#also always label your units

[bookswithsav]

How many books have you read in total

(like an estimate I dont expect you to actually know this dw)

Let’s do some ✨math✨

I started REALLY reading around kindergarten, and it would take me about a week to finish a book originally. By the time I hit 1st/2nd grade, I was reading like. 3 a week?

Let’s talk about that 3 a week. I would often go to the library (support local libraries my dudes) and check out about 20 books for a month. If there’s 4 weeks in a month, then that’s about 5 books a week, but I have to be honest and say I didn’t always get through all 20. That was maintained for a couple of years - probably from about 2nd grade to 5th grade.

Now let’s look at my middle school years. I was reading much much less because actual homework was being thrown at me and I was in a decent amount of extracurricular activities. At this point, I was reading whatever book I had for school and then one additional one on the side, putting me at about 2 books a month.

High school I actually read even less, as my free time dwindled more. I read about a book a month, maybe more I don’t know, for my English classes. I didn’t have any free time to read outside of school work, so I kinda stopped reading for personal enjoyment around that time - although I did often enjoy the books I read for school.

Then we hit college! I started college in 2020, which meant that I had a lot more time to take care of myself and do things that I enjoyed since I wasn’t involved in any extracurricular activities at that point. For the first two years of college (oh my god I’m old) I was reading about 2 books a month. The previous two years, I’ve been reading before I go to bed. I’m trying to read casually, so I’m getting through about 5 chapters a night with modern books and 2 chapters a night with older books, meaning that I’m reading about 2 books a week.

Now let’s get some estimations!

There are approximately 4.345 weeks in a month (taking average across all months), and 12 months in a year. If we take 4.345 * 12, we get 52.14 weeks in a year. The easiest way now, in my opinion, to get the best approximation of how many books I’ve read is to multiply the number of books per week by the number of weeks in a year, separating the years, and then add them all together.

Kindergarten

~1 book per week * 52.14 weeks = 52.14 books per year

1st - 5th Grade

~3 books per week *52.14 weeks = 156.42 books per year

156.42 books per year * 5 years (range) = 782.1 books

6th - 8th Grade

~2 books per month / 4.345 weeks per month = .46 books per week

.46 books per week * 52.14 weeks = 24 books per year

24 books per year * 3 years (range) = 72 books

(Totally could have just taken (2*12)*3 but it’s fine)

9th - 12th Grade

~1 book per month / 4.345 weeks per month = .23 books per week

.23 books per week * 52.14 weeks = 12 books per year

12 books per year * 4 years (range) = 48 books

(Also totally could have taken (1*12)*4 here but it’s totally fine)

First Two Years of College

~2 books per month, so 24 books per year

24 books per year * 2 years (range) = 48 books

Next Two Years of College

~2 books per week * 52.14 weeks = 104.28 books per year

104.28 books per year * 2 years (range) = 208.56 books

Sum

52.14 + 782.1 + 72 + 48 + 48 + 208.56 = 1210.8

Round down to only count full books (I’ve only abandoned one book), and you get approximately 1210 books read!

✨math✨

[donutdollie]

okay but COOLEST wwii clubmobile/arc military welfare fact i've picked up while i've been away from margot: THERE WERE MIXED UNITS. as in unsegregated black and white workers all working along side each other with the same people. i've seen photographic proof, including a unit section photo, which is HUGE. because yes, the military was segregated, and yes, most arc sections were too, but there were some that weren't!!!! and it isn't just a matter of two units working closely etc, no! this was something official and allowed!

[sayruq]

THE NEW YORK TIMES instructed journalists covering Israel’s war on the Gaza Strip to restrict the use of the terms “genocide” and “ethnic cleansing” and to “avoid” using the phrase “occupied territory” when describing Palestinian land, according to a copy of an internal memo obtained by The Intercept. The memo also instructs reporters not to use the word Palestine “except in very rare cases” and to steer clear of the term “refugee camps” to describe areas of Gaza historically settled by displaced Palestinians expelled from other parts of Palestine during previous Israeli–Arab wars. The areas are recognized by the United Nations as refugee camps and house hundreds of thousands of registered refugees.

The Times memo outlines guidance on a range of phrases and terms. “The nature of the conflict has led to inflammatory language and incendiary accusations on all sides. We should be very cautious about using such language, even in quotations. Our goal is to provide clear, accurate information, and heated language can often obscure rather than clarify the fact,” the memo says. “Words like ‘slaughter,’ ‘massacre’ and ‘carnage’ often convey more emotion than information. Think hard before using them in our own voice,” according to the memo. “Can we articulate why we are applying those words to one particular situation and not another? As always, we should focus on clarity and precision — describe what happened rather than using a label.” Despite the memo’s framing as an effort to not employ incendiary language to describe killings “on all sides,” in the Times reporting on the Gaza war, such language has been used repeatedly to describe attacks against Israelis by Palestinians and almost never in the case of Israel’s large-scale killing of Palestinians.

End your New York Times subscription

[magalhaessims]

AGAVE APARTMENT - MAXIS-MATCH CC BUILD

I'm finally sharing an apartment! I chose to build in Oasis Springs and opted for the smallest lot available. There are three units in total, but I've only fully decorated one. I designed it with Johnny Zest in mind. Also, I really wanted to use these two new, coolest sets: Neighborly and Cheap&Chipped by @syboubou. I really loved all the items — especially the empty toilet paper roll; it's my new favorite! LOL.

Additionally, due to some glitches in my game following the For Rent patch, I've labeled this build as "Residential" to avoid any potential issues with saving files. If you encounter any problems, please don't hesitate to let me know! If you want to check out the construction progress, watch the YouTube video linked below.

NOT CC FREE 

Lot Type: Residential | Rental

Size: 20x15 

World: Oasis Springs

Enable bb.moveobjects before placing in your game!

📺 WATCH THE SPEED BUILD HERE ✨

Origin ID: MagalhaesSims (remember to enable custom content on!) DOWNLOAD

CC USED IN THIS BUILD:

NOTE: For convenience, some of the CC is included in the Download Folder. Please put it in your Mods Folder along with the CC linked below.

AwingedLlama: Nostalgia Living || Charly Pancakes: Chalk Kitchen (Clutter) | Munch | Soak | The Lighthouse || TheClutterCat: Busy Bee | Cozy Casita | Dandy Diary | Flower Power (Vinyl) | Hello Horse (Trophy) | Mellow Moods (Essential Oils Tray) || Felixandre: Colonial | Kyoto (Arch) | Soho || Harrie: Klean | Octave Collection | Shop The Look V2 | Spoons (Pizza Tray) | Stockholm || House Of Harlix: Baysic Bathroom | Baysic Set | Livin'Rum | The Kichen (Plant) | Tiny Twavellers (Wall) || KKB-MM: Citrus Room | My Heimish Hall || LittleDica: Delicato Living | Greasy Goods | Lava Lamp | Sleek Slumber || Max20: Classic Kitchen | Garden At Home | Master Bedroom | Poolside Lounge (Plant) || MyshunoSun: Gale Dining | Lottie Bedroom | Simmify | Sona Dining || Peacemaker-ic: Hinterland Kitchen (Honey Pot) | Hudson Bathroom (Towel Holder) | Tasteful Tots (Clutter) || Pierisim: Auntie Vera | Calderone Living | Coldbrew | Combles | David Apartment | Domaine Du Clos | MCM House Set | Oak House Set | Pantry Party | The Office | Tilable Kitchen | Unfold | Woodland Ranch || Simkoos: Clutter Dump || Sixam-CC: Art Studio | Cozy Family Livingroom | Home Improvement || SurelySims: Office Spaces (Clutter)

The CC Sets above are the main ones I used to decorate this specific building and you can find all the links to the creators’ sites on my Resource Page. However, if you can’t find something specific, you can send me a WCIF and I’ll try to help you find it!

My content will always be free and right away available to everyone, but if you want to, you can show your support through my Ko-Fi Page. Your donation will always be much appreciated!

Thank you for reblogging: @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @mmfinds @s4realtor @coffee-houses-finds and everyone else for helping me boost this post!

[throwaway-yandere]

!!!MODERN YANDERE IDOL!GENSHIN/READER MATCH-UP EVENT!!! (Masterlist)

"Oh no... another poor unfortunate soul."

Slots available: "CLOSED. 22 ANONS HAVE SUBMITTED. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME, I'M GLAD WE HAD THIS INTERVIEW" - Exec. Producer Alice

"It was supposed to be 20 but I forgot to close it." - Producer Lumine

"And who's fault is that, exactly?" - CEO Alhaitham

"... I know..." - Producer Lumine

LIST OF ANONS THAT GOT IN

THANK YOU POSTERS

=============

SENDER: (Executive Producer) Alice ||

WELCOME TO TEYVAT PRODUCTIONS.

PLEASE READ THE GUIDELINES BEFORE ACKNOWLEDGING THE LIST OF IDOL GROUPS YOU MIGHT GET ASSIGNED TO.

HERE IS THE LIST:

ADDICKTZ

ADDICKTZ, formerly known as DCKZ, is an idol group formed in 20XX. They are incredibly well-known in the industry and their singles frequently top the charts. All the members previously worked as fashion models and half of the members (Dainsleif, Arataki Itto, Kaeya Alberich, and Childe) took movie and theatre roles. They are currently the number #1 unit in terms of presenting satisfactory fanservice.

Ayato || Diluc || Dainsleif || Itto || Childe || Kaeya || Thoma || Zhongli

["For your sake, I advise you to start praying for the God you believe in so that you won't end up producing ADDICKTZ. Unlike me, they might just listen to you. Why won't they listen to me? Hmm. Well, that's because I've never been a devotee. Still, be wary." - Dainsleif]

5WIRL

5WIRL, formally known as 4NEMO before Shikanoin Heizou's debut, is an idol group formed in 20XX. They often experiment with multiple genres of music and present multicultural aesthetics. The group consistently adds their thematic light green and wind motifs in their albums, poetry, and other media. 5WIRL's lyrics have often discussed mental health, stages of grief, nature, and other self-reflections. 

Venti || Xiao || Kazuha || Heizou

Note: Aether is under Producer Lumine's management.

["Ohohoho, a lost guest! It's always nice to see a new face around here! Can I get you something to drink? I promise you can trust me!... Geez, what's with that look? I don't spike drinks. Is that sooo hard to believe?" - Venti]

Kreideprinz

Dr. Albedo operates a solo unit more professionally known as "Kreideprinz." He debuted in 20XX before his major label debut album "The Chalk Prince and the Dragon" in 20XX under his previous producer "Alice". His unit work focuses on commercials, modeling for magazines, and talk shows. The unit rarely goes on tours since Dr. Albedo prioritizes his scientific research more than idol work.

Dr. Albedo || (Student) Gorou

["You must have a strong body and you must also stay on top of your game in this industry. Although, if you do get assigned to Kreideprinz, leave the heavy lifting to us!... Or me. Just. Only rely on me. Y-You don't have to keep your eyes on him 24/7." - Gorou]

I HEREBY AGREE TO THE TERMS AND CONDITIONS OUTLINED IN THIS AGREEMENT AND SUCH IS DEMONSTRATED THROUGHOUT BY MY SIGNATURE BELOW

____________________________________

SIGNATURE OVER PRINTED NAME

=============

"So, which unit will Mx. (Y/n) end up working with? Ooh, Paimon can't wait!"

"I don't know kid, but something tells me that something bad is going to happen..."

=============

"Pwah! It's fiiine! They may be a total newbie, but Paimon thinks they can handle it!... Right?"

PERSONS OF INTEREST (SECRET MATCH-UPS)

Teyvat Productions' logo's made by ESTHER anon!!!

CEO Alhaitham

Manga Shop Owner Cyno

Music Composer Tighnari

Creative Director Zandik (ADDICKTZ)

Creative Director Baizhu (5wirl)

Stylist & Model Scaramouche (Affiliated w/ 5wirl)

Trainee Kaveh

Pantalone

"Interesting... So these are the people that didn't become producers, huh? But why do you keep a record of them, miss Alice?"

"Isn't it obvious Lumine? It's because they're interesting, duh~"

=========================

EXTRAS:

ADDICKTZ video shtpost: "Tonight on the real ADDICKTZ at TeyvatPro"

[READ AFTER KAEYA'S FIC] Dottore's always watching.

[GENERAL SPOILERS] Incorrect Quotes, P2, P3

TIGHNARI'S TAPES (voice lines):

[AFTER KAEYA'S FIC] Qiqi and Xingqiu during Childe's recording

[BEFORE AYATO'S FIC] Beidou and Sucrose in front of Albedo's room

[shizunitis]

SVSSS high school AU

[looking out the window with a thoughtful frown]

I was thinking back on my time in high school and…

Did anyone else have a classmate that was obviously Rich and kinda spoiled, but that was So Nice to everyone? Had the mannerisms and vocabulary of a doted-upon heir but the accepting and excited eyes of a sheltered kid seeking friends and companionship? Not necessarily smiling all the time, but was always present and active when interacting with the others?

Shen Yuan. Vice Class President. Beloved by teachers and classmates alike. Always willing to lend you money, and he won’t even ask for it back. Wouldn’t, even if he remembered!

And then the classmate that was subtly bitter about everything and mostly brushed off everyone? Made kinda’ lame jokes but didn’t really seem to care much when no one laughed, cause they wanted the others to let them be? Conspicuously absent from extracurricular activities, really didn’t give much of a shit as long as they got by?

Airplane. Ends up labelled as the class rebel but he doesn’t do anything, so it’s kind of bewildering that that’s his legacy. He is very unaware of his own vibes.

The clearly smart kid who never studies and still gets perfect or almost-perfect marks on everything, but no one really knows anything about them because they’re so reticent? Dislikes attention if it comes from who they perceive to be looking down on them? Any sort of authority figure is, to them, an opponent they must best without letting them know they’re competing at all? Bratty as fuck?

Binghe. Depending on which one we’re talking about, they’re either stupidly popular and elicit jealousy from their peers or admired (and highkey feared) from afar. Is vying for Class President to impress Shen Yuan. They’re a duo! They need to be a united front!

(It would also be very funny to me if Bing-ge was a year older than Bing-mei but got held back a year. The fights? The seething jealousy? Shen Yuan sandwich? Superb.)

Mobei-Jun is the silent, kind of out-of-his-depth but solemn kid everyone gravitates around and it’s astounding to him that these people are so invested in his opinion. Leave him alone. He does not want to bear witness to any of your pathetic attempts at flattering him! It’s so clearly fake. Very pretentious and doesn’t even realise it. Parents are Stupid Wealthy.

The class president is obviously Yue Qingyuan. Luo Binghe will win, though. It’s just a matter of time.

Liu Qingge is on some sports team, probably captain. Luo Binghe will win against him, too.

(Shen Yuan once mentioned that Liu Qingge’s muscles are very manly and now it’s on sight. This is the only thing the Luo brothers agree on. Neither are happy about it.)

God. Imagine them on a school trip. The poor chaperones.

[storieswithvenus]

THANKING THE STARS - Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Knowing that your husband was sitting in his office filling out more paperwork relating to the case he solved yesterday wasn’t really what you had expected, especially for his day off.

You knew Aaron wanted to spend his day with you and Jack. You know how important it is for him to be running around the house chasing his son while you were in the kitchen finishing off the cookies you were meant to be making for the family picnic later that day, however - you also knew his work was extremely important too. Being unit chief of the BAU was a difficult task which you knew you wouldn’t be able to do (specifically looking at dead bodies most of the time).

Slightly opening the door, looking through so you could have a good view of your husband, his forehead crunched and his bottom lip between his teeth was an extremely sexy sight. Especially seeing him in his loose grey joggers and a simple t-shirt.

“Aaron, are you nearly finished?”, you spoke to the back of him, but as soon as he heard your voice he immediately turned around in his chair to look at his beautiful wife. You could see the defeated look in his eyes as he looks in yours, he was tired, and you knew that. “Sorry sweetheart, I don’t think i’ll be having this finished before we leave for the picnic” his voice soft and slightly cracking as he spoke. This picnic was important for you both, after the two of you had officially put a label on your relationship, he took you on a picnic to meet his son - with every year that passed you repeated this tradition, this was a day for you all to be together and enjoy the memories you reflect on.

Unconsciously, you start to walk towards your husband, stopping when you are between his legs looking down at him. His eyes tell you how sorry he is, the slight frown which was tugging on the corners of his lips another clear indication of his upset. Lowering yourself down onto his lap, your hand lying on his jaw and cheek, slightly rubbing your thumb onto his cheek, an attempt to show him you understand.

“Love, please don’t feel upset over this. You have a very important job to do, we can do this picnic another time, I promise you,” smiling up at your husband before continuing, “You are doing so well”. One thing you know about Aaron is that he is a sucker for praise, whether he admits he likes it or not.

You feel him shift below you, the slight hint of red gathering on his cheeks as he looks at you, his eyes full of love and affection.

“You are one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me,” his hand sliding down to your waist before squeezing you slightly, “I thank every star in the sky for bringing you to me and Jack, for being the best mother you can for him and being the most wonderful wife and best friend to me.”

Leaning down to give him a slight kiss before pulling back and moving my your hand to his hair, if you weren’t smiling before that - you definitely are now.

You catch yourselves staring at each other for a few seconds, but them seconds feel like minutes. The comfortable silence you two find yourself in is all you need. You know everything he said is true, you hear him talking to himself while he is looking out the window in your bedroom - doing exactly what he said, thanking the stars for sending you to him.

No matter what happens, the holidays he might miss, the birthdays, special events - he knows you are always going to be there for him. You even mentioned it in your vows to him on your wedding day, that you will always be on his side and support him endlessly. You are his angel who came from the stars, and he still doesn’t believe he has thanked them as much as he should have for sending his soulmate to him.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Thoughts: Height Difference

Today on Meraki's rwrb thoughts because this movie and book are implanted in my brain now, we're talking about the movie size difference

Don't get me wrong, book height firstprince is adorable, but there's just something about the movie height difference that just feels so special.

The thing is, the height difference between movie firstprince, or in other words Taylor and Nick's height difference isn't that big (ok I tried to search online for the precise number but there are a bunch of different fucking answers in different units but my point still stands you can see it)

But somehow, it's so prominent when you put them two together, especially when they're holding each other.

And think about it from Henry's perspective: Henry's not small. He's taller than both his siblings and his best friend Percy. he's about the exact same height as Shaan and as much as I know they care deeply about each other, at the end of the day, that's his equerry, his employee. His grandfather is taller than him, but that's the King, so that comes with this sense of authority and intimidation. So in most cases, he's the taller one, the bigger one. The one that has to be the support, the one that has to stand on his own. (so essentially my "oldest daughter/sister" rant but when it comes to height)

But when with Alex, suddenly he's the smaller one. To the man who would fight the whole world to protect him, to make him happy, the man who he loves and who loves him more than anyone in the world. Look at how Alex holds Henry: he curls around him, almost like a shield.

"You don't need your armour anymore, I'll be here to protect you and your heart from now on."

Actually, it's not just Henry, to a less emotionally intense extent, it's Nick too: In M&G, when it comes to the guys George/Nick has physically intimate scenes with: Tony (King James) is shorter than him, Dylan (Peter Carr) is shorter than him, Laurie (Robert Carr) is about the same height, the various other men we see in montages later in the show, all shorter. He's also taller than all the girls he's played opposite of, including Anne.

If I'm correct, up till now, Taylor is Nick's only on-screen partner that's taller than him. And that affects the physical intimacy, like where hands go and how the boys are positioned. Personally, I call it a "lead/follow" pair (like in partnered dances) or a "protector/protected" pair.

(Also please note that I know that this is kind of stereotyping, people don't always follow this fixed dynamic, and these labels only apply when they do follow a fixed dynamic. And I'm also just referring to the physical dynamic, not the actual relationship dynamic)

It's something new for him: for the entirety of his career, he was the bigger one in whatever relationship he was in: the big spoon, the one who lifts his partner, the one who's holding the other's waist; the "lead/protector". So what was it like for him to be the "follow"/"protected" for once?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 10, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 11, 2024

Former president Trump has always approached debates as professional wrestling events in which the key is not to explain policies or answer questions, but rather to demonstrate dominance over your opponent. In 2016 the Democratic nominee, former secretary of state Hillary Clinton, had a hard time countering this strategy effectively because of the many expectations of what was appropriate behavior for a female presidential candidate. In 2020 and then again in the June 2024 “debate,” Democratic candidate Joe Biden’s stutter made it difficult to counter Trump’s scattershot attacks.

The question for Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris in tonight’s presidential debate was not how to answer policy questions, but how to counter Trump’s dominance displays while also appealing to the American people.  

She and her team figured it out, and today they played the former president brilliantly. He took the bait, and tonight he self-destructed. In a live debate, on national television. 

The Harris campaign began the day trolling Trump with a new campaign ad featuring the pieces of former president Barack Obama’s speech at the August Democratic National Convention that concerned Trump. “Here’s a 78-year-old billionaire”—the ad cuts to a photo of Trump in a golf cart—“who has not stopped whining about his problems.” Then a clip of Trump shows him complaining about Harris’s crowds, before Obama notes Trump’s “weird obsession with crowd sizes,” complete with Obama’s hand motion suggesting Trump’s sizes were small. “It just goes on, and on, and on,” Obama says, before the ad shows empty seats and people yawning at Trump’s rallies.

“America’s ready for a new chapter,” Obama says to the overflow crowd cheering at Chicago’s United Center during the Democratic National Convention. “We are ready for a President Kamala Harris!” At the end, even Harris’s standard statement, “I’m Kamala Harris and I approved this message,” sounds like a challenge.

This morning, the Harris campaign began running the ad on the Fox News Channel. 

At the same time, they began running Philadelphia-themed ads across the city on billboards, in the Philadelphia Inquirer, and on food trucks and taxi cabs, sidewalk art, and digital projections making fun of Trump’s fascination with crowd sizes. They showed, for example, a full-sized Philadelphia pretzel labeled “Harris” alongside a piece of one that looked like an upside down U labeled “Trump.”

The taunting might have been behind Trump’s demand for loyalty from Republican lawmakers this afternoon, telling them to shut down the government if he doesn’t get his way on the inclusion of a voter suppression measure in the bill to fund the government. The right has often relied on threats of government shutdowns to try to get their way, but such shutdowns are never popular, and even moderate Republicans are leery of launching one just before an election.

Nonetheless, Trump tried to lock them into such a shutdown, reiterating in a post this afternoon the lie that undocumented immigrants are voting in presidential elections. “If Republicans in the House, and Senate, don’t get absolute assurances on Election Security, THEY SHOULD, IN NO WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM, GO FORWARD WITH A CONTINUING RESOLUTION ON THE BUDGET. THE DEMOCRATS ARE TRYING TO ‘STUFF’ VOTER REGISTRATIONS WITH ILLEGAL ALIENS. DON’T LET IT HAPPEN—CLOSE IT DOWN.” 

Throughout the day, the Harris campaign placed posts on social media showing Harris looking crisp and presidential and Trump looking old and unkempt. And then, for ten minutes in the hour before the debate, the Harris campaign held a drone show over the Philadelphia Museum of Art showing campaign slogans and then turning the words “MADAM VICE PRESIDENT” into “MADAM PRESIDENT.” 

Hugo Lowell of The Guardian reported today that Trump’s advisors were concerned ahead of the debate about whether they would get “happy Trump” or “angry Trump,” worrying that a frustrated Trump would engage in the vicious personal attacks that turn voters off. They expressed relief that having the microphones muted when it was not a candidate’s turn to speak would prevent Harris from irritating him with fact checks and snark of her own. Conservative lawyer George Conway noted that it was “[i]nteresting how one campaign is extremely concerned about the emotional stability of its candidate, and how the other is not.”

Harris’s attacks on Trump, including her campaign’s subtle digs at his masculinity, appeared to have accomplished what they set out to. When the two came out on stage, he went straight to his podium, while she strode across the stage, moved into his space, held out her hand, introduced herself and wished him well: “Kamala Harris. Have a good debate.” He muttered in response, “Nice to see you.” Then she took her own spot at the podium. When the debate opened, it was clear that Harris was the dominant figure and that her opponent was “angry Trump.” He would not look at her during the debate.

In her first answer, Harris tried to set out both her own story as a child of the middle class and how she intended to build an opportunity economy for others, lowering food and housing costs and opening the way for more small businesses. It was a lot, quickly, and she looked a little nervous.

Then Trump spoke and it was clear he was going off the rails. His first comment was to suggest Harris was lying, and then to insist that his proposed tariffs will solve everything, although he has the way tariffs work entirely backward: they are paid by the consumer, not by foreign countries. As he followed with a long list of his rally lies, Harris started to smile.  

From then on, he continued to produce rally stories full of wild exaggerations and attack Harris with lies in what CNN fact-checker Daniel Dale called “a staggeringly dishonest debate performance from former president Trump.” "No major presidential candidate before Donald Trump has ever lied with this kind of frequency,” Dale said. “A remarkably large chunk of what he said tonight was just not true. This wasn't little exaggerations, political spin. A lot of his false claims were untethered to reality." As Harris spoke directly to the American people, growing stronger and stronger, Trump got wilder and angrier and told more and more crazy stories. 

And then, about ten minutes into the debate, Harris baited him. She invited the American people to go to one of his rallies, where “he talks about fictional characters like Hannibal Lecter, he will talk about ‘windmills cause cancer.’ And what you will also notice is that people start leaving his rallies early out of exhaustion and boredom.” 

Trump lost it. He defended his rallies, said Harris couldn’t get anyone to attend hers and has to bus in attendees (in reality, her rallies are packed and he is the one who reportedly hires attendees), and then, in his fury, repeated the lie about immigrants eating pets. When a moderator fact-checked that story, he fought back, saying he heard it on television.

And from then on, Harris kept baiting him while explaining her own policies directly to the camera, and he took the bait every single time. He ran down every rabbit hole and appeared unable to finish a thought. Notably, he refused to say he would not sign a national abortion ban and admitted that after nine years of promising one, he had no health care plan (he has, he said, “concepts of a plan,” and if they pan out, he’ll let us know in the “not too distant future”). 

He threatened World War III and repeated that the U.S. is “a failing nation.” He told a long story about threatening “Abdul,” the leader of the Taliban; in fact, the leader of the Taliban since 2016 is Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada. In response to Harris’s statement that foreign leaders thought he was a disgrace, Trump answered that Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán, who destroyed his country’s democracy and replaced it with a dictatorship, says he’s a good leader. New York Times columnist David French wrote: “It's like she's debating MAGA Twitter come to life.”

The debate moderators, David Muir and Linsey Davis of ABC, asked solid questions and corrected the most egregious of Trump’s lies. But as he continued to interrupt and yell at Harris, they increasingly gave him leeway to do so. This meant he spoke more often and for more time than Harris; MSNBC’s Stephanie Ruhle reported that he spoke 39 times for a total of 41.9 minutes, to her 23 times for a total of 37.1 minutes. But the extra time did him no favors.

By the end of the evening, Harris had delivered a clear message about her hopes to move the country forward beyond years of using race to divide people who have far more in common than they have differences. She promised to develop an economy that will build small businesses and support a growing middle class, while protecting rights, including the right to make reproductive decisions without the intrusion of the state. And she showed the nation that Trump can be baited, that he lies freely and incoherently, and—perhaps crucially—that he is no longer the dominant politician in America.  

Immediately after the debate, the Harris campaign continued their demonstration of dominance. Harris-Walz campaign chair Jen O’Malley Dillon released a statement recapping Harris’s strength and Trump’s angry incoherence. She concluded: “Vice President Harris is ready for a second debate. Is Donald Trump?”

Then things got even worse for Trump. 

Music phenomenon Taylor Swift endorsed Harris, telling her 283 million Instagram followers that she felt she had to because of Trump’s earlier reposting of an AI image of her seeming to endorse him. That, she said, “brought me to the conclusion that I need to be very transparent about my actual plans for this election as a voter. The simplest way to combat misinformation is with the truth. I will be casting my vote for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz in the 2024 Presidential Election.”

After explaining why she was supporting Harris and Walz and urging her fans to do their own research, Swift signed off: “Taylor Swift, Childless Cat Lady.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[adamstnheights]

Stitches - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You’re the newest recruit to 141 and still trying to figure out your intimidating, mysterious lieutenant. Being assigned as his partner on the field for the first time on a sniper mission, you’re unsure exactly how to act around him, especially when he has such an… effect on you. But when you both get caught in the crossfire, you’re forced to take cover with him and mend his wounds, much to his (begrudging) appreciation.

An alternative take on the Recon by Fire mission in MWII. Also based loosely around the Simon Riley ASMR video by Jim ASMR on YouTube because it was just so cute :)

Reader’s callsign is Zero (iykyk)

Content: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Sniper Reader, Reader used to want to be a medic, Military Inaccuracies, Medical Inaccuracies, Gunshot Wounds, Ghost being super soft, You taking care of Ghost, Ghost taking care of you, Gentle touches, Needles, Bandages, Stitches, Developing feelings, Ghost trusting you, Flirting, Fluff, Ghost is a cat person (REAL)

Word Count: 7.4k

“Ghost and Zero, you’ll station up at the top of the hill and see if you can take any of the cartel guards out from a distance,” Price ordered over comms. “When the path is clear, Gaz and I will move into the hatchery and clear them out, looking for any evidence of the missiles. Laswell will be out on the water on overwatch. If we need her, she can get to shore and join us in the hatchery.”

Usually, you would be standing in the debriefing room to hear your instructions for a mission, but because of the short notice and urgency, you were listening to Price’s voice over comms in the back of one of the task force’s vans. While Price continued to speak, you slowly let your gaze move over to where Ghost was sitting across from you in the back of the van, only for your whole body to seize up when you realized that he was already staring at you. And of course, you couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking—basically his whole expression was covered by his mask. It frustrated you to no end. It felt like he always had the upper hand, not allowing the enemy or opposition to get a read on his face, which was understandable, but you wanted to know. You wanted to be able to know what he was thinking. In comparison, it made you feel extremely vulnerable. Maybe you’d look into getting your own mask.

Being the rookie made you feel extremely out of place. It didn’t matter you had five years of being a sniper under your belt; you’ve only been with them for six months, so to the rest of Task Force 141, you were still the newbie. Talk about your skill had been passed around by word of mouth, and soon Captain John Price had approached your former unit and proposed a deal to you that was too good to pass up. So a few months and a location change later, you were the newest addition to 141, thus securing your label as “the rookie.” There wasn’t really anything you could do about it.

Luckily, the guys in the unit welcomed you with open arms, although the kindness did come along with a fair share of humorous and flirtatious remarks. Soap and Gaz basically took you under their wing immediately, taking pride in teaching you new things and showing you the ropes of 141. They urged you to join in on their game nights and when they would go out to the bar after a hard day of training or a rough mission. You felt at ease around the other men, too, for the most part.

Ghost was another story. From the first time you met him, you were intimidated. He had a towering, large figure that could speak for itself, but also his voice was deep and gruff, especially when he was barking out orders. You weren’t scared of him, per se, but you were cautious. From the interactions you’ve had with him and the way you’ve observed him on missions, you definitely wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. He was mysterious—the mask and skull cover showed that the most, but on top of that, you noticed the way he expertly dodged any prying questions that Soap would ask him over comms during a mission. When you and the rest of the crew got drunk and began spewing out stories from your former lives, you noticed how Ghost would simply sit back and listen, observe, but not provide any stories of his own. You were sure he had his reasons for being closed off, but you couldn’t help but wish that he were… more approachable. Especially now that you were on your first mission with just him by your side, you felt like you knew him the least out of the other members of 141.

The van slowly and quietly came to a stop towards the top of the hill. Ghost opened the back doors and jumped out onto the ground and you followed, rifle in hand.

“Zero, on me,” Ghost said, nodding his head his way.

The fog along the coastline was thick—good for the enemies not spotting you, but not as good for you spotting the enemies. You stationed yourself about forty yards away from the edge of the uppermost hill, where the grass was thick and high. The outline of the hatchery could be seen far, far in the distance, right along the edge of the land. From where you and Ghost were crouching, you could see below where a dirt path winded slowly down the hills. It would take some time and patience to fully push forward and make it safe enough for Price and Gaz to breach the buildings down below. But you were ready; more importantly, you were counting on this mission to prove your worthiness to Ghost. It was kind of pathetic. You knew you were a damn good sniper out on the battlefield, and yet, ever since Ghost’s intense, unreadable gaze landed on you, you’d felt determined to do whatever it took to get his approval. It didn’t help that the way he looked at you kind of really made your heart race, in the most confusing way, and the periodic sarcastic jokes he would make over comms made him more endearing.

Still, you didn’t want to push your luck. The last thing you wanted was for this mission to bring you back to square one in terms of your reputation on the team. In front of you, Ghost crouched even lower to the ground, pointing his rifle outward and looking through the scope. You fell back slightly behind him, also crouching in the grass. After a few moments of silence, you furrowed your brow at him, unsure whether he was going to say something or if he was just trying to act like you weren’t even there. Maybe he was annoyed by you, annoyed that out of everyone else on 141, he was stuck with the rookie.

Finally, he nodded his head forwards, motioning you to follow him. Both of you crawled through the grass until you reached closer to the edge of the hill. You both got down, fully lying on the dirt. Through the fog, you could now make out the wire fences around the hatchery, where cartel were guarding the entrances and walking along the dirt paths surrounding it.

“I can see about ten of ’em, all ’round the entrance fence,” Ghost finally broke the silence. 

“We need to take our time,” you said, “They’ll spread out, into groups of two or three. Then we can take them out.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he replied, “Let me know who to take out.” Normally, he would be argumentative to a new recruit taking the initiative, but there was something about you that fascinated him. He didn’t mind hearing your voice walking through the plan and telling him what to do. Price had told him about your skill; he knew that you knew what you were doing.

You readjusted your rifle just so, looking through the scope.

“On top of the building, two snipers,” you announced, “Do you see my laser on your thermal?”

You could hear Ghost repositioning his rifle a couple feet away from you in the grass. “Affirmative.”

“Go.”

You pulled the trigger, hitting the sniper on the right. Mere seconds afterwards, you heard Ghost’s rifle go off and through the scope you could see the second sniper’s body fall over.

“Got ’im,” he said. “On the right side of the fence, near the blue shipping container, there’s two.”

“I’m on him,” you said, lining up your shot next to his.

Ghost shot first this time, you followed him. The two men by the shipping container dropped to the ground. You continued scanning the area.

“Three more, below, closer to us, walking by that white van,” you flexed your hand and regripped the trigger.

“I’ll get the stray,” Ghost said.

“Copy that.”

You lined up your shot to the guy furthest to the right, watching as Ghost’s laser appeared over the man next to him. Again, seconds after you shot, Ghost followed, taking out the other. He quickly readjusted his hold on the rifle to focus in on the third one of the group. As you watched through the scope, the third man immediately went onto high alert, pointing his gun around him. Ghost wasn’t worried though as he lined up his shot. Poor bloke; unlike the first two men, this one would spend his last living seconds in panic mode.

Unfortunately, in the few seconds in between, the third man shouted and seemingly alerted someone else. Immediately after Ghost shot him down, two more men came running into view, shooting upwards towards the two of you. With a few uncoordinated shots, you and Ghost took them down quickly, but the not-so-subtle gunfire from your direction gave away your position. Before you could even think about moving, a bullet sped right past your view and into Ghost’s arm.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Ghost grunted, sucking in his breath in pain. “Where the fuck—?”

You were frantically scanning the area for where the shot could have come from when another bullet came speeding towards you, and you felt a sharp pain searing through your own arm. Furrowing your brow, you struggled to look even harder through the scope. “Shit—!” You winced.

“Got ’im,” Ghost announced, pulling the trigger, “To your left, on top of that small shed. There was another one.”

“Fuck.” You noticed two more men emerging from behind the shed. Both of you quickly took them down. “We– We need to push forward, we don’t have the best view from here. I can’t tell if we cleared the whole area.”

“Copy that.”

You began to crawl forward, the pressure of leaning on your right arm not helping the gash there. Before you could crawl even a foot you felt an unfamiliar touch on your forearm. Ghost had placed his gloved hand there, and you turned to look at him.

“You okay?” He asked lowly. You nodded your head, too shocked to speak.

You and Ghost quickly moved forward, onto an area of grass a bit lower down the hill than where you were before. You could see a bit closer now, and from the new angle, you could make out the rest of the area below. There were a handful more men on guard around the building, and you gripped your rifle hard in an attempt to distract your body from the pain. You monitored Ghost’s laser and helped him take out the men accordingly. Barely any more gunfire was exchanged.

“Price, Gaz—we cleared the outside surroundings of the buildings. You should be good to go in now,” he directed over comms.

“Copy. Good work, you two,” Price replied.

You met Ghost’s eyes from between the blades of grass and you could tell that he was intentionally not letting Price know that you two got hit. You could have spoken up yourself but you had successfully eliminated everyone and neither bullet seemed to have hit anything critical. Giving the lieutenant a knowing nod, you scanned the area and noticed a stream of water by a small stone building. It wasn’t really a building, more like a small hut. Ghost saw where you were looking and nodded his head towards it, giving you the go ahead.

Crouching slightly, you both quickly snuck towards the stone shack. Ghost positioned himself to cover the rickety wooden door, which you kicked in, instantly holding your rifle up to clear the inside. He followed you close behind, checking all corners of the worn-over room. Everything inside was covered in moss or other overgrown plants.

“Clear.” Ghost stated, lowering his gun. You were already sliding down against the stone wall towards the corner of the room, grasping the side of your arm. Ghost rushed to your side, sitting next to you. “Here,” he went to look at your arm, but you expertly reached for him first.

“Show me yours first,” you whispered, “Mine’s just a graze. Yours is worse.”

“Are you defying your superior?” He asked. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Yours is worse,” you repeated, shaking your head, “The bullet lodged in there. I need to take a look.” You were staring at his left bicep, where the layers of jacket and shirts were ripped into by the bullet. The hole in Ghost’s skin was large, bleeding profusely.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “I’m more worried about you, Zero.”

Your eyebrow raised and you tilted your head up to look at him. Behind the mask, you could see his eyes clearly. They were hazel, and for probably one of the first times since you’ve known him, they looked soft and genuine. Up close, you could see little spots where the black paint smudged and his skin was peeking through. His eyelashes were blonde, slightly covered by some black face paint, but definitely blonde. Suddenly, you were trying to picture Ghost’s blonde hair under the mask and balaclava. You weren’t as intimidated by him anymore as you were intrigued—deep down, you wished you could see more of him.

From what you’ve observed of him (plus things Soap and Gaz have said), you knew he wasn’t really as big and scary as he seemed to be. He cracked jokes over comms during missions. During downtime on base he’d join the rest of the group playing cards or drinking, still wearing his balaclava obviously, but without the skull cover and only minimal black eye black on, so you could see more of his face clearly. You would never admit it to the rest of the guys, certainly not Soap, but you found Ghost to be quite handsome. (You could just hear Soap teasing you: You don’t even know what he looks like! He could be ugly!) Between his deep voice, towering figure, and the way his hands worked around his rifle (you have stared too many times to admit), he was… hot. What more could you say? It felt like a silly high school crush; he was your superior and you barely knew anything about him. But… you wished you could learn more. You would, if he’d let you. You would.

And now, with his face only inches away from yours, his eyes looking at you intently, you felt determined to take care of him. You wanted to see that softer side of him, and you also wanted an excuse to dote on him. Already, he was acting a bit more flustered than usual with you trying to defy him. You wondered how long you’d be able to keep it up for.

“I’m not taking that for an answer,” you insisted. “Yours is worse, so we’re taking care of you first.”

Ghost raised his eyebrows, his mouth partly open in shock of your defiance, but his lips spread into a smirk, amused by your determined edge. He was intrigued by you, so he’d let you win this argument. He didn’t say anything more as you inched closer to him. He sat with his entire back against the wall, facing forward. You turned your body towards him, sitting cross-legged as you placed a hand on his arm where the bullet wound was.

“I… think you’re going to have to take this off. The jacket, at least. Sorry, Lieutenant,” you said.

“You can call me Ghost, you know,” he said as he leaned forward to unclip his tactical vest and shuck the jacket off.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, “I was just trying to be polite, I guess.”

“Don’t need to be polite with me,” he smirked.

“Okay… Ghost,” you smiled. You took off your own tactical vest and rummaged through the back pockets, pulling out your first aid kit. You opened the kit and took out the tweezers. “Sorry if this hurts.”

“S’alright, not the worst thing I’ve endured. And I haven’t had the privilege of such an… assertive patching up,” Ghost could feel himself blushing behind the mask. He was glad you couldn’t see.

First, you inspected the bullet. It had implanted inside his arm, making it impossible for any kind of extraction, especially under conditions like these. With only minimal shattering, the pieces embedded into the muscle, there were no critical places hit or at risk. Your main goal was to stop the bleeding so you could stitch the wound closed.

“It seems like… most of your muscle absorbed the bullet. No bone damage or critical areas hit, so… all I’m gonna do is stitch you up,” you explained. You held back a giggle, pushing away the urge to squeeze his arm; you weren’t entirely sure if he’d like that very much (you were almost positive he’d kill you). “When we get back to base, the nurses at the infirmary can keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything, and if not, then it’ll just heal over.”

“Aw, no trophy for me to take home?” Ghost asked.

“You still get to take it home,” you replied, taking your two fingers and tapping his arm above the wound, “just in here. Hey, now it’ll always be with you.” He shuddered at your touch.

You began cleaning around and in the wound, earning a sharp hiss from Ghost’s mouth as you wiped the area off with a small rag and some water from your hydration bladder. You poured some water slowly onto the wound, trying to flush out any dirt or debris, before placing some gauze over it and applying pressure to slow the bleeding. While your one hand was pushing against his arm, you reached your other hand back into the first aid kit, fishing around for your stitching tools. You took out a needle with thread, along with a needle driver. You placed the needle driver on your leg for the time being.

You dug into one of your pockets, brandishing a small square alcohol wipe package, which you promptly ripped open with your teeth so you wouldn’t have to set the needle down. Ghost practically had to hold back from choking on his own breath, the way you were so focused and determined was certainly making him feel some unfamiliar type of way. He had barely gotten a chance to hesitate or argue against you patching him up, he was too mesmerized in watching you and you were already grabbing a hold of his arm again, sending a tingle down his spine as you cleaned his wound.

Then, with one hand, you pierced the skin on one side of the open wound with the needle, then the other side. Your other hand held the needle driver, which you used to grip onto the end of the needle, pulling the thread through the newly made holes. With an even amount of thread left on either side of the wound, you wrapped the thread from the left side around the needle driver twice, then grabbed the other end of the thread with the driver. You pulled from both ends gently, making a first throw of the stitch. You did it again, looping the one side of the thread around the driver, grasping the other end, and pulling it tightly to make the knot. Ghost watched, almost in awe, at your expert handiwork. You made it look so easy. 

“I... wanted to be a nurse, or a medic, or whatever, you know,” you rambled as you moved up the wound a few centimeters, piercing the skin to start another stitch, “I made it through undergrad and then… shit just didn’t really work out. But hey, I found out I was a pretty good sniper. So I’m good for somethin’, at least.”

Simon felt his whole body heating up from the way both of your hands were making contact with his upper arm. One hand was gently pressing down on his bicep around the wound while your other had the needle held in between your fingers. The gash you were closing up on him was large; it was certainly going to leave Ghost with a jagged scar. But for once, he felt at ease.

In all his years in the military, the marks and scars that have riddled his body only brought him more shame and discomfort. Sure, there were a few scars that were his “go-to” to talk about when the other guys began showing off about past endeavors (This one here, knife fight. I grabbed the bloke from behind and stabbed’im in the neck, but not before he got one in my side). Other than that, most of the bullet holes and jagged lines where his skin couldn’t fully heal only reminded him of the horrors and the pain. Now, though, the thought of having a scar on his arm from a wound that you took care of, he couldn’t be more elated. A mark on his body, stitched together carefully and gracefully by you. A secret moment—a memory—that only the two of you shared, forever imprinted into his arm; a scar that no one else would know the backstory to, unless he decided to tell it (he wouldn’t—he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else).

Okay, so maybe some sort of feelings were blossoming in the cold, cold heart of Simon Riley. You didn’t have much of an idea about it, and honestly, neither did Ghost himself. Soap had teased him multiple times about a supposed “crush” that Ghost didn’t fully realize he had. But the sergeant certainly had. Soap teased him about how he always insisted he didn’t want to play cards with the rest of the team, only to grab a seat next to you and strategize how to beat everyone else. Was it an excuse to sit real close to you and exchange whispers and laughter? Soap would never get an answer because Ghost would tell him to fuck off, but he already knew the answer anyways.

Ghost’s heart was racing, suddenly and somehow nervous in your presence.

“Why do they call you Zero?” He asked abruptly, a random question spilling from his lips. He just wanted to keep hearing you talk to him.

“Isn’t that like, impolite to ask?” You smirked.

He laughed—a genuine, full out laugh. Your eyes brightened. “I’m only curious,” he said softly. “Jus’ tryin’ to make conversation.”

“Well, why do they call you Ghost?” You shot back playfully.

“Now that’s classified, love.” His eyes immediately widened as the endearing term slipped from his lips. He hoped you didn’t catch it; meanwhile, you were going to think about it for the rest of the week. You grinned to yourself, and he looked down at his hands and focused on how your needle pierced his skin—a certain amount of discomfort, but something that felt good knowing that you were right there next to him. He didn’t want to get into his callsign; however, he was willing to give you something else. “My name—my real name, I mean… It’s Simon.”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You almost couldn’t believe that he told you, you hadn’t expected him to want you to know something like that. “Simon,” you repeated, watching as he nodded his head. “That’s a nice name. Simon. So… am I allowed to call you Simon now?”

Ghost looked past you at the wall for a brief moment, thinking. “Not on the field,” he stated, “But… when we’re back on base… sure. Yeah. Call me Simon.”

You shivered at his deep voice. Simon, Simon, Simon. You wanted to say it again and again. And he wanted to hear you say it. He would like his name a thousand times better if it was coming from your mouth.

“Simon—”

“Hey.”

“Sorry. Ghost,” you giggled. 

Three stitches down. You kept working, quickly and efficiently. Ghost kept watching you, wondering why Price hadn’t brought you onto the team as a medic. Not that your sniping abilities weren’t needed and greatly appreciated, but Ghost selfishly thought about how from now on, if he got so much as a small scrape, he’d go to you for help. Soon enough, you were finishing the last throw on the fourth stitch. You moved onto the next one, lacing the thread through the needle to start again.

“Don’t know how to use half the shit in the first aid kit,” now it was Ghost’s turn to ramble, “Usually just slap a bandage on ’n hope for the best. I mean, I’m not stupid, I don’t leave my shit untouched to get infected or anything. I just… don’t really follow up on any of my doctor’s appointments. But I’ve made it alright so far.”

“You should let yourself be taken care of more often,” you said softly. Your face grew hot when you realized the way that could have sounded and you added, “When you get hurt like this. You don’t have to always put on a brave face and grit through the pain. You need to take care of yourself.”

Ghost scoffed almost instinctively, but his heart swelled at your concern for him. He admired you for being so caring, not just to him, but to everyone on the team. Despite not always showing it, he cared deeply about all of the other guys on 141, he would die for any of them. He didn’t have a family, but 141 was the closest he had to one. The way his team interacted with each other was important to him, and watching how you melded with everyone else over the past couple of months, he felt happy, content. Your kindness only intrigued him more; he wished that he could be the only recipient of your sweet words and attention.

“Well, I– I don’t usually trust anyone to patch me up,” he attempted at some sort of compliment. Your eyebrow raised and you looked up at him.

“Hmm. So… you trust me then?” You asked cautiously. You heard stories about how Ghost hardly trusted anyone, and your heart began to beat faster at the implication that you had somehow made it on the list of those he did.

“You could say that,” he said. He cursed himself in his mind for not knowing how to properly talk to you, how to make you feel cared about the way you made everyone else feel cared about.

“And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?” A smirk spread across your face.

“Fuck’s sake, just take the compliment, will ya?” Ghost practically grumbled, sounding like an annoyed child.

You let out a soft laugh. Ghost put the sound of your laugh into the back of his mind, for safekeeping. “That’s your way of giving me a compliment, huh?” You teased.

“M’not very good at it, am I?” He sighed into a small laugh.

“Just a bit rusty,” you tilted your head up at him, your faces somehow closer than you had remembered, “But you can get better with practice.”

“Practice, hm?”

“Uh-huh. You can feel free to practice your compliments and pick up lines on me anytime.” You were too shy to make eye contact with him after that; you began to focus extremely on his wound. 

Ghost’s right eyebrow raised slightly, unable to properly register whether you were genuinely insinuating that you would enjoy it if he flirted with you. As if he even knew how to. Suddenly, he felt embarrassed that he had no idea what to say. He thought about Johnny, and how his downright stupid pick up lines he used on people at the bar usually actually worked. There was no way Johnny would let him hear the end of it if he approached him for help with flirting, but Ghost wondered who else he would want to confide in when they returned to base. 

“Almost finished,” you announced, finishing another suture. The skin was carefully pulled back together, only needing one or two more stitches. “I am fairly confident that this will heal very quickly and very nicely. Well, granted that you go back to the infirmary and get yourself followed up on.” You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Do I have to go to the infirmary when we get back?” He complained. You laughed at the way he practically whined.

You looped the thread again with the needle driver and began the last suture. In a matter of moments, you’d knotted the thread three times over and secured the suture flat to the skin. You moved your head closer to inspect your work, nodding and looking up at him.

“Well, I’m done stitching you up. And yes, you do, because you need to make sure your wound doesn’t get infected,” you said, half sternly. Soap told you probably hundreds of stories about Ghost refusing to get proper medical help after returning from a mission, and your fleeting former life as an almost-nurse made you feel very strongly on the topic. “Please, after all I did to stitch you together, won’t you make sure that it heals alright?”

His heart swelled. As much as he tried to push down feelings like this, he knew that he’d do anything for you. And you asked so nicely. However, he had a negotiation in mind.

“Well… What if I get checked up on by you? When we get back to base? You know, instead of going to the infirmary?” He raised his eyebrow and watched the gears turn in your mind. He prayed that his message would come across properly: I’d rather see you. I trust you more.

“Don’t go getting too attached to your medic, now,” you fake tsk-ed at him, but you were smiling, too. Ghost laughed. Too late for that. 

“You can give me a once over when we get back. Vouch for me so I don’t have to go deal with the other doctors,” he pushed.

“You’re very difficult, Ghost,” you tutted. “But… I’d rather be the one to make sure you’re alright. That way I can ensure you’re following the proper recovery routine.” You reached into your kit again and got out a bandage roll. You reached out for his arm again, beginning to wrap the bandage gauze around his arm.

“And what kind of recovery routine would you want me to follow?”

You clicked your tongue, thinking. “You have to let me eat dinner with you in your room. And then after, I can check your wound,” you decided. Luckily, the words coming out of your mouth were far from Go on a date with me, but it was certainly the closest you’d get. Ghost hardly ever ate dinner in the common area with the rest of the task force, you assumed mostly because eating would involve him having to pull his mask up. Remembering this fact, you quickly added, “I won’t even look at you while you eat. I just… thought maybe you’d like some company.”

He stopped himself from blurting out something inappropriate, a dumb teasing line about you just trying to make up an excuse to get into his bedroom. His usual confidence to say whatever dumb, crass joke he wanted disappeared with you so close to him. He was more nervous than anything to scare you away, to say something that would make you not want to be around him.

“I’d accept that,” he finally said. “And… you wouldn’t need to do that.” He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. “You’re allowed to take a look at me while I’m eating.” He smirked as he saw your cheeks grow red. 

“I— I mean, I didn’t mean I wanted to like, stare at you while you’re—” you tripped over your words, stopping to take a breath and collect your thoughts. Slowly, you opened your mouth again, “Well, I mean, I am curious… I guess…”

Ghost was smiling proudly under his mask, finding it incredibly endearing the way you admitted your curiosity. He always stuck to his secrecy behind the mask for the most part; he was sure that the other guys had seen his jawline and mouth from the times he ate or drank around them, but they never made too big of a deal (besides Soap, who would use the mask as a prime source for his teasing). More often than not, on base, he’d retreat to his room to eat simply to avoid any annoyances around lifting the mask up and back down over and over. But now, really thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t mind at all if you saw him eating. Maybe, just maybe, he would enjoy your company for dinner on a daily basis. He wouldn’t jump to that conclusion just yet, but in the back of his mind, he already knew.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ghost said, “I’d rather be able to look at you and talk to you while we eat.”

“So you’re taking my offer,” you beamed.

“That I am. Now let me look at you.”

The lacerations along your own arm were stinging and bleeding, but somehow the high of the lieutenant caring about you overrode that pain. Still, you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to have Ghost dote on you, although you had a feeling he wouldn’t be as gentle as you were with him. Either way, you let him help you take your jacket off and you shuddered at the few moments his bare hand brushed against you. He placed his hands on either side of you, on your shoulders, turning you more towards him, closer to him. He looked at your arm.

“Look, we have matching wounds,” he said, raising his own arm up next to yours. You let out a small laugh, not expecting him to say something like that. It was sweet.

“We both have something to remember this day by.”

“You want to remember this?” He asked, as if he weren’t going to think about the way you gently stitched him up and took care of him for the rest of his life.

“Of course,” you replied, “We completed our mission, quite well, I might add, and I think we make a good team. Plus, you told me your name. So of course I want to remember this.”

Ghost blinked at you, trying to decipher any evidence of disingenuousness in your face, only to be met with the exact opposite. Your expression was soft and genuine. Your eyes shimmered for him. Ghost wasn’t used to hearing such nice, kind things towards himself, and you could tell he wasn’t used to it by the way he remained silent, not even coming up with a dry joke to change the subject. You wondered how many times you would have to compliment him before you could really get through to him.

“You’re staring, Zero,” Ghost’s deep voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Can’t help that you’re nice to look at.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were flushing again. His hands were slightly shaky as he took your arm, closer to him this time. He shifted his whole body so he was completely facing you, ready to patch you up.

You had only been grazed by the bullet, but it still hurt like hell. Your whole right arm was burning up with a searing pain, not the worst you’ve ever felt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable. The skin on your arm wasn’t torn open the same way Ghost’s was, with the bullet embedding inside, but it was like the edge of the bullet tried to scoop into your skin like a shovel into dirt. It didn’t go through or below the skin, but it was deep enough that blood was trickling down your arm. You were so focused on taking care of Ghost that you had barely noticed it.

“Fuckin’ hell, Zero,” Ghost said, his eyes widening in concern from seeing your wound more clearly. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t lodge in ya.”

He reached next to him and grabbed a wad of gauze, dampening it with some water and placing it over you. His large hand placed pressure on you to stop the bleeding. You tried not to think about his hand pushing against you in a different context. His hands were warm on you and you couldn’t help but shiver. You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps along your arm.

After a few minutes of applying pressure to your wound, Ghost lifted up the gauze, inspecting you.

“Looks like the blood mostly stopped,” he told you, putting the wad of gauze next to him on the ground. He took out his own alcohol wipes, holding them up first as if to warn you This might hurt. He held your arm with one hand and wiped the wound with the other. The alcohol stung but it didn’t matter. Ghost was taking care of you. “Hold still.”

As he sanitized your wound, Ghost would wince whenever he heard you suck in a breath or make a small, pained sound from the alcohol. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted to be gentle with you like you were with him. Sure, maybe he wasn’t very good at all that, but he’d like to try, for you. His fingers brushed against your skin as he ran the alcohol wipe over the scrapes a few times, sanitizing the area and wiping away the blood.

“Don’t have any antiseptic,” he mumbled.

“Wait, I do,” you speak up, taking out a small tube of antiseptic ointment from your kit. Handing it to him, he put some on his pointer and middle fingers, gently making contact with your skin. He patted the ointment into the wound and the skin around it, his expression deeply focused to make sure he wasn’t hurting you. He wiped the excess on a small square of gauze and looked at you, as if waiting for approval. You blinked at him, smiling sweetly, and he turned away, always nervous when you smile at him, to reach for the bandage roll.

“I, uh, used to have a dog. German Shepherd. He got his back paw caught in a chain fence once and I had to bandage his leg and everythin’... Guess that’s the closest I ever got to bein’ a medic,” Ghost chuckled softly, unraveling the bandage and holding the end of it in place over your arm, using his other hand to begin wrapping it around you. 

“A dog, hm?” Now that piqued your interest. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a dog person.”

He shook his head. “Not really. More of a cat person, actually.”

“You’re joking,” you gasped. You tried to imagine Ghost with a cat cuddled up on his lap or chest.

“Cats get a bad rep,” he said. “I like that they’re independent and do their own thing most of the time. But they’re still sweet, they’ll still rub against you when you pet them and curl up next to you on the couch. They’re more stand-offish and brooding than dogs, I guess. But what’s so bad about that?”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you whispered. Ghost locked eyes with you, and you could tell that his eyebrows were raised. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. You continued, “But don’t worry. I really like cats, too. Misunderstood creatures. And cute.” You smiled at him, hoping to God he understood that you were trying to flirt with him. It was hard to tell, but you assumed by the way he chuckled softly and moved even closer to you to continue patching you up that he got it.

He placed his hand on your arm and ripped the bandage, placing the rest of the roll back into his kit. He repositioned the ending of the bandage so that it stuck on top of itself, keeping the wrapping in place without any need for medical tape. When his hands left your arm, you had to hold yourself back from frowning, already missing the skin-to-skin contact.

“Well, I think tha’ll do ya good, a’least until we get back, yeah?” Ghost said, leaning back from you a bit. Still, you noticed that the way you were sitting, your legs were still touching. 

“Thank you,” you placed your hand over the bandage, moving and flexing your arm to see how it felt.

Ghost got up from the ground and began putting his jacket and tactical vest back on. He walked a few steps across the room where he had leaned his rifle up against a dusty table. Rummaging through his vest for some ammo, he began reloading his gun and humming ever so softly to himself. You watched him, your cheeks tingling with warmth. As much as you wanted to get back to base, you also didn’t want to leave this moment. You doubted that anyone else had the privilege to see him like this. In Ghost’s world, watching him reloading his gun was probably the most domestic thing you would ever be able to watch him do. When he finished, he turned and looked at you, completely catching you staring. You saw slight motion under the mask—he had to be smiling. The thought made your heart race. But you cleared your throat and scrambled to your feet, turning around to pick up your jacket and tactical vest off of the ground. You zipped up your jacket, half turned away from Ghost, but feeling his eyes on you.

“Zero.” His gruff voice sent shivers down your spine. You turned around and met his gaze. Those hazel eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Glad you’re safe.”

Your heart raced. Ghost’s heart softened.

———

The flight back to the base landed in the early hours of the morning. The sun had barely started to rise, the sky a deep pinkish red as you and the rest of 141 walked back into the building. Gaz and Price had successfully breached the hatchery, clearing it out and finding evidence of tunnels underneath the lighthouse on the island. Laswell would talk to Shepherd and figure out a game plan, but at least for one night, you would be able to relax.

As soon as everyone reached back to the barracks, everyone scattered into their rooms to clean up, unpack, and get some shut eye. Despite it being early in the morning, everyone on 141 hadn’t slept for at least 24 hours. You took a quick shower and changed into something warm and comfy, falling asleep in your bed without any tossing and turning. You awoke later in the afternoon, around four o’clock, stomach grumbling. Your face lit up, remembering your arrangement with Ghost—Simon.

You put some shoes on and freshened yourself up in the mirror, suddenly feeling nervous and yet you were so excited. Walking into the common area, you opened one of the fridges and took out a pasta dish you had made the other day. You split the leftovers in half, putting it into two bowls and microwaving them. Humming to yourself, you realized that you were actually getting the thing you’d been wanting ever since you met him: true, one-on-one time with the brooding lieutenant. Since yesterday, your feelings towards him had only blossomed further, and from the way he had looked at you and leaned close to you, you had a little bit of hope that maybe he could feel the same. You felt like a giddy highschooler as you took the bowls out of the microwave and quickly grabbed some utensils from one of the drawers. When you spun around, you almost crashed into Price who was entering the kitchen area with Gaz.

“Oh, sorry, Captain! Didn’t see you there,” you apologized but swiftly moved past them, barely paying either of them any mind.

“Where’s she going in such a hurry?” Gaz asked, raising his eyebrow as you continued down the hall. Price gave him the same puzzled look back.

“Hey, Zero!” Price called. You spun around. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I’m just bringing some dinner to Simon’s room!” you lifted up your hands with the two bowls of food to show them. Price and Gaz nodded slowly, and you were clearly in a hurry because you hardly waited for either of them to reply before you turned back around.

You turned the corner at the end of the hall out of their view. Both men were still staring at where you were standing seconds before.

“I didn’t know he let people into his room,” Price said, grinning ear to ear.

Gaz stood frozen in place, “I… Did she just call him Simon?”

Price choked out in laughter.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Jenny Jugo (Victoria in Dover, A hopeless Case, Our Miss Doctor)—I just love her! She was an Austrian actress during the 20s & 30s & 40s who was among the big UFA stars. She was beautiful but still appeared to be natural and likeable. Often she played witty, smart, independent and confident (for the time) modern women both in silent and in talking movies. For example in one movie she's a maths teacher who has to prove herself to her male colleagues who doubt she is actually good at mathematics. And she ends up not only being successful at teaching the high-school graduates but even getting to lecture mathematics at university afterwards. (Our Miss Doctor) Or in A Hopeless Case she plays a young woman who is very superficial and spoilt at first but then decides against marrying the good situated man her father wants her to marry and instead is dedicated to successfully study medicine although everyone advises her to stop. She's really a great actress who I always enjoyed seeing in movies ever since I was a child. (Also she always appeared to have thick curly hair which was a great representation for little curly haired me because in movies you rarely see women with that hair type being considered beautiful as well.)

Mary Pickford (Coquette, Tess of the Storm Country)—"America’s Sweetheart”, “Queen of Hollywood”, her and Douglas Fairbanks were the og it couple, owned her own movie studio, had both a drink and a hairstyle named after her

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Jenny Jugo:

Gifset

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Mary Pickford:

She was a pioneer in early cinema! She acted, wrote, and produced numerous films and was one of the founders of the United Artists film studio, along with Charlie Chaplin and her husband, Doug Fairbanks. At the height of her career in the 1920s there was nobody more famous. She was widely known as "America's Sweetheart." She won an Oscar in 1929 for her performance in Coquette (1929) and then a lifetime achievement Oscar in 1979.

She was an absolute pioneer in the very early days of feature films. She co-founded United artists and managed her career brilliantly.

Mary Pickford wasn't just a silent star, she was a huge historical figure for film. I really cannot emphasize how involved she was in creating and shaping the film world. She was completely passionate about the theater world (from a young age!) and still revered even after she lost relevance. Her tenacity, her beauty, and her intelligence is what made her the first actress labeled as "America's Sweetheart." She just has this glow, a wonderful sweet disposition, and warm heart. She often introduced other women to motion picture and helped them showcase their talent. She was an astute business woman, although when asked about this she said "Well you know this business angle is much exaggerated, because most people don't expect much sense of a woman 5 feet tall. If I were 5 feet 8 they would say I was a very poor business woman!" She was friends with Amelia Earheart and had terrible luck in love. Please just learn about or give thought to my sad small sweet girl.

[atinystraynstay]

Different Sides - Kim Seokjin

Synopsis: To Seokjin, the world was his to claim. He could care less about the differences that were meant to keep people separated or the physical miles that made the distance. Especially when it comes to you, he was ready to give your relationship his all.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader

Genre: Fluffffff, strangers to lovers high-key missing Seokjin hours 💜

Word Count: 2.5k

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Kim Seokjin has always been curious about the world around him. He believed everywhere told a story. And instead of reading about it, he wanted to just experience it for himself.

While Jin was exploring the world outside of Korea, he knew that he always had to find Korean food wherever he goes. Whether it was at a restaurant or finding ingredients at home, he was determined to get a little piece of home wherever he goes. On this particular trip, he wondered into an Asian grocery store. He never knew places like this existed, but he was overjoyed.

That afternoon, you found yourself venturing to the Asian grocery store. You were inspired by a video you saw online of a person making a stew, which you figured would be perfect for a cold, rainy night.

With a list of ingredients typed onto your phone, you began to stroll through the aisles for everything you needed. You were pretty confident looking through the produce aisles. Potatoes, onions, green chili. Where you struggled is one you got to the spices.

You frequently glanced between the English typed on your phone with the Hangul on the printed labels. Maybe you could just grab what looked like it was used in the video? But the problem was also that many of the ingredients looked alike. Your eyes glanced around you to see if an employee could help you but there was no one in sight.

Jin was around though. He wanted to make naengmyeon, a craving he had since he landed in the United States. He was able to pick up most of the ingredients pretty easily, but he was having a hard time locating the actual noodle packets for it.

That's when he spotted you. You were staring up at the expansive shelves of spices, eyes bouncing around. He took note of the freckles that decorates your cheeks and the few moles that kissed your jawline. Your eyebrows were slightly scrunched which he found adorable.

Slowly, as to not startle you, he made his way over to you. His packet of ingredients rested on his forearm.

"You seem like you might need some help? May I?"

Jin silently thanked his parents and the universe for allowing him to study abroad when he was in his youth. He had gotten pretty good at being able to read English. He was just trying to work on speaking it without additional assistance, especially since he was traveling on his own. You looked up, relief washing over your face. Jin was mesmerized by the color of your eyes. He couldn't quite describing them but he found them enchanting. They were such a unique color, almost as if it was a color made just for you. He noticed your eyebrows relaxed as you eased down from your tiptoes.

"Please? I thought I was doing a good job at writing all the ingredients down, but I forgot about the part of the bottles being in a different language."

He chuckled lightly at you. Not because he was amused by your struggle, but he just found your adorable. He also loved that you thought you had to justify yourself to him, but there was no need. It was fate by the universe for you two to cross paths like this.

Jin held out his free hand, motioning for your phone. He gladly took your device and began to scroll through. He was able to easily pick up the exact spices you needed. It also worked out in his favor seeing as he could easily reach them from his height. With ease, he grabbed the remaining spices you needed before setting them down in your basket. "You know, there is one thing you're missing from your list." To your surprise, you raised an eyebrow. You figured that this stranger must know what they are talking about. Just eyeing his own basket, he seemed to know his way around the kitchen, so surely he could put two and two together to figure out what you were making. "What am I missing? Is there a secret ingredient to make it better?" You laughed. "Yeah, you're missing my number. Every good meal needs good company."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren't the type of person to invite someone over spontaneously, let alone someone you just met a few hours ago. Yet, there was something about Jin that was different. After the interaction at the grocery store, you craved being around him.

Your eyes bounced around your studio apartment. You wanted to make sure everything was set up appropriately. Was it too casual? You had floor lamps on rather than the harsh overhead light in the main part of the room. There also were three candles of different heights lit on your kitchen table. Was it too romantic?

All the ingredients were laid out on the kitchen island, ready to be prepared. Jin insisted that you two cook together. "I just want to make sure you do it correctly," he teased you in the grocery store. If it meant that you could to spend time with him, you weren't complaining.

Knock knock knock

"Shit," you murmured underneath your breath. You didn't get the chance to second-guess yourself. Your heart pounding almost to the same beat at Jin knocking on the door. How could a stranger make you so nervous so easily?

"Coming! Just give me a second," you called out. You walked over towards the front of your apartment while your hands got busy at smoothing out your clothes. You wore a pair of ripped jeans and a grey sweatshirt with the hands rolled up to the elbows since you two were cooking. You had your hair half pulled back by a claw clip, showing off the gold earrings you might've stolen from your sibling.

Before you answered the door, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. You made sure your makeup, while light, was not smudged. You gave yourself a quick smile, wanting to make sure you had nothing stuck in your teeth. Your hands were trembling with excitement.

Satisfied with your appearance, you walked fully to the door. You unlocked the top lock before opening it up. You gasped softly to be presented first with a bouquet of flowers, Jin smiling sheepishly.

"Really hope you're not allergic," he joked. You giggled before shaking your head, gladly taking the flowers into your arms. "Not trying to take this date to the hospital."

"I'm sure you could even make a trip to the hospital fun," you teased. You stepped aside to allow Jin into your apartment. He smiled as he crossed the threshold, watching as he shrugged off the jacket he was wearing. Holy fuck. His back and shoulder muscles are impressive.

Seokjin could feel his eyes on him, causing him to smirk. He glanced over at you from over his shoulder. "Like what you see?" As if to make things worse, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows now that jacket has been discarded. You just couldn't take your eyes off of him, and he knew that.

Your cheeks quickly gained a red hue. You wanted to apologize, not wanting to be rude. However, hearing his laughter as he proceeded to head towards your kitchen gave you some relief. While at the same time, your stomach was warm and fuzzy from hearing him. He really was something.

"Are you coming, sweet girl? Every great chef needs their sous-chef."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Making dinner quickly became the thing you two did. Whether it was for one another or together, the two of you were always in the kitchen. It was your favorite way of showing your love to someone. Jin was just content to be wherever you were.

That day in the grocery store turned into your first date of many. Throughout Jin's visit to America, he made frequent visits to your apartment with bags filled with groceries. Your apartment became filled with delicious smells, infectious laughter, and the sound of you two making out.

You couldn't believe how quickly things have escalated between the two of you. Yet, it felt like you two have known each other this whole time. He understood you in ways nobody else has even tried to comprehend before. And you were so curious about him - from his wit to his kind heart.

The months of Jin's stay were quickly dwindling down to a few weeks. And now, there were only a few days.

Everyone said the two of you would never work out. Your friends were concerned that the distance would be too much for you two to endure. Your parents were not the biggest fans of him considering they only had met him once.

Yet, their voices were all white noise to you. The only person that mattered when it came to your relationship was Kim Seokjin. Every day, he made it his mission to make it known how committed he was to you. He knew long distance relationships could be a source of anxiety, especially when it comes to unknowns.

There was nothing more that he was certain about than how he feels about you. The two of you met when Seokjin was on a solo trip. Since studying abroad in his youth, he was fascinated with the world around him. That is why he was so inspired to take up English, so he could be more connected with the world.

At the moment, you were both lying on your couch. Jin's back was against the arm of the couch, so you could rest comfortably against his back. One of his arms was wrapped around your body, keeping you close. Your other hand was playing with his free hand. You were comparing your hand sizes, seeing as he was much larger than your own. You would spread your fingers and he would mimick, adding to your amusement. In reality, it was serving as a distraction from what you really wanted to do.

"Alright, I've known you for about two months now. Something is going on in that pretty little head of yours,'' Jin commented.

He lifted his head off of your chin, so he could look at you properly. You often got quiet when you had something on your mind, something that you were going back and forth about confessing. Your eyebrows would furrow the slightest bit. You always thought you were slick about it, but he could see right through you.

"Come on, talk to me."

Jin offered a gentle smile. He was ready to listen to whatever was troubling your mind. You felt so comfortable around him.

"What are we doing, Jin?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head in confusion. "Right now, we're laying on your couch. We might cook, or if you want to just order in, you can show me your favorite restaurant. I won't get jealous because know I'm your favorite chef though," he smirked.

Normally, his humor helped lift the mood but not this time. Not when there were so many scenarios playing out in your mind at this exact moment.

"No, I mean, what are we doing? What is this between us?"

Jin sat up a bit straighter, but he didn't loosen his hold on you. His smirk did disappear though and furrowed eyebrows. He was providing all the space possible to allow you to elaborate.

Sure, he's thought about it. He was also curious as to what you two were heading toward, or what you could call yourselves. He's never felt a connection as intensely as whatever it is you two had. But he was aware that time was no longer on their side, and it was time to explore what life was outside of the bubble you two created.

If only he could freeze time before it all burst.

"Y/n, angel, I'm not sure."

You frowned at his words, trying your best not to fall apart in front of him. It could have just been a summer romance to him, nothing more and nothing less. You couldn't help but get your hopes up though.

"We have something special," he reaffirmed. "And I know that things are going to be different once I head back to Korea. I guess I'm not sure where things are heading because everyone has tried telling us that it's not going to work between you and I. But I want to prove them wrong." "So why don't we? Why don't we give it a try? Who says that it has to end the moment we say goodbye at the airport?" "What if instead of 'goodbye', we just say 'see you later'?" He offered.

If there was one thing about Kim Seokjin, he was a determined man. Whatever he wanted, he practically got.

However, Jin was skilled at making sure you never felt pressured to say yes to him. He was just happy to be in the same room as you. But, little did he know, it was so easy to say yes to him. You'd say a million times as long as it brought that charming smile of his.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two years later

"I don't thnk anyone in this room would have thought we'd be here today," your best friend spoke into the microphone.

You couldn't help but groan a bit in embarrassment, turning your head to hide in Jin's shoulder. His laughter rumbled from his chest, vibrating throughout you which made your heart flutter with excitement. He had such an effect over you.

His lips gently pressed to your head, an arm around your petite body. He couldn't help himself but run his finger over the white lace that covered your body. He just loved the feeling of the material underneath his fingertips.

What he loved more was the fact it was you sitting beside you. You wore a gorgeous white dress that looked custom-made for him. Truthfully, you could have walked down the aisle in a sack and he'd still be mesmerized by you.

"Seriously though. Their love story is one that you read about in romance novels, the ones where everything good happens. But they proved that impossible can be possible."

You lifted your head off of Jin's shoulder to look up at him. Every struggle was worth it knowing he was yours forever and always. After trying to battle canceled flights, time differences, and missed calls - you two made it. You defied the odds to get to this moment where you two are officially Mr. and Mrs. Kim Seokjin.

"I love you, Mrs. Kim,' he whispered. "And I love you, my handsome Mr. Kim," you giggled.

He grinned wide before pressing his lips to yours lingeringly. You lost count of how many times he kissed you tonight, but he just couldn't get enough of the feeling of it. The way your lips felt against his, how soft they were - how each kiss felt like the first kiss.

He was devoted to you and you were devoted him. Now, you just proved everyone wrong with what you two knew this whole time.

There was nobody else for you but Kim Seokjin.

[misshoneybee]

˖  ࣪ 𖥔 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐇 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

— ℳ𝒾𝓈𝓈ℋ𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎ℬ𝑒𝑒'𝓈 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 —

Pairing: Daddy!Andy Barber x Nanny!Reader Content Warnings: Daddy kink, ddlg undertones, somnophilia, dubious/non consent, age gap (Reader is early twenties, Andy is mid-forties), fingering, oral sex (f-rec), dirty talk, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby), overstimulation, general smut bc this is kinktober so minors, dni!! Word Count: 4.7k  A/N: Here we are!!! This is my first Kinktober and I am nervous to write all these new kinks and characterizations but also incredibly excited. I'm so sorry that this was so delayed, my loves! Work has been hell for the past week but I've finally had time to proofread this. As always, I do my best to keep my reader as inclusive as possible but please let me know if there's anything I can do to improve upon it! There's no use of Y/N or anything else where you need to insert information to read just because that's my personal preference! Anyway, please enjoy and I'd adore some feedback, if anyone feels so inclined! Navigation: Masterpost | Playlist | Divider Credit | Kinktober Masterpost | October Fifteenth Summary: Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Although, you couldn’t exactly say that you loved your job, the accommodations and compensation made what little aggravation you faced in the course of a workday well worth it. While most students from your college town had picked up odd jobs in busy restaurants or quaint little shops, you’d become a live-in nanny for the Barber family. It was a perfect situation really—your tuition was covered by scholarships, you only worked in the afternoons and evenings, you didn’t have to pay for housing, the ‘work’ was a piece of cake, and your employer was the hottest man you'd ever fucking seen.

Jacob was a pretty quiet kid—and maybe a bit too old to have a nanny, at the age of thirteen—so you were essentially just paid to ensure he didn’t sneak out of the house and ate a somewhat balanced dinner on the nights that his dad got home late from work or other engagements. The family unit was small with only Jacob and his father and, now by extension, you. 

District Attorney Andy Barber had quietly left his wife a year earlier and moved he and his son away from their small hometown to start over just as you’d arrived in the city to begin your third year of school. You’d met in the aisles of a dark liquor store as you stood in front of the vast selection of wine, teeth digging into your lower lip as your eyes scanned all the labels on the red varietals: merlot, cabernet sauvignon, Malbec, pinot noir, Sangiovese. 

Seeing your hesitation at making a selection, he’d easily swooped in and found you something sweet, saying it reminded him of you with a charming grin. It was an unassuming bottle with a minimalistic label—a vin santo that flooded your tongue with a sweetness that reminded you of warm summer days and cherry jam. It was perfect—and that was where it all began.

You’d crossed paths in your small college town several more times and now, more than a year later, you’d settled into the Barber’s lives seamlessly. The big colonial house, tucked away in the gated neighborhood, was quiet as the clock approached one in the morning. Andy had needed to attend some gala, to rub shoulders and grease palms and do all other sorts of lawyerly things, so after dinner, you had taken it upon yourself to clean up around the house after Jacob had gone to bed.

The kitchen had been cleaned from dinner you’d made, the dishes had been washed and put away, and you’d finished the laundry. All of the linens had been tucked away in the hall closet but you found yourself hesitating at the door of Andy’s empty bedroom as sleepiness began to sink into your bones. There were just a few shirts that needed to be hung in his closet. You rocked back and forth on your heels, deliberating silently as you propped the basket on your hip, looking up and down the silent, empty hall as if he’d appear and chastise you for even entertaining the idea. He’d never said his room was off-limits to you; in fact, Andy had always told you to make yourself at home. 

It would only be for a few minutes anyway.

Stifling a yawn, you quietly opened the heavy, wooden door and slipped into the dark room. Flipping the light-switch turned on a lamp, dimly bathing the unfamiliar space in a warm, comforting light. It looked just like you’d imagined it—not that you’d spent a long time picturing your employer’s room. 

No—never. 

Certainly not when he came down to the kitchen on Saturday mornings in worn flannel pajama pants and made coffee for the two of you to share in silence as Jacob slept in, and definitely not when you lay in your bed, in the room just next door to his, with your fingers slipping beneath the silky fabric of your panties as you remembered the feeling of his eyes on you from across the dinner table.

Feeling your face grow warm as you shoved those thoughts away, you quickly opened the door to his closet. It was as organized as you’d have thought it to be. The hangers and collars were all turned in a uniform direction, the shirts organized by shade and hue from dark to light. Humming softly to yourself, you finished the chore quickly before something on the foot of his pristinely made bed caught your eye. 

The fall air that had invaded the New England coast had brought a chill, and along with it, a shift in his wardrobe. It was a deep, forest green sweater of his that had silently become your favorite item in his closet. Cautiously, you picked up the article and bit your lip to stop a quiet sigh from escaping your lips. It was soft and you’d imagined yourself running your hands over his chest while he wore it dozens of times.

The clock on his bedside table read just after one; when Andy had left that afternoon, he’d mentioned that it would be close to two before he’d return home from Boston. You knew exactly what you wanted. Padding softly across the room, you closed the door with an almost silent ‘click’ of the latch. You couldn’t help it; you could feel your heart beating against your breastbone and the way your panties had grown damp at just the thought.

There was a bit of a thrill as you slipped out of your ratty collegiate sweatshirt and allowed it to fall on to the soft carpet without a sound, your short cheer shorts following suit. Bare to the cold room, you felt goosebumps prickle your skin and you weren’t sure if your nipples had grown hard from your admittedly overactive imagination, or the exposure. 

Slipping the woven cashmere over your head, you let out a soft sigh as the fabric caressed your skin and enveloped you in a scent that was purely Andy. It was something expensive; you’d seen the bottle on his bureau. A sweet, smoky wood scent that clung to his skin and the fibers of his clothes—fuck, you wanted to be covered in it. 

Crawling on to the king-sized bed that took up the center of his spacious room, you couldn’t help but giggle as you sank into the plush, white duvet that covered it. Your fingers and toes curled against the cotton, and, in the back of your mind, you knew you’d have to smooth it all out before you returned to your own room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care in the moment. 

All you could think about was Andy in this bed, his hand working his hardened cock as quiet groans strained from his throat. You knew he did it every night before he fell asleep. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew that, just separated by a single wall, you listened carefully and covered your mouth, fucking yourself along with him. 

Allowing your eyes to drift shut, your fingers trailed down your body, rubbing the damp fabric that clung to the lips of your wet pussy, whimpering softly as you brushed against the hardened nub of your clit. God—you wished it was him. His fingers teasing your cunt, his tongue brushing over your nipple before grazing it with his teeth.

Clenching the duvet, that was covered in the musky, heavy scent of him, with white knuckles, it didn’t take long for you to reach the precipice. Biting your lip, almost painfully, you stifled a cry. The way your walls fluttered around your fingers, as your thighs clenched hard, and your toes curled into the soft sheets made you feel like you were flying. Writhing against the now too-warm bed, you felt that fuzzy, pleasurable feeling wash over you like the sun’s rays as you came back down. Touching yourself had never felt so good before—how could you go back to your normal nightly activities?

Slipping your hand from the sodden fabric, it was like your body was on autopilot. Your breathing slowed as your post-orgasm brain returned from the stratosphere. It wouldn’t hurt to close your eyes for just a minute. One minute, then you’d take off his too-soft sweater and get rid of any evidence that you’d even been here. One minute, then you’d go to your own room and lay down and go to sleep with your little secret.

Just one minute, then…

The lights were off in the silent house. Andy carefully allowed the heavy front door to close behind him, turning the deadbolt as he shut out the rest of the night. Running a hand over his scruff-covered chin, he let out an uninhibited yawn. The day had been long, the night even longer, and he longed for sleep. Leaving his briefcase in his office, and his rumpled jacket folded over his arm, he quietly padded up the stairs and down the hall.

With a gentle knock on Jacob’s door, and no answer in response, he quietly peered inside. A muss of brown hair rested on his pillow, barely visible under the plaid quilt that covered the bed. Jacob hadn’t snuck out since you’d taken on the task of nannying him, but Andy always liked to be certain, not quite trusting the little shit—and for good reason. Quietly closing the door, he continued down the hall before coming to rest in front of your room. He frowned, looking at the floor for that telltale strip of light that usually spilled from beneath the door and tattled to him that you were still awake, usually reading or listening to music or watching something on your laptop. 

You were a night owl, and it wasn’t even two in the morning; you never fell asleep this early unless you had an exam the next day and he knew that wasn’t the case. It was the weekend. He’d gotten to know your schedule intimately, getting a copy of your class and assignment schedule from you under the guise of staying in the loop. Truth be-told, he just wanted to know how your days went and where you were. Erring on the side of caution, he gently rapped a knuckle against your door, quietly murmuring your name just inches away from the wooden barrier, knowing you’d hear, if you were actually awake.

Met with silence, he felt a tug in his chest. He knew you weren’t the lightest sleeper; once when he’d apologized for doing lawn work on an early Saturday morning, you’d told him, with a sheepish blush, that you hadn’t even noticed the loud mower outside your window. Knocking once more, louder this time, he called your name with no response. Resting a hand on your doorknob, he hesitated. 

Though it was unspoken, he’d deemed your room off-limits…but what if you were hurt? Or sick? What if something had happened to you after Jacob went to bed? Talking himself out of walking away, he turned the cold, metal knob. The door opened silently and he hesitated before taking a step inside, his eyes searching the pitch black for your form. 

Adjusting to the dark, his eyes could make out the frilly pink sheets of your still-made bed. With a frown, he flicked on the light and took in the space that he’d only ever caught occasional glimpses of. Through the worry, there was a pique of intrigue. Everything was shades of pastel, a little stuffed bunny propped up against your pillow. It was all so innocent and girly. Sweet and saccharine, just like you.

A light on your nightstand got his attention; a lump in his throat, and the bulge in his tight slacks, grew as the shape registered. Nope, it wasn’t your phone. Fuck. A little vibrator rested on your bedside table, and he had to bite his lip to stifle a groan. He’d heard the quiet vibrations through your shared wall before but seeing the culprit and everything else was something new entirely.

He always knew you were girly, loving cute things and being just as sweet, but you— 

You were missing.

He didn’t have time to jerk off as he tried to remedy all of the new things he’d learned about your bedroom. Muttering a curse under his breath, he adjusted his rapidly hardening cock before taking a step back and taking a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he gathered himself. He had to get a fucking grip—he argued against murderers for a living, for Christ’s sake. Would your vibrator and sweet little bedroom really be his downfall?

Your car was still in the driveway—you weren’t in the living room and the den had been dark when he’d come in as well. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he quickly found you listed under his favorites and allowed it to dial. His brow furrowed when he heard a quiet sound from the next room over. In just three strides, he was in front of his room and with one more, he was inside as the phone call went to voicemail.

The lamp in the corner of his room illuminated the space, as well as your sleeping form that was sprawled over the center of his king-sized bed. A cocktail of relief and arousal flooded him at once. You were safe. You were home.

But you were also in his bed. And aside from his sweater, only wearing a pair of satin-y, baby pink panties that were molded perfectly to your ass which he could plainly see in the warm light that filled the room. You rested on your belly, fingers gripping his pillow beneath your head tight, with one leg hiked up the mattress as you snuggled into the plush bedding. Closing the door quietly behind him, his legs carried him over to the bed without a second thought. His eyes trailed over your relaxed body and affection almost made the corner of his lips tick upwards.

You looked so sweet, your eyes closed gently as your thick lashes brushed your soft cheek. That sweetness was cut when he noticed a damp patch on your panties and the way that soft sighs of sleepy pleasure slipped from your lips as you rocked your hips into the mattress, oblivious to your newfound audience as some dream played out behind your eyelids.

The aquamarine of his eyes caught fire as he watched you shift in your sleep. Draping his jacket over the armchair in the corner of his room, he stalked across the room, pausing as he landed beside the bed. Straight, white teeth digging into his lip, he held back a groan as you shifted, seeking out comfort as his sweater rode up to your waist, revealing more of you to his starving gaze. 

He could feel his cock throb at the sight of you and he was almost certain that no amount of deep breathing could resolve it. He needed you out of there before he blew a load in his pants like a fucking teenager. Tucking his length in to the waistband of his boxer-briefs, he carefully sat down beside you. The foam mattress didn’t move you in the slightest and he mumbled a curse under his breath before resting a hand on your thigh, giving you a gentle shake as he softly murmured, “Sweetheart?”

A little groan slipped through your lips, your eyes squeezing shut tighter as you held on to the clouds of sleep that still filled your head. Turning over, you mumbled something incomprehensible before your breathing leveled back out. 

Looking at his hand still resting on your smooth thigh, he resisted the urge to give the cushion of your skin a soft squeeze. Slowly trailing his eyes up your frame, his eyes darkened. Your nipples strained against the light knit material, begging to be pinched and laved. If you tempted him when you were awake, wandering the house in those tiny shorts and tight tops, watching you sleep was another circle of hell where he was condemned only to look but never to touch.

You two had danced around one another since you’d met at that liquor store. How could he know you wanted it as badly as he did?

“Princess,” Andy tried once more, his thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he spoke at a normal volume, “Wake up for me, sweetheart.”

He watched the way your nose crinkled slightly in your sleep and a small smile spread across his lips. It was as if your subconscious was absorbing his words, blocking them from reaching your conscious mind and waking you up. As he gave your leg one more gentle shake, you let out a quiet, whiny groan consisting of one word, “Daddy…”

Andy couldn’t help the way his grip on you tightened at the two-syllable word, the little blood that was left in his head, rushing to his groin. Fuck—there was no mistaking that. He barely noticed the way his hand had drifted further up your leg; he needed to touch you more, to see all of you.

You’d just called him daddy.

He could be your daddy for tonight. 

Or, for as long as you’d allow him. 

Clearing his throat, he gave one last, half-hearted attempt at waking you, “Baby?”

“Daddy, please…” You breathed out, your fingers gripping the soft blankets as your dreams continued to roll like a film reel, unaware of the way that their subject’s hand had drifted up to your hip, toying with the elastic edge of the only barrier separating him from you. Your voice was so innocent as you whimpered out, “Need you, daddy…”

At that, it didn’t take long for Andy to slip down the bed, gently parting your already spread legs further, leaving enough space for him to lay between them. With a tentative hand, he brushed his thumb over the wet spot that had darkened the light fabric of your panties, begging for his attention. Your hips jerked as he dragged his finger down the cleft of your folds and a low chuckle gently shook the bed.

“Shh…” He shushed your soft whimper, watching as your brows drew together, seeking out the feeling again and rocking your hips upward. 

Fuck—he’d wanted this since he saw you standing in that dark store. You’d looked so sweet in your little, frilly pastel dress, your exposed décolletage shining with some body shimmer that smelled like vanilla, even from a foot away. That was you; always so sweet, so good.

Pressing a gentle kiss to the center of your covered, private area, feeling the dampness against his slightly parted lips, he hummed softly, reassuringly as his thumb continued to drift up and down that same spot tortuously, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” 

You spent all your time doing things for everyone else: your family, your friends, him, his son—when was the last time that you’d been taken care of? When was the last time you’d let your walls down enough to even allow it?

In that blissful twilight of sleep, you were so soft, vulnerable and receptive to his care. You’d allow it, even if you didn’t know you were.

Holding his breath, trying to stay as silent and as still as possible, Andy gently rolled the lacy, elastic band down your legs as his eyes stayed trained on your face for any hint that you were coming around. Gently maneuvering your sleep-laden limbs, spreading your legs wider for him to fit between, you barely shifted as he draped your legs over his broad shoulders.

Running a finger down the bare, sensitive skin of your puffy slit, he groaned as he collected the proof of your arousal on the tip of his digit. “Oh, sweetheart…” Using his thumbs, he gently spread the petals of your sex and had to bite his lip to stifle himself from cursing at the sight. The low light glistened against the wetness that clung to your skin as your hips shifted and your brows pulled together, feeling the cold air brush against your exposed clit. He cooed, “You’re so wet, baby. This all for me? All for Daddy?”

“Mm…” You mumbled, your cheek pressed against the pillow as your hands drifted up your body, dragging the hem of his sweater up over your tummy slowly. You could feel the last glowing embers of sleep slowly dying, with each brush against your skin pushing you back towards the waking world but you were so comfortable. You were enrobed in Andy’s scent, that sweet smoke that made you feel like nothing bad could happen to you as long as it was near.

Andy’s thumb brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and he let out a low, dark chuckle as your hips gave a sudden jerk at the direct stimulation. Not wanting to torture you—not yet at least—he traced circles around the bud, careful not to touch it directly again. After several moments, he carefully slipped one finger inside, finding no resistance if your state of need. Giving it a few, agonizingly slow, experimental pumps, he watched hungrily as his digit glistened with your wetness each time it slid out.

With his eyes trained on your blissful expression, he gently slipped in a second, longer finger beside the first and watched hungrily as your body adjusted to the new sensation, a soft whimper breaking through your parted lips at the stretch; his fingers were far larger than your own. 

“Daddy’s going to eat your sweet pussy, baby.” As his fingers hooked upwards gently, they pressed teasingly against the spongy pillow of your g-spot, your hips bucking forward again at the sudden pressure that made your squeeze around him. You were balancing on the precipice of wakefulness now, one foot still in that perfect dreamland and the other stepping towards the seemingly real, gentle brushes against your skin.

With a gentle kiss pressed to your hip bone, his tongue finally licked a broad, languid stripe through your folds from your entrance to the red button of your clit that continued to beg for his attention. “Fuck, you taste like candy…” Watching the way your tight hole clenched around nothing; he immediately imagined filling it with his cock, Andy groaned, “Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had.”

Closing his eyes, he groaned as he leaned back down, using his tongue to lave over your sensitive skin; he needed to taste you. Sleep was slipping away, and you weren’t certain if it was a dream when your hands threaded through a head of hair that rested at the apex of your thighs. The grip of your fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair as his lips finally wrapped around you swollen clit, giving it a hard suck before letting it go. The scrape of your nails over his scalp mixed a quick lick of pain into his pleasure.

“Oh god—fuck!” You felt your body begin to shake as an orgasm barreled towards you, forcing your sleepy eyes to finally open.

“Watch your language, princess.” Andy’s eyes found yours open and he grinned wolfishly at the surprise and arousal that filled your expression, “Good girls don’t talk like that.”

The wet muscle dipped inside your channel, his nose nudging against your clit before he dragged his tongue slowly up again to the swollen nub. He traced the tip around it before sucking hard then soft and letting go and repeating the movement again and again. He could feel your body tensing as an orgasm quickly approached and he slipped his fingers back into your soaking cunt, your thighs quivering at the added feeling.

“Andy—ah!” A whine was pulled from your throat, silencing your sweetly confused question as you fell over the edge.  

He grinned against your skin at the shattered cry, sucking your clit just slightly harder than a moment earlier before gently scraping his teeth over it and making your thighs squeeze around his head. He murmured against your wet pussy, his voice sending vibrations through your body, “What’s my name, baby?”

Your mind was floating away and all you could concentrate on was his touch and the way he made you feel so little and taken care of as he played with you. Shaking your head, your sweet voice came out shakily, “I don’t—”

“I know I haven’t made you that stupid, baby.” His thumb circled your clit, tugging up on the hood of it and exposing the pearl to his greedy eyes before they flicked back up to yours as you leaned up on your elbows to watch him, “What’s my name?”

Capturing it between his lips, he sucked hard, and you felt the wetness dripping from your hole onto his duvet, “Daddy!” You finally cried out, failing to silence yourself as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, collapsing back onto the bed as he played you like a violin, feeding off your every reaction. “God! Oh—feels so good…Daddy, please!” There was a pout on your lips that contrasted with the way your hips rocked against his every touch, unsure if you wanted him closer or to stop the sensations that were becoming too much.

“You like when Daddy plays with your princess parts while you sleep? Yeah?” He let out another deep chuckle against your cunt as a little chirp was pulled from you at his naughty words. He continued lowly, “You know I had to when I found this beautiful little girl in my bed, cunt soaked and waiting for me to come home.” 

You moved your hips, chasing that pleasure with each changing angle. The sounds were almost depraved; every lick of his tongue and brush of his fingers forced a wet noise into the room that was mostly quiet aside from the constant melody of your breathy moans.

His hips rocked into the mattress, seeking out his own pleasure as you whimpered, “Fuck, that’s my good girl—wearing my sweater and those slutty, little panties. Gonna keep those, baby. Never getting them back.” Slipping two fingers back into your tight cunt, he pumped them as his mouth focused on your little pearl, “Now come for me again, sweetheart.”

“Can’t!” You cried out, your lip quivering as your second climax barreled towards you, and you shook your head, begging, “No! Too sensitive, daddy…”

“You wanna be sensitive?” He landed a smack to your overworked button with three fingers.

“No!” You whimpered, feeling tears well in your eyes, sniffling as the pleasure made your body shake. 

“Better make that sweet little pussy squeeze my fingers or Daddy’s gonna give you a lot more than this…” With dark eyes, he watched as the pleasure finally took hold once again, dragging you under.

“Daddy!” You whimpered as he pressed against your g-spot with two thick fingers, sucking your clit at the same time and shoving you over the edge. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you finally squealed, “Oh! I’m coming!”

You felt your walls flutter as he helped your body ride the crest of the wave of your second orgasm, licking you slowly as a new flood of wetness coated his tongue like a nectar that he never wanted to stop drinking. He could live and die between your thighs, happily.

Your toes curled as your thighs clenched around his head, it was almost as if you were trying to force Andy away when the stimulation became too much but he held your thighs open despite the pleasured cries that filled the. room.

“That’s it…Good girl, sweetheart.” He murmured, helping you come down from the edge that you’d been balancing on for far too long. Watching through half-hooded eyes, you hummed softly as he rubbed your still trembling thigh with one hand and cleaned the fingers of his other with his mouth, a sly smirk on his full lips.

“I…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning as you finally came back from that floaty place where your head had been since waking.

‘Holy shit.’

Covering your body with his, your eyes widened innocently before he caught your lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. He tasted like whiskey and you, and it felt like a drug that you’d easily become addicted to. Andy’s hand landing a smack on your ass made you jump, pulling away from the kiss that had lulled you into a false sense of security.

He chuckled as you let out a quiet whine at the sting his hand left behind, sitting back up and undoing his belt with dark eyes that were still focused on you, “Now get that little ass in the air. It’s time to let Daddy use this sweet little hole, princess.”

[sassypantsjaxon]

Fuck it. UA instructors as...things the staff from my college have done, I guess?

Because it's been three and a half years since I graduated and I miss that place every single day

Principal Nezu

Principal Nezu has everybody's names, faces, and quirks memorized before the first day of school. This is never acknowledged.

(Recovery Girl also learns everybody pretty much right away, but she interacts with them a bit more directly than Nezu, so it doesn't seem quite as weird)

Somehow Nezu manages to both be so chill and yet have no chill.

Nezu once texted Mic to ask if he was available for a call about some program at school and when Mic didn't answer within 15 minutes because he was DRIVING Nezu just called him anyway and was like "is this a bad time? I can call you back :)" Like, no,no, We're both here now, let's have this conversation now. Go ahead

One time Nezu pulled the Big Three out of their classes and brought them into his office to sit them down like he was about to have a Big Serious Conversation, and then he just says "Do you think...it would be possible for you to visit the first year hero classes...and tell them about your experiences? :)" Mirio and Nejire are both going "yeah, sure", while thinking why did we have to get pulled out of class like this was something really important? Amajiki is hyperventilating.

Power loader

Power Loader is like some kind of cryptid.

He just shows up when things need to be fixed, fixes them, and then disappears again. He never says a word. Don't question it, just be grateful and let him stay in his hiding place

Random knowledge. Whenever the rest of the staff has some random question that no one else can answer. Ask Power Loader. He knows. He always know. Don't question that either, he's just one of those kind of people

Power loader and All Might are the only two teachers who were asked to come to UA instead of having to apply

13

Actually 13 falls somewhere inbetween applying and being asked to join the staff, because she kind of created her own job.

She just had a meeting with Nezu one day to be like "Your students need an Unforeseen Simulation Joint! Here's what that means and why you need it" And Nezu went "... :) You're hired!"

All Might

Toughest person anybody knows. Can not handle spicy food.

Everybody loves him. Anybody who doesn't isn't cut out for hero school. This is not bragging, it just happens to be true.

All Might once listed one of his credentials as BAMF. (Izuku absolutely lost it that day)

While discussing I Island with Izuku, All Might very casually stated "My ex husband lives there" as if that isn't an Absolute Bombshell to drop You can't just Say That and NOT ELABORATE WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE AN EXHUSBAND!?!!???? (Izuku lost it even more that day)

Present Mic

Mic has a bad habit of talking a little too fast. Nobody's ever 100% sure what he said.

Also he swears. Like. A lot. Like, he would get in trouble as a student for swearing.

There is a drawer on Mic's desk that's labeled 'Present Mic's Top Secret Hiding Place' and anybody who notices it is just like ??? because it's clearly labeled and Not a Secret. But Mic is very scatter brained and will lose anything as soon as it leaves his eyesight. Having a specific place to put things help with that.

EraserMic

Married. But they don't really talk about it, and they don't act married in front of the students, so a lot of them don't realize it

It's actually surprising because they have pictures of them and their kids on their desks. All you have to do is go to the teacher's office. It's not a secret. It's right there.

There's a class for the second years on like, heroism and personal lives or something. Eraser and Mic get to teach part of that unit because they have experience being married heroes.

One year when Aizawa says that he's married to Mic one of the students asks him why

That same year, when Aizawa reveals that there is one teacher he will never be friends with (like, even more than all the other teachers), just because they have nothing in common other than working at UA, and the same student asks him if it's Mic

People assume Mic gets special treatment as Aizawa's husband. This is not true. If anything, he's more likely to get the short end of the stick and be asked to cover for Aizawa.

Eraser Head

Aizawa forgot that there was supposed to be a chaperone for the remedial licensing training and said he would probably be the one doing it. He was not. He sent Mic. Thus proving the previous statement true.

Bad at interpersonal relationships

Has a bad habit of mumbling. Students are never 100% sure what he said

At some point, the people around him start referring to doing anything overly rational as 'pulling an Aizawa'. Yeah. ...yeah...

[your-neighbor-in-the-northblue]

Garp, Koby, And Helmeppo With A Pirate S/O

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Romantic

Garp

He hates that he’s fallen for someone of your stature. He hates that you're considered a criminal in the eyes of the government. He hates that you willingly throw yourself out into the light of ridicule. He hates that you’re constantly in danger, but most importantly, he hates that the two of you can’t legally be seen being friendly with each other.

There are moments when he considers offering you a spot alongside him in the navy, but he knows what you'd say and it shatters him.

So many people in his life have already chosen the same path as you and he can't help but watch them all ruin themselves because of it.

He’d probably make it so that he and his unit followed your ship around, mostly just to tease you, but also because he's severely worried you'll end up in danger.

A part of him lives for the power dynamic between you both. He likes being able to arrest you whenever he wants, and he LOVES how you could kill him whenever you caught him alone (or at least try to).

Whenever he manages to get you both alone, he'll bring your hands up to his lips and kiss them, begging you to, at the very least, consider the idea of being a marine — to consider the idea of putting your talents into something a tad bigger than yourself.

Forbidden lovers, but in the saddest kind of way. Where Garp lays awake at night thinking of whether or not you'll survive the night without him. But he'll have to learn to let go of his naturally protective nature.

Koby

He feels so conflicted. He wants to be with you so badly, but he’s scared to be found out. It weighs on him to the point where he’ll constantly be promising you that he doesn’t feel ashamed of you or any other negative connotation you could connect with it, he just really wants this job.

He'll sneak around and try to hide your files so that you slowly become more and more forgotten about by the Marines. He wants to get you out of the public eye as much as he could possibly manage.

Every time he sees your wanted poster he tears it down (although he does keep one folded under his cot).

When he does finally get to see you, he'll hold your face in his hands and just smile lovingly at you, telling you everything that's happened since your last departure.

He always comes bearing small gifts — what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't? It's always something that resembles him in some way — his old dog tags, a crumpled note, and sometimes even your missing files.

And when the two of you have to leave, he'll fall into a short depression, wishing that one day, the two of you could be together openly without the fear of persecution.

He honestly couldn't care less about whether or not you're a pirate, he loves you for you, the labels don't mean anything to him.

Helmeppo

He loves the thrill of it all. He adores the way you both have to sneak around just to meet up with one another. It floods him with the best kind of adrenaline.

He won't tell a soul about you until he gets drunk. Which makes him the worst one on this list. Once he's a bit intoxicated, he'll blabber on about you for the whole night.

You'll probably end up arrested due to how much he mentions you.

Old habits die hard, however, and he'll find himself scrounging up cash to pay off whoever it is being sent after you.

He's following you around the second he finds out you're both on the same island. He makes it sooo obvious and you'll have to tug him into an alleyway so no one arouses anymore suspicion than they already have.

Helmeppo doesn't care if the two of you get caught — he can deal with all that later — he only cares for you and the fleeting moments spent together, even if it means your secret relationship is plastered in the news.

[breelandwalker]

Sneak Peek - Spoons In Spades

At a little distance he saw a fire, and beside it there sat three giants, busy with broth and beef. They were so huge that the spoons they used were as large as spades, and their forks as big as hay-forks: with these they lifted whole bucketfuls of broth and great joints of meat out of an enormous pot which was set on the ground between them.

- Niels and the Giants (The Crimson Fairy Book)

[img src]

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Intent: To give oneself additional “spoons.”

Ideal Timing: This charm can be made at any time.

Materials:

Spoons

Large Jar

Cotton Balls

Herbs: Hyssop, Rosemary, Thyme, Juniper Berries

When I asked my readers what sort of spells they'd like to see in this second volume of fairytale-inspired spells, one of the most strikingly popular responses was, "Is there a spell to give me more spoons?"

If you're not familiar with the term, "spoons" or spoon theory is a metaphor which describes the reduction in mental and physical energy experienced by people who are disabled or chronically ill, with spoons used as a unit of measurement to represent how energy and motivation must be rationed throughout the day to accomplish necessary tasks. Spoons are only replenished through rest or sleep, so once a person runs out of spoons, that's it for their day. 

The term was coined by Christine Miserandino in her 2003 article "The Spoon Theory," in which she uses dinnerware to demonstrate to a friend how living with invisible chronic illness required careful daily planning and prioritization, and how even with the best intentions and efforts, tasks are often left undone due to a lack of energy or an increase in pain. The term has since been adopted by wide sections of the online community in relation to struggles with disability, chronic illness, or mental health, as a descriptor for daily energy and motivation levels, i.e. "I don't have the spoons for this," or "After a full day at work, I have exactly one spoon left, and I need it for laundry, so going out is off the table."

As someone who regularly battles ADHD, anxiety, executive dysfunction, migraines, and depression, I'm a big fan of spoon theory, largely because it makes those invisible daily struggles, which so many of us have, much easier to visualize and explain. So in honor of all my fellow spoonies, here is a spell to help you gain those critical extra spoons.

For this spell, you'll need a fair-sized jar, some healing herbs, and a bunch of spoons. You can use plastic spoons or metal ones, if you happen to have spare silverware lying around. Use as many or as few spoons as you feel you need. If you need more spoons than can readily be acquired, you might draw or print out pictures or spoons and use those instead.

Place the spoons in the jar with a big handful of cotton balls. Apart from their mundane medical and cosmetic uses, cotton has healing magical properties and also represents the comfort that may feel lacking on low energy or high pain days. If desired, add several pinches of Hyssop, Rosemary, Thyme, and Juniper Berries, or a sachet containing the herbs if you'd rather keep things neat.

Close the jar, give it a big hug, and say:

I bless this jar and spoons And ask for the strength to function; And when I need a helping hand, These extra spoons I'll summon,

Set the jar aside somewhere safe. If desired, you might want to label it. You don't want anyone borrowing your magical spoons for their cereal, after all. When you need an extra boost to help you get through the day, simply open the jar and take out a spoon. You can carry the spoon with you, place it on your altar, or discard it to activate the charm.

Please keep in mind that performing this sort of magic should always be accompanied by appropriate medical and self-care measures. Magic isn't going to cure a chronic illness or permanently alter your brain chemistry. But it can help you cope with the symptoms and give you that all-important push to get yourself through the day. Stay strong, witches!

-from the forthcoming book, The Sisters Grimmoire, Vol. II; © 2021 Bree NicGarran

(If you'd like to check out more fairy-tale spells or any of my other published works, please visit the Willow Wings Witch Shop!)