipping around to glare at him with your cheeks on fire.

“Will you please shut up?”

The shocked look on his face was still burned into your memory as it melted into a wide, proud grin.

“Only if you make me.”

Even years later, he always seemed to find a way to worm himself back into your life, and you hated it. You hated him, simple as that.

So, seeing him standing in front of you like this, it took every ounce of your strength to keep your voice as neutral as possible.

“What took you so long?”

He patted his duffel bag before slipping it off his shoulder and setting it on the ground. “I just finished football practice. Coach ran a little long and I figured it would be polite to take a shower before so I didn’t smell all sweaty when I tutored you.”

You blinked, your mouth falling open. That explained his wet hair, you guessed. While you were vaguely flattered, you were distracted by something else. “You knew that you would be tutoring me?”

Clay nodded, pulling back the chair in front of you. “Yeah. Phil asked me.”

You gaped. “You call Mr. Craftson by his first name?”

His smile was a touch too smug for your liking, and you wanted to wipe it off his face. “Maybe. I was surprised when he asked, though.” He wrinkled his nose and shot you a teasing smirk as he sat down. “I didn’t think you would be failing this class.”

You glowered, that same bitter feeling bubbling up in your chest, again. “I’m not failing,” you snapped. “I’m just…” You paused, your cheeks growing hot. “…not passing.”

He gave you a deadpan look, then laughed. “That’s the same thing.”

You sent him a gesture that your teacher most certainly would have scolded you for if he was here, and he laughed even harder. You were suddenly reminded of just how damn loud his laugh was, sounding like fireworks in your ears. Slumping over, you hung your head in your hands.

“Ugh. I can’t believe you knew you were going to be tutoring me of all people.” You paused, then added, “I can’t believe you agreed.”

He tilted his head at you, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “Did you not know I was gonna be your tutor?”

“No.” You frowned. “If I did, I wouldn’t have shown up.”

His eyes flickered with mirth as a smile stretched across his face. “Aw, am I really that disagreeable?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, your gaze as sharp as a blade. “Without a doubt. A hundred percent. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

He whistled, feigning a wince. “Harsh.”

Wryly, you said, “You deserve it.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I wasn’t that bad as a freshman, was I?”

You gave him a hard, callous stare. “Do you really think I’m the one you should be asking that question?”

He thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, point taken.”

You dragged a hand over your face, then pointed at your textbook. “Are you going to teach me now or what? We’re already behind.”

He winced for real this time, and you almost felt bad for him. Almost. “Sorry, again.”

“Seriously,” you muttered under your breath, reaching into your back to grab your pencil case, “and to think that you have the highest grades in this class.”

“Hey,” he shot back, “I’m brains and brawn.”

You shot him a look that was nothing short of disgusted. He cringed a little at the sight.

“Okay, that was cheesy, but I’m not wrong. Besides, coach says I have to keep my grades up or else I’m off the team.” He leaned closer to you, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his hot breath fanning over your skin. “You know I can’t let everyone down like that.”

You looked unconvinced. “Uh huh. Totally.” Whipping out a pencil, you tapped at the bottom of the page you had open. “Can you explain this to me, now? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.”

He quietly chuckled, and you hated how soft it sounded. Leaning closer to the textbook to read, his lips mouthed the problem silently. You tried not to stare at his mouth as it moved, your gaze tracing over the soft dip of his lips as his viridian eyes flashed with recognition. A moment later, he sat back and cocked his head at you.

“So, what exactly do you not understand?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Everything.”

He blinked, disbelief colouring his features. “Everything? Like, the whole thing?”

You scowled. “I thought that was obvious. All that stuff about velocity and the funny diagrams—” You shook your head. “—none of it makes sense.”

He raised a brow at you. “I thought you were paying attention in class. You really don’t understand a single thing?”

You bit back the urge to scream. “It’s not like you’re much smarter.”

Clay snorted derisively. “I am. That’s kind of the whole point.”

You groaned, letting your voice ring out in the quiet of the empty classroom. You caught a glimpse of his amused smile in front of you, and it only made you groan louder.

“You’re the one who ruined science for me, you know? I hated going to that class, and look at me now.” You gestured to yourself, using your finger to draw a ring in the air. “It all comes full circle.”

There was a brief second of silence. “I’m the reason why you hate science?”

You didn’t budge. “I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy knowing I was going to be stuck in a class with someone who never gave me my stuff back and kicked my chair.”

Another wave of silence washed over the two of you, but this one was tense—heavy. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob.

“You…” His eyes swirled with something sad and honest. “You really hate me that much?”

He suddenly looked a lot like a kicked puppy, and a pang of guilt shot through your chest like a bullet. With a panicked gaze, your voice grew shaky as you spoke. “I—I don’t hate you. I just… I had a grudge, I guess.”

Your tone grew soft, and you lowered your gaze to your lap. “I… I really didn’t like you back then, but things have changed.” You offered him a small smile, but it felt shy. “We’re not exactly fourteen, anymore.”

He returned your smile with one of his own. Just like yours, it was small and tender, and it sent something stirring in the depths of your belly. “No,” he murmured, “we’re not.”

“I,” you breathed, gulping down the last dredges of your grudge, “was stubborn back then.” You raised a shoulder. “In a way, I still am. I have too much pride for my own good too, but I don’t hate you.” The look you sent him had a spark of mischief, and his breath hitched. “Strongly dislike, at best.”

Clay blinked at you, looking half-surprised and half-awed at you. You squirmed under his gaze before he snapped out of his stupor, almost bashfully ducking his head. “I’m… It’s definitely too late for me to say this now when I really should have said it all those years ago, but I’m sorry. Really. I was a dick.”

You snorted under your breath, fondly mumbling, “Yeah, you were.”

His face perked up at the sound of your bitten back laugh. “I really shouldn’t have teased you so much. My reasons were… dumb.”

You cocked a brow at him, almost as if to say, Oh? Do elaborate.

But instead, you watched as his ears burned crimson red and he flashed you a pair of bright, pleading eyes. “Forgive me? Please.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, something new and warm bursting along the seams of your lungs. You couldn’t possibly say no to a face like that. Even the toughest person on the planet would crack under a look as sincere as that, you tried to reason, ultimately letting out a sigh with a stammer.

“O-Only if you actually can get me to understand this unit.” Pushing down the heat creeping up your neck, you pointed at him with an accusatory look. “Until then, you’re on thin ice.”

The grin he sent you was beyond dazzling—you couldn’t have brought yourself to look away even if you wanted to.

(And you didn’t.)

“Gotcha.”

Clay finished scribbling a diagram onto the new page of your notebook, flicking his thumb back to reveal the hordes of previous pages you had filled with other practice problems. If you were being honest, you were a little envious of just how neat his drawings were. No one should be able to draw a line as straight as that without a ruler, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

What a show-off.

Feeling your eyes on him, Clay lifted his head to catch your gaze, turning the notebook to face you. You tried to pretend the stumbling of your heart wasn’t because of him—not at all. “Do you get it?” he breathed.

You glanced back and forth between him and your page, your grip on your pencil falling slack. “I think so,” you said slowly. “Mostly, at least.”

He hummed for a moment, then flipped your notebook around until it was facing him again and holding an expectant, open hand toward you. Without even thinking, you dropped your pencil into his palm, a spark running up your fingers at the slight brush of his skin against yours. Carefully, he wrote a string of words on a new line, circling the sentence when he was done.

“Here,” he said gently, pushing the pencil back between your fingers, “try this question. This was one of the harder ones from my test.”

Gingerly, you peered down at the page, and your mouth fell open at the sight. This question was far more complicated than anything you had been solving in the textbook before this. What was he thinking?

“If you get it right,” he said suddenly, casting you out of your thoughts, “you should be all set.” His lips curved up into a taunting, knowing grin. “But it’s okay if you don’t get it—it is difficult, after all.”

You stared for a second longer, then grumbled under your breath. How could he read your mind like that? You were going to prove him wrong, even if only to knock that smug look off his face.

Leaning down, you tackled the problem head on, your pencil flying across the page as you spelled out formulas and equations, doodling a diagram when you had to and pausing to think every other breath. Before you, you didn’t see Clay watching you with a soft, tender gaze, taking in the way your fingers fidgeted against your pencil when you stopped and how you chewed on your mouth when you got nervous.

You really were more endearing than you could ever know.

Suddenly, you let your pencil clatter against the table as you pushed your notebook toward him, eyeing your pencil scratches with a wary look. “Done.”

His viridian eyes gleamed with excitement. “Alright,” he said, plucking the paper from your desk with a practiced ease, “let’s take a look.”

His gaze scanned your work intently, his lips pressed together in focus. You folded your hands onto your lap, trying to focus on his analysis of you work. But the longer you looked, the more you felt your gaze trailing up to graze his cheeks. Did he always have so many freckles? You didn’t remember seeing him with this many as a freshman, but you also spent more time glaring at him than staring at him back then.

In a way, he was kind of... pretty. Handsome, even. Not that you would ever say it out loud.

You suddenly had a strong urge to reach up and trace feather-light lines between each of his freckles, but before you could even take another breath, Clay’s eyes were on yours again. Unlike earlier, the look on his face was grave, and a small grimace overtook his features.

“I have bad news,” he said dryly.

Your heart fell.

Of course you got something wrong. You were a fool to think that things would change just because Clay would be teaching you instead.

But then, his grimace curled up at the corners, and your jaw dropped.

“I have nothing left to teach you in this unit.”

Your eyes widened.

“I got it right?”

He turned the notebook back to face you. A large check mark had been scribbled in pencil along the side of the page, a tiny smiley face decorating the corner next to it.

“Perfectly.”

The gasp you let out sent you barrelling for your feet, and you nearly started jumping for joy in the middle of your seat. “Yes!” you cried, pumping a hand up in the air. Suddenly, you whirled to point at Clay, a pout forming on your lips. “Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me! Don’t do that.”

He chuckled, leaning back with his hands up defensively. “Sorry, sorry. I saw the opportunity and just had to take it.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stuck your tongue out at him. “You’re terrible.”

His eyes softened—sincere and sweet. “I know.”

Ignoring the sudden burst of warmth rushing through your veins, you huffed at him. “Well, at least I have two pieces of good news for you. First,” you said, sliding your notebook off your desk, “we can both go home, now.”

“And the second?” he prompted, looking at you inquisitively.

You folded your notebook shut, boring a hole into your backpack with the intensity of your stare. You couldn’t look at him right now, you just couldn’t.

“Second,” you nearly whispered, “I accept your apology.”

Slipping your textbook into your bag, you heard him take a sharp intake of breath. “Really?”

You reached for your pencil case, fumbling with the zipper. “Yes.”

There was another breath, but this one was gentler, less harsh. You peeked up at him from your bag, and your heart stuttered at the ecstatic look on his face.

“This,” he said, “is the greatest day of my life.”

You blinked wildly at him, zipping your backpack up all the way before slinging it onto the desk. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his smile never once faltering. “Are you kidding? I thought you were going to hate my guts forever!”

You shrugged, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I might have.” You paused. “Actually, I probably would have. But luckily for you—” You shot him a sincere look. “—not anymore.”

His grin grew impossibly wider, yet it somehow still looked natural on him. Deep down, a part of you wanted to bottle up his expression and remember it for as long as you lived.

“Like I said, greatest day of my life.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Weirdo.”

Pushing in your chair and gesturing for him to stand, you jutted your head toward the door. Clay didn’t need to be queued twice before he was rising to his feet, pushing the chair back to its rightful spot before heaving his duffel bag off the floor and onto his side. As the two of you headed out towards the door, a bought suddenly flickered across your head, and your lips began moving before you could even begin to think.

“One of these days, you need to tell me why you liked to pick on me so much. Like, seriously, why me?” You gestured to yourself as the two of you stepped outside into the school hallway. “I’m not exactly special.”

You hadn’t been looking at him in that moment, focused on closing the door behind you, but when he didn’t respond for a moment, you looked up and felt your lungs tighten. You had never seen Clay look so bashful in his life, with his ears flaring crimson red and a faint rosy tint dusting the panes of his cheeks. His freckles were only more noticeable with the pink background, and you nearly blurted something you knew you would regret.

“Maybe I’ll—” He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Before you could even ask what he meant by that, he was firing off once more. “In the meantime, if you still need help, I don’t mind coming in again next week or something.”

You nearly took a double take. Next week? He wanted to help you, again?

“Don’t you have more important things to do?” you asked, scanning him with wide, curious eyes. “Like studying your own stuff.”

“You’re important,” he said abruptly.

You choked on your spit, and by the way he went absolutely stock still in front of you, you had a feeling he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh,” you whispered.

That warm, fuzzy feeling from earlier was rising between your lungs again, only this time it sent your heart racing around your chest. Sucking in a deep breath, you nodded your head once, twice.

“Sure,” you managed to say as calmly as you could. “The, um, the next unit looks a little confusing, so I might need some help.”

Clay’s face suddenly brightened at your soft request for assistance, and you caught his shoulders slumping with relief as he smiled. “Awesome.” He paused, then waved his hand. “Not the part about you needing help, I mean.”

You laughed a little at that, your nerves calming a bit more. “I would hope not.”

He smiled back at you. “So,” he said, drawing out the syllable, “I’ll be back same time next week?”

You couldn’t help but reach over to elbow him a little playfully. “Try to be on time though, yeah?”

He flushed a bit, but cracked a crooked grin nonetheless. “I’ll try my best.” He glanced over his shoulder down the hall, and you suddenly realized you would be heading in the opposite direction.

“I’ll see you around?” he murmured gently, brushing away his now dry hair from his forehead.

One of your hands tightened around the straps of your bag while the other waved back at him. “See you.”

With one last grin at you, you watched as he turned on his heel, striding down the hall with his duffel bag bouncing against the side of his hip. Just then, your eyes grew wide, and you cupped your hands around your mouth to call after him.

“One last thing, Clay!” you shouted, your voice echoing down the empty corridor.

At the sound of his name, he whipped around again, his brows knitted together. Breathing in deeply, you screwed your eyes shut and called out once more.

“Thank you!”

When you opened your eyes again, his emerald green eyes were blinking at you with wild abandon, his lips parted in what could only be described as a look of pure wonder. Your heart skipped a beat, and you wondered why he was looking at you of all people like that.

Swallowing, he sent you a lopsided, earnest smile and cupped his own hands around his mouth to shout back at you.

“Anytime!”

You kept waving at him even after he let his arms drop back to his sides and he vanished around the corner of the hall. Almost immediately, you bent over to bury your head into your knees, letting out a soft, muffled yell.

Why did your chest feel so warm when he looked at you like that? Why did you want to count his freckles so badly when he smiled? Was he always so nice, so helpful and kind? Why did he look so cute when his face flushed all pink like the way it did before? When did he become so endearing instead of annoying?

Did you like him?

You let out another muffled cry into your hands, feeling heat flood every part of your body like a tidal wave crashing into your system. You could hear your heart ringing in your ears like a bell that wouldn’t ever stop, and your toes curled into your shoes.

You had so, so many questions, none of which you knew how to solve.

Hopefully Clay could help you figure out the answers.

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