#and he progressively gets worse throughout the book

[warping-realities]

A Better Brighter Future

A brief explanation, this story is a spinoff of Dalton Academy, you don't need to have read that series to understand this story, but you will miss some references. The themes here are also controversial and I need to remind everyone that just because I wrote it doesn't mean I agree with what's happening! Otherwise, a great read for anyone interested!

Director Horace Johnson wasn’t having a good week; in fact, the week he was having was bloody dreadful. The blonde, skinny bloke, fifty years old, had dedicated a good chunk of his adult life to educating young people, finding that calling shortly after leaving university. A staunch defender of human rights and a proponent of positive education, he faced all sorts of problems with reactionary teachers throughout his career, none worse than Ethan Wood, the former PE teacher at King Richard All Boys Institute, affectionately referred to by everyone in the tiny village of Daffodil-Meadow-Over-The-Hill as Lionheart School. However, after numerous run-ins over the three years he’d been the head of that institution, he finally got fed up with the other bloke's speeches, attitudes, and teaching style, and thanks to an anonymous tip about some dodgy behaviour that led to his dismissal, nearly all the students and many of the  teachers breathed a sigh of relief; that sort of hardline, oppressive treatment had no place in today’s world. The one thing Horace couldn’t imagine was the struggle to find a replacement who shared his progressive ideals, not to mention the fact that he had to deal with the backlash from some conservative parents, teachers, and board members. Just another battle they were fighting; he should have known, it was like that when he banned the posh uniforms or tried to authorise the use of gender-neutral pronouns – one battle won, another lost. But he was determined to come out on top again; he refused to put another outdated troglodyte in that position. A better, brighter future was the motto of that school, and he was going to make it happen.

While he was mulling over these issues, sitting in his office with a good cup of tea, his privacy was invaded. With a loud BAM, the door to his office was flung open, causing him to quickly raise his eyes from the document he was reading, only to see the monstrous figure striding towards him. A black man in his thirties, dressed in a polo shirt, tracky bottoms, and trainers, exuding the brash vibe of a sports coach, swaggered confidently in his direction. He couldn’t remember scheduling any interview, and certainly not with someone so rude, who gave off exactly the impression of the type of professional he refused to hire.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to leave this room; I’m busy and we haven’t got a time booked!” he said, standing up and positioning himself beside his desk, noting the absurd difference in build and muscle between the two.

“And since when do old mates need permission to see you, Henry?”

“That’s not my name!”

“I know that, Henderson, you tosser, but if you reckon I’m not gonna use your nickname just because you’re the head honcho of a fancy school now, you’re sorely mistaken. Just wait until the lads on the rugby team find out the Steamroller Henry is all posh now; they’ll be laughing their heads off!”

“Sir, I… I don’t know what you’re on about… I insist you leave!”

“Now that’s the Henry I know, always ready to pull a fast one on his mates.” The man said, slumping down in the armchair opposite his desk. “But enough of the banter, mate. After you got in touch, I did a bit of digging into what’s going on around here, and you’ve got some serious problems. Losing a bloke like Ethan Wood must have been a right kick in the teeth, especially after scrapping the uniforms; they might have been a bit too posh, but they helped maintain a sense of unity and shared identity. Good on you for getting rid of that daft idea of using gender-neutral pronouns. Still, mate, I can see why you need me here. Transforming these crybabies into real men can’t be easy, but don’t you worry; you called the right person!”

“I… what…? I don’t get it…”

“What’s hard to understand, Henry? You need help to rein in this progressive agenda that’s trying to take root here, so you called your old uni mate Blake Ian Garret, The BIG and said, ‘Mate, I need your help with these wankers trying to sabotage me; old Wood is out, I need you for the job!’”

“I… Blake… BI… BIG, then… do you accept?”

“Of course I do, you muppet; it’s exactly what I’ve been banging on about! That whisky you’re drinking is probably messing with your already dodgy brain. I wonder how they let you become a director, Henry; not that I’m complaining, we need more blokes like us in charge.”

“I also wonder how I ended up here; I only became a teacher because that dodgy Wood promised to pass on his job to me when he retired, and next thing I know, I’m stuck in this boring role and now I have to give the job I wanted to an arse.” He said with fake exasperation. 

“Shut it, mate; I know you missed having another real man around here, and while I explain how things work in the place I was working, why don’t you pour me a bit of that drink? I think you’ll love hearing about Dalton Academy.” The man commented, noticing the change happening in Horace Johnson. In a blur of movement, the skinny man’s body expanded in muscle and height, while the wrinkles vanished from his face and his blonde hair started to grow back where it had receded. In less than a second, Henderson “Henry” Johnson found himself grinning, offering a glass of whisky that hadn’t been there before to his old university friend and now professor Blake Garret, The BIG in his realm.

“A toast to the best hire I could have made,” he said, raising the glass to his old friend, who broke into a wide smile.

“To a better and brighter future, indeed!”

…..

The students and teachers didn’t know why they were gathered in the school gym. The summons came from Director Johnson himself, and they knew they had to comply quickly, as the man had a military rigidity about that sort of thing, not tolerating any behaviour he deemed lazy. So, what a surprise it was for everyone to see that it wasn’t Henry Johnson heading to the packed gym.

“Good morning, gentlemen! My name’s Blake Garret and I’m the new PE teacher here at Lionheart. The director Johnson and I have known each other for a long time; we were university mates and teammates, and he’s shared with me his concerns about the behaviour and ideals presented here. This nation is infected, gentlemen. Infected by a parasite called progressivism. Progress should be encouraged, yes, but with proper control, guided by the ideas of our parents and ancestors. Progress for the sake of progress should be discouraged!” He said, striding across the gym floor like a caged beast ready to break free, pausing only to observe the indignant faces of some teachers and a few students who bothered to pay attention to what he was saying. But that was about to change, and it was going to be now. “When Henry told me that the infection was spreading here too, I couldn’t believe it. I said to him, ‘Surely not, Henry, my dear. Lionheart is a beacon of clarity amidst a stormy sea of harmful ideas; the teachers are exemplars of masculinity and manliness, and the students are the pinnacle to which every young man in this nation should aspire; surely there’s no such behaviour here.’ But… but now that I’m here, I see! Gentlemen, my eyes fill with tears at what Lionheart is.” He said, taking another pause to take in the disgusted expressions before finally finishing what he had come to do there. “Tears, yes, tears of pride! For you are much more than I imagined, gentlemen. You are paragons of masculinity, the example of what every man should aspire to be; you haven’t allowed yourselves to be contaminated by the corruption attacking our country from within; you are what gives me hope for the future of our great nation.” He said, resuming his frenetic pacing, and with every step he took, the audience transformed; teachers, students, staff, all expanding in size while ideas and thoughts shrank, casual clothes being replaced by training gear that showcased their muscular and defined bodies, while a powerful funk that only dozens of sweaty gathered men could produce dominated the atmosphere, not that anyone there cared about it.

“That was a brilliant welcome drill, lads; now off to the showers and back to your uniforms for your lessons. Teachers, I ask you to stay a bit longer; I need to know about any absent students today.”

….

Franklin was in deep trouble; he missed the bus to school and had to walk all the way from the village of Grimchurch to Daffodil Meadow, which wasn’t pleasant for a skinny, asthmatic kid. The worst part was that he ended up terribly late for school, and knowing the kind of reception he would get, he thought about just not going, but that would bring even bigger complications, so he decided to face his fate with resignation. He was greeted by the guard, who merely directed him to one of the classrooms where a teacher would speak to the late students and administer the necessary punishment. Sighing with resignation, he headed to the indicated location, but upon arriving, something stopped him from entering the room; some sort of primitive alert resonating within his mind. Peeking through the corner of the window, he saw a teacher he didn’t recognise, a tall and very strong man with skin as dark as his own, talking to Bernard, Vincent, and Timothy, three of the biggest truants at Lionheart, who were looking at him with bored expressions. But then, in the blink of an eye, the unthinkable happened; the boys he had known all his life were replaced by larger, stronger, muscular versions, wearing uniforms and smiling as if they were getting drunk on every word the teacher was saying, words which Franklin couldn’t hear. But then the teacher approached the door, and he could hear the end of the speech.

“… rowing at the end of the day; you lot are to be congratulated, I wouldn’t be surprised if any of you ended up representing England at the Olympics. Oh, before you go, Bert and Victor, you’re in the same class as Franklin Burke, right? If you see him, let me know; I need to have a word with the lad, the same goes for you, Tom.”

Hearing that, Franklin took off running, desperate, not fully understanding what he had witnessed but knowing the risk he was in; he urgently needed to get out of there. In his despair, he didn’t notice that the man had left the room and smiled when he saw a skinny kid running toward the changing rooms.

Franklin thought the safest way to escape the trap he had fallen into would be through the school gym, which should be empty at that hour. Sneaking in as quietly as possible, he finally reached the changing area; he just needed to cross it and head to the football pitch, which would be free from whatever was happening there. But there was a hitch: someone was using the changing room. Quickly hiding behind the door, he saw the stranger swaggering arrogantly through the space. Recently out of the shower and wearing only a jock strap, the muscular Chinese lad strutted as if he owned the place. Stopping in front of the mirror, he admired himself. Who could he have been before? No… no… Lionheart only had one Chinese student. That must be… Anshen? Franklin’s best mate… no… this was a nightmare.

“I can see you there, mate!” said the muscular lad, crossing his arms. “Coach BIG is looking for you. I wouldn’t irritate the bloke if I were you.” He added with a cheeky grin. Having been discovered, Franklin stepped out of hiding.

“Anshen… is that you?”

“The name’s Ashton, Franklin. Honestly, how could you forget the name of the captain of the school swimming team?” he said, acting as if that made him the most important person in the room. Without even glancing to the side, he brushed past that aberration towards the corridor leading to the football pitch.

“Hey, mate, the coach’s office is the other way!” shouted the other lad, but Franklin didn’t pay him any mind. He was running anxiously toward the door that was his salvation. Only to see it swing open and the monstrous giant that was walking toward him with a grin. Between the two giants, he chose to face the smaller of the two and took off running in the direction he had come from, without seeing the smile fade from the man's face or hearing him grumble.

“Don’t know why they run…”

Upon reaching the door of the changing room he had just passed through a few seconds ago, he found it locked. How? Ashton must have locked it. Franklin grunted as he cursed the other lad with every ounce of strength not being used to try to open the door.

“It’s useless, lad. Your fate was sealed the moment you set foot in this school. But you know what? I like you; you’ve got fire in you. Turn around.” The man said with authority, and Franklin felt his body obey against his will. Gathering courage, he faced the man.

“Who are you? What are you?”

“What I am is something to be answered another time. Now, who am I? Frankly, Farrel, that’s no way to speak to your godfather.” Coach BIG replied, seemingly hurt, although a slight tremor at the corner of his lips indicated he was actually enjoying himself.

“What? Godfather? I don’t have a godfather and I don’t even know who you are! And who the hell is Farrel?”

“Farrel is my godson; a lad, strong and sure of what he wants. A man who knows a man’s rightful place in society. He’s a bit of a rogue, the type who’s too smart for his own good, always finding a way to dodge consequences. Except when he’s on the pitch; he’s the captain of the rugby team and takes that role seriously, even knowing his future lies in politics, thanks to the silver tongue he possesses. In short, Farrel is you, you great numpty. Now that it’s just the two of us in my office, come give your godfather a hug.”

“I… what? No…!” Franklin stammered as he felt his legs move on their own and a dreamy smile form on his lips, even as he internally screamed in anxiety.

Anxiety? He never got anxious! At least not off the pitch. There he was a monster, a bull. But off it? Off it, he was the face of relaxation. Chill out and have a laugh was Farrel Burke’s motto! Thought the muscular black giant that few would believe was only eighteen years old. While he put on the school uniform in his godfather’s office, admiring his beautiful body and smiling.

“Farrel? Farrel! Bloody hell, lad, can’t you pay attention for a minute?”

“Sorry, Uncle BIG… I mean… Coach BIG… oops… Professor Garret.”

“If you weren’t my godson, I’d give you a right telling off, lad, and just because I’m your godfather doesn’t mean you can use my office as if it were your personal changing room.”

“If you hadn’t dragged me from the changing room, I wouldn’t need to finish getting dressed here!”

“Is that a dig at my behaviour, lad?” BIG asked seriously, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“No, sir, professor. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” The lad replied, sensing the danger.

“Great. As I was saying, I want to implement some of the ideas I brought from Dalton; while you finish getting ready, let me talk to you about the clubs…”

…..

By the end of that week, BIG’s initial work was complete; there were no more students or teachers left to be improved. The uniforms had returned to being the norm, and all the lads were required to be part of at least one of the school’s sports teams. Moreover, the social clubs had been formed, ensuring that the lads, even after school ended, would have a reason to return to Lionheart and not forget what they had learned there. BIG was proud of what he had accomplished, and those above him were too. Now it was time for the expansion phase, to take what was taught at Lionheart outside the school’s walls and fields. BIG’s approach was different from that taken at Dalton; times were different, and in the war they were waging against those who wanted to remove men from their rightful place, there was no room for the discretion adopted by the sister school. Europe was falling too quickly; it was necessary to be more incisive. That’s why Lionheart would focus not only on creating the leaders of tomorrow but a whole generation of influencers, and sport would be their flagship. And there was no sport more popular worldwide than football. Knowing this, the Lionheart team became a priority for BIG, and he created a particularly talented and charismatic group, but they still lacked a coach of the right calibre. But that would soon be resolved, and quickly too; normally, BIG liked to savour the moment he transformed a pathetic figure into a real man. However, as the mass transformation of the first day showed, when the need was pressing, he acted fast. And that Sunday morning, it was needed again. While the lads prepared for training, the stands of the school filled with students from other teams, but also with parents and locals from the surrounding towns. This would be exhausting. And the cherry on top was the old man walking across the field with an angry look directed at BIG, who returned the scorn before breaking into a smile.

Zachariah Hastings, a member of the school board and a staunch conservative, which in theory should please BIG, but the problem was that the old codger was too conservative. Homophobic and racist, he seemed to boil inside the outdated suit he was wearing at that moment. He indeed represented that mythical figure of patriarchy that the snowflakes loved to point out as the cause of all ills: the white, heterosexual, cisgender man. BIG had nothing against a man who was all those things; on the contrary. The problem was that this figure represented everything that the enemies of the brotherhood of men took pleasure in using to attack. BIG’s group merely wanted to return men to their rightful place in society; they didn’t care about race, religion, whether you were an immigrant or who you slept with. Implicating with those things only created divisions, pushing men away from the real goal. And it was precisely for that reason that Zachariah had to go. Without any fanfare or manipulation, in one moment, the old codger was there with a bewildered expression, as if he knew what awaited him, and in the next moment, a fine specimen of a black man, very much like BIG himself, stood in his place, while every man in that audience became an upgraded ally, and BIG enthusiastically announced to everyone the arrival of the legendary Zeke Hastings, newly retired player from Manchester City and multiple-time champion of the Premier League, Champions League, and Euro Cup, to take the position of coach for the school’s football team, sending all the men in that place into a frenzy of delight, while BIG himself smiled, satisfied that the first part of his duty was finally fulfilled.

**Two months earlier**

Barret couldn’t stop tapping his foot while waiting in the posh waiting room of Dalton Academy; after all, this was his big chance, even if he didn’t understand why an American school would be interested in an English literature teacher. Although the whole place reeked of Old Money, perhaps that justified the interest in him.

“You can come in, Mr. Garret.” A metallic voice startled Barret, who looked around for the source, but found none. Collecting himself, he stood up, straightened his suit, and opened the massive door to the office. What he saw there gave him a sense of strangeness. Smiling and walking towards him in a space much larger than would be possible, was a handsome lad, no more than eighteen years old. Was this some sort of prank by the posh students?

“Come in, Mr. Garrett. Barret Garret; your parents had an interesting sense of humour; I would have certainly liked them…” commented the smiling young man before frowning. “Why the scared face? Ahhh, I always forget these modern conventions; in my day, this would already be the appearance of an adult man.” The young man said, his face concentrating, and then, as if by magic, he began to walk towards an office desk that Barret could have sworn hadn’t been there seconds before. When he reached the desk a blonde, older, and muscular man wearing a slightly less formal outfit smiled at Barret. 

“I think you’ll prefer this appearance, my dear. You can call me Mr. Edgar. And even though I’ve used a bit of trickery to bring you here, since unfortunately there’s no place for you on Dalton’s faculty, by the time we finish our conversation, it’ll be as if you know the place better than you do yourself, and I guarantee the goal I have in mind for you will leave you quite satisfied. Put a smile on that face and step in.” Even against his will, in that incomprehensible situation, Barret found himself smiling and stepped into the creature’s lair.

If anyone who wasn’t an active member of Dalton was watching what was going on, they would have been shocked. But within those walls, it was almost routine. A young, well-dressed black man hesitating in front of a portal, only to, upon crossing it, see his body modify and expand, while he aged a few years, though that only made him even more charming; his slow steps transforming into the confident stride of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And anyone who knew Blake Ian Garret, coach BIG, could tell that that impression would be correct, though incomplete. BIG not only knew what he wanted but would also do everything in his power to achieve his goals. And those goals at the moment consisted of returning to England to find a way to occupy a position at Lionheart School, which conveniently was established on top of one of the largest dormant power points of the old country, but which only needed a spark to awaken. A spark that Mr. Edgar handed to him, only demanding in return that he use that power to ensure that the occupants of the place, both the established ones and those who would come, and even the unsuspecting traveler passing through, became the right kind of men. The exact type that BIG himself represented.

….

**6 months later**

“Son, I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think. I survived high school; you will too.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to be transferred in the middle of the second year to a school with the highest concentration of wanker athletes that would have certainly made your life a nightmare.”

“Duncan, I understand; I was transferred as well, remember? I need to make friends at work too.”

“Dad, that’s completely different; none of your colleagues are going to shove your head in a toilet or anything like that.”

“I’m sure that only happens in films, Duncan.”

The pair of overweight blonde father and son walked through the corridors of the Lionheart Institute towards Director Johnson. The truth is that even Alex, the father, was not comfortable with that arrangement, but there was nothing to be done; Lionheart was the best school in the area, and he refused to send his son away from him. Duncan was a shy and reserved kid, just like he had been at that age. That school would be a challenge, but any other would be too, and there he would be close by if something happened.

“Dad, didn’t you read the articles I sent you? This journalist, Aaryan Patel, wrote a series of them talking about what goes on here; all the students here, regardless of where they came from, are some kind of athletes; some have even competed in the Olympics. And there’s more; all of them have behaviour described as toxic; some have been banned from giving interviews; some bloke named Ashton Zhang won a bronze medal in Paris but said so much rubbish about the opening ceremony that he almost got banned from competing.”

“Well, then they’ll know what it’s like to have a mathlete among them now! And who knows, you might become a good influence on them or even get motivated to take up some sport; exercise does wonders for a young lad.”

“Says the man who’s never set foot on a court in his life…”

“Duncan, enough! You’re coming to study here, and that’s final.” The father snapped, as he noticed a giant figure approaching confidently down the corridor.

“But Dad, I think Aaryan Patel has a point…”

“Duncan! I don’t want to hear you talking about Aaryan Patel anymore!”

“You do quite well.” Commented the giant black man approaching them, his smile vanishing upon hearing that name. “Mr. Patel has only been defaming the good name of this school with lies and distortions, when what he should be doing is praising the performance of our students in all areas of life. I’m Professor Garret and I believe you are Archibald and Duncan, am I right?”

“In fact, my name is Alexander…”

“Ah, some misunderstanding then.” Commented the professor with a cheeky smile before continuing. “Director Johnson should have welcomed you, but he had a slight hiccup and asked me to do it for him. I thought I’d chat with you, Archibald, while one of the lads shows Duncan around the school. Where is that rascal? Ah, here he comes.” Professor Garret finished speaking without giving Alexander a chance to correct him about the name error, although he himself had forgotten it when he saw the lad strutting down the corridor, almost like a mini version of the professor. Although saying that anything about that lad was mini would be an affront. Broad shoulders and strong limbs pushing the limits of the school’s smart black uniform, made up of a full suit, tie, and dress shoes that must have been tailor-made to fit the boats that were his feet, the overall effect was one of sophistication but also of dominance and confidence that left Alexander gaping and Duncan, who was already fearful, completely terrified.

“Good day, Coach BIG… hum… Professor Barret; good day, sir.” The lad said politely, although a mischievous sparkle danced in his eyes.

“Farrell, my boy. Would you be so kind as to show the school’s facilities to Duncan here while Archie and I have a chat?”

“With pleasure, Professor Garret. Would you be so kind as to accompany me, Duncan?” He said, positioning himself next to the other lad who, although overweight, was shorter and lighter than him, before turning to Alexander with a cheeky grin. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Archie.”

“The pleasure was mine, lad.” replied Alex, again forgetting to correct the name error. “We’ll see you in a bit, Duke.” He ended up saying to his son, who looked at him first with wide eyes of pleading and then in surprise at how his father had called him. But there was nothing to be done, for at that moment the muscular giant lad took him by the arm and carried him down the corridor, while his father walked away in the opposite direction, chatting amiably with the behemoth that was Professor Garret.

BIG entered his office and sat down at the desk, although he hadn’t asked Archibald to enter, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

“So, Archibald Dunhan, that name doesn’t sound unfamiliar to me.” Commented the professor.

“Well, it’s not exactly a common name these days.” Archibald replied, accepting the name as if he had always used it.

“No, it’s not… Archibald, Archibald Dunhan, Archie, Archie Dunhan! But of course! Wall Archie! You could have been a legend at Arsenal, material for the England team, if it weren’t for that nasty injury in that game against Manchester City; but from what I know, your career as a player agent isn’t going too badly.”

“I… I think you’re confusing me with someone.” Archibald timidly replied, still standing at the door. Just the idea of thinking of himself as a former footballer was hilarious. Although he was indeed a die-hard Arsenal fan and risked a few matches with his mates on weekends. No, not that…

“No, I’m not mistaken; you were a leak-proof goalkeeper, you were a wall indeed, Archie; don’t let something that wasn’t your fault bring you down.”

“That accident ruined me, mate…” Archie found himself responding automatically. What the hell was he talking about?

“I know, but managing guys like Haaland and De Bruyne is also a success story. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Believe me, no one has ever accused me of being too humble!” Why would he say something like that???

“Then we’ve got the same problem!” replied Garret, bursting into laughter, and Archie joined in, unable to contain himself, stopping with a startled look only when the other man spoke to him again.

“What are you doing standing there, Archie? Come in, come in; we’ve got Duke’s future to discuss.”

Hearing that name stirred something in Archie; there was something very wrong with all of this, but then he took a step into the room, and everything changed. In a blur of movement and colour, his muscles expanded, height increased impressively, and fat seemed to evaporate from his body. When he stopped smiling in front of the other man, any trace of humility or shame had left his body. He was one of the most successful sports agents in the country; there was no reason to worry about that sort of thing.

“BIG, you’ve got 5 minutes to convince me to bring my son to this school, mate.”

“Archie, you know me you wanker; I can do it in three.”

….

“Take a seat, chubby; I’m not going to give you a hard time.” Said the muscular black lad to Duncan, although he clearly was already doing that. The moment Duncan’s dad and the teacher left their line of sight, Farrel dropped the politeness, throwing aside all false pleasantries, revealing himself to be exactly the type of person Duncan believed and feared he would be. He didn’t show anything Duncan might find relevant about the school’s facilities, leading the lad through some of the many sports facilities on site. They had courts for all sorts of sports imaginable, gym equipment, swimming pools, running tracks, and even a complete weightlifting gym. After the exhausting tour of Jockland, they finally arrived at the spacious and luxuriously furnished room where they were.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” Duncan said, approaching the window of the room, which overlooked the well-kept football pitch of the institution.

“You know best, but carrying all that weight can’t be good for your knees.” Farrel commented venomously, as he took off the top part of the school uniform with no ceremony and flopped down on the sofa in the room. “But that won’t last long; BIG will have you sweating off all that flab in no time.”

“I wish you’d stop making comments about my body.”

“When you’ve got the physique of a real man, I’ll stop, chubby. And trust me, you will; in no time, no one will recognise you, not even you.”

“I’m fine as I am; I don’t intend to change anything.”

“As if anyone here gives a toss about what you think, lad. I repeat, soon you’ll be one of the lads at Lionheart and won’t even remember the wimp you are now. And even if you did, you’d be ashamed of what you let this society do to you.”

“I won’t let myself change; you can do what you want with me, humiliate me, torture me; I won’t change.” Duncan replied, feeling an uncharacteristic rage and turning from the window, seeing for the first time Farrel’s bare chest, which made him blush deeply, while the other lad shot him an intrigued look.

“Seeing something you like, chubby? You a queer or something? Not that I have a problem with it; It’s an all boys school after all, and the lads have their needs. Besides I know what my body does to others." He said, flexing his powerful muscles as if he was at some kind of obscene show, which made Duncan look back at the window, only turning around when the other spoke again, hitting the target this time."No, no… it’s a different kind of desire, isn’t it? Ever thought about having a body like this? Ever wished for muscles like these?” He conclude, looking distracted for a moment, as if he were reliving an old memory.

“I don’t need that; I’ve got my mind, and it’s more powerful than any bulging muscle.”

“Loooser! I wish I could record this and show it to my new bro when he comes out of you; it’ll surely make him die of embarrassment.”

“I… what?”

“You know where we are, Duke? At the headquarters of one of the Lionheart clubs, my club; not just anyone gets in here, but I decided you’d be one of the lucky ones. I’m the captain of the rugby team and would love to have you with us, but the boss has other plans. Speaking of which, you know what’s even more curious? The club is located exactly one floor above Coach BIG’s office. An office that has a direct exit to the football pitch. That exit, I believe, must have been used quite recently, so while you’re at the window, tell me what you see.” Farrel asked, his eyes sparkling and his voice filled with an uncontrollable mix of eagerness and excitement.

Without really knowing why he was obeying the other lad, Duncan looked outside, initially seeing nothing of note, but then his gaze landed on the pitch, and what he saw shocked him. Professor Garrett, who at that moment should have been with Duncan’s father, was walking across the pitch, bare-chested and laughing animatedly with a blonde man who was just as monstrous and muscular as he was. But if Garret was there, where was Alexand… Archibald?

“I don’t get it? Where’s my dad?”

“With all that talk about intellect, I thought you’d be smarter, Duke.”

“My name isn’t…”

“Duke!” Duncan read the lips of the gigantic blond man more than he heard him speak as he waved vigorously, beckoning him to join him and Garret on the pitch. Why would a complete stranger act that way? Unless… unless he wasn’t a complete stranger.

“No… it’s impossible…”

“Finally, you got it, chubby, although I think this will be the last time I can call you that.”

“No… dad?” Duncan asked, although the man who continued to wave excitedly couldn’t hear him. “What did they do to you?”

“Oh, old BIG has a thing for The gentlemen’s sport; even though he’s never been a pro himself. I’d say we’d put you on my team, and that would be that. But for a former pro rugby player, he doesn’t value us much. He says nothing gets as much visibility as football, and our team is about to lose the captain to a contract, and we still don’t have a worthy replacement. Plus, the old rogue managed to create a connection with someone who can get him the best seats at the games.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You don’t need to understand, Duke; you just need to accept.”

“I can’t accept this… I won’t accept this…”

“Duke?”

“What!?! He screamed back, enraged in response.

“Come over here, mate.”

“I’m not your mate, mate!”

“Of course you are; you’re my little bro; me and Ash were looking forward to finally having our little brother with us! Farrel, Duke, and Ashton, best mates. FDA, like the American agency, and like them, we run the bloody show! F for a lot of food, D for drugs to grow and an A for, shit what is the A again? Let it be A for awesome because that's what we are, mate!"

“I…”

“Think about it, Duke; you want to make your dad proud.”

“Yes…” he replied, shivering at hearing that.

“Then get your arse off that window and come with me to meet him; for you, I’d even play a match of football just to see the old geezers eat dust.”

“Haha, I want to see you try to score on my dad, F! The bloke’s a wall; not that he can stop his son from scoring.”

“That’s what I want to see; let’s go, then.” Farrel insisted, and Duke finally took a step back and went to meet his fate. In an instant, the fat seemed to be sucked from his body as his muscles expanded into a strong and toned physique, far from the giant muscle mass of Farrel or his father after the forced retirement and years dedicated to bodybuilding. A slim and strong body, except for the long, powerful legs with thighs capable of exploding a watermelon if it were squeezed between them. His unkempt hair giving way to a well-groomed cut, the sad, chubby face transforming into a beautiful, almost angelic face, but still unable to completely hide the mischief within him, easily identified by the cheeky smile playing on his lips at that moment.

“Don’t know why you’re so excited, bro; with that size, dribbling you will be the easiest thing in the world.”

“Watch what you say, scrawny boy.”

“This is definition, something a ogre like you will never know what it is.”

“Come talk about agility when you compete with me in rugby.”

“And why would I stuff myself into a game with a bunch of lard arses?”

“Who are you calling fat, punk?”

“Not me, your body mass index.”

“You’re getting quite cheeky there, lad. I want to see you crack jokes on the pitch.” Farrel replied with false irritation.

“When I get past you, you won’t even notice, chubby!”

….

Aaryan Patel was absolutely fuming; he had no idea why his boss at the Independent Herald had sent him from London to that conservative hellhole that Daffodil Meadow had become. And to top it all off, he was heading straight to the epicentre of that rubbish, the King Richard Institute for Boys, aka Lionheart School. A place he had written a series of scathing articles about in recent months, which didn’t mean he wanted to walk into the lion’s den, especially when it was the lion himself who had sent the invitation. But his editor insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up, and now here he was, walking purposefully along the edge of the grass on the school’s grand football pitch towards Director Johnson, who was at that moment in one of the few empty stands. Apparently, it was a tradition for the school and the surrounding villages to gather every evening to watch some sort of competition from the different teams, and today it was a football match. What didn’t make sense was the question Aaryan kept asking himself: why the hell did Henderson Johnson make him walk across the pitch where the students were parading around with their muscular bodies on display while the school staff prepared everything for the match?

As Aaryan made his way to his destination, he passed two muscular black blokes wearing the infamous light blue polo shirt of the sports team, one of whom was much bigger than the other. The one he wanted to take down the most. However, when the larger man glanced at Aaryan as he walked towards the nearest entrance to the stands, the lad who considered himself a brave man felt his knees go weak. Feeling angry with himself as he watched the two lugs burst into laughter, Aaryan quickened his pace and climbed the stands to meet Director Johnson.

“Mr. Patel, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person after reading the rather vehement words you used to describe me, my school, and my students.” The man said with a threatening smile. But Aaryan wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated; he was indeed brave, and although he was much leaner than the brute, he wasn’t a total wimp; he could handle whatever the other bloke had to throw at him. And any words spoken would receive an appropriate response from his sharp mind.

“Vehement is an appropriate but incomplete description of what I have to say about this place, Director Johnson. And that description could also be applied to the behaviour of the people here, although belligerent might be a more fitting term.”

“And you know a thing or two about belligerence, don’t you? Big guy like you? Bet you’ve had your fair share of scraps, haven’t you, Aaron?”

“The name’s Aaryan! And I prefer to fight with words.”

“Ha, I knew there was a fighter in you; I never miss.” The man commented as if Aaryan's response had been completely different, leaving the journalist confused for a moment. Quickly shaking off that momentary confusion, he turned back to the giant blonde.

“So, Director Johnson, what’s the purpose of summoning me here? And summon is the right word; my editor informed me that you pressured him quite insistently and intimidatingly, I should add.”

“Right, lad, I just wanted you to see for yourself what it’s really like here, what you’ve been so harsh about. You might not realise it, but what you write affects people’s lives, people I care about; my staff and my students.”

“Forgive me, Director Johnson, but the actions of those people you care about affect many others’ lives.”

“You paint us as monsters, Aaron, but do what I asked you: roam about, chat with my students and teachers; there’s one teacher in particular who’s quite eager to have a word with you.” The director said, smiling and nodding towards the pitch where Blake Garrett was watching closely as Zeke Hastings paced back and forth, correcting both teams’ players’ positions.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of talking to that man. Forgetting to correct the misuse of his name, he responded to the director.

“Alright, I’ll do that, but I don’t think anything will change my mind. I’m sure the teachers are lost causes by now and the students are probably already conditioned to the behaviours taught here.”

“We’re not a cult, Aaron, but if you want a fresh opinion, why not have a chat with the centre-forward for the black team? The blonde lad in number 9. Duke has been at the school for less than a week; see what he has to say after the game.”

“I know how to identify a centre-forward, thanks! And I think I’ll do just that; cheers!” replied the journalist, who until a few minutes ago certainly couldn’t identify any positions.

After chatting with some students and teachers who repeated the same toxic spiel about masculine values, manliness, and the rightful place a man should occupy in society, Aaryan felt drained. Coming here had certainly been a bad idea. He thought about leaving and writing another scathing article about the evils of that place. However, he realised that the game had finally come to an end when he saw the blonde centre-forward walking to the edge of the pitch, opening a bottle of water and taking a long swig that practically emptied the bottle in one gulp. As Aaryan approached him, the lad poured the remaining water over his sweaty hair, then shook it off vigorously just as Aaryan reached him.

“Good afternoon, lad; my name’s Aaryan Patel, Director Johnson told me I could have a word with you.” He said, moving closer to the lad and using an authoritative figure as a reference to ensure the lad paid attention; he had dealt with many of those arrogant lads in the past couple of hours to give the kid a chance to mock him or simply ignore him.

“Eh?” The lad huffed, flexing his muscles and shaking the soaked t-shirt. This was pretty much the expected behaviour from any football player giving an interview after an hour and a half of strenuous exercise. What Aaryan, as any good fan of the game, should have remembered. So he repeated the information to the lad.

“My name’s Aaryan and you’re Duke, right? I want to ask you a few things about the school.”

“Sure, mate.” The lad replied, looking more awake after taking off his shirt and showing off his powerful physique, even though it was clear that not much was going on upstairs. This diminished Aaryan’s hopes of getting any productive conversation, as it was obvious the lad belonged there. Still, he decided to press on; when in Rome…

“So, what do you think of the school? Settling in well?”

“Aaron, mate, this place is brilliant! I begged for nearly two years to come here, but my dad thought I’d have better chances of getting signed if I kept training in a bigger city. It was only when Coach BIG took over the sports department that he was convinced.”

“Um… just out of curiosity, who’s your dad?”

“Haha, as if you don’t know who he is, Aaron, mate! I’m not some little kid to fall for your tricks.” The lad replied, giving a thumbs up.

“What are you on about?” Aary… Aaron asked, confused. But then something worse happened; the lad turned to the middle of the pitch where his teammates were milling about, shirtless, chatting and joking under the watchful eye of the coach, who was in turn under the direct supervision of the head of the sports department, the infamous BIG, who was precisely the person the lad was addressing.

“Oi, Coach BIG! Come meet my mate, Aaron.” And to Aaron’s horror, the man who instilled all his primal fears turned to him, serious for being interrupted, but soon a mischievous grin spread across his face.

Strutting towards the two with all the arrogance in the world, looking at Aaron with the same gaze a lion gives to a gazelle before it attacks, making Aaron’s knees tremble… but why? He should respect the bloke, of course… but no matter how big he was, Aaron could handle him… how? Certainly not with words… hey… what was he thinking here? What intrusive thoughts were those? However, he had no time to fight against those ideas so contrary to his essence because at that moment, the coach was standing before him, eclipsing everything else with his immense physical presence.

“Aaryan Patel, the man of the moment! You have no idea how much I wanted to meet you!”

“It’s Aaron… sir.” He added. The respect for the figure of coaches ingrained in him wouldn’t allow him to respond any other way. But why so much respect?

“When young Duke told me he knew you, I couldn’t resist the idea of bringing him here. But where exactly do you two know each other from?”

“Eh… what?” He had just met the lad, right? But then where did the memories of him teaching the kid fighting positions come from? Fighting? What fighting? In the midst of his confusion, it was Duke who answered.

“It’s my dad’s agency that looks after Aaron’s career, coach. In fact, he’s been following Aaron from the beginning; he’s spent more time at our house than at his own over the last few years.”

“Oh, of course. A cunning man like Archie wouldn’t let a talent like that slip through his fingers.” Agency, what agency? Big-name journalists needed agents, but a rookie like Aaron… mate, in his world, even rookies needed a decent agent; it was the difference between a million-dollar career and retirement in the gutter, and Wall Archie was the best; after all, he had experienced firsthand how cruel that world could be. Yeah, the world was a cruel place, and it was his duty to expose those ills… No, not that, what he needed to do was fight… yes, fight for improvements in society… mate, society was what it was and that was that… in this life, you either lose or win, and Aaron Blink Patel, rising star of the heavyweight MMA scene, was born to win. He earned the nickname for the short time he needed to take down opponents. Which was almost the same amount of time he dedicated to interviews with journalists. He didn’t need many words in his life, being known for keeping his opinion to himself, aware of what the media vultures could do to his career. The only time he expressed his opinions was when he was with his friends, when he let out all the intensity inside him, in conversations filled with cheeky banter and heated praises of masculinity in today’s world. And if there was someone who was the ultimate representation of masculinity, it was Aaron Fucking Blink Patel!

“No… no…”

“Aaron, mate, it’s all good?”

“Of course it is, Duke; it’s just the fighter inside him manifesting, but now it’s just a matter of a blink and it’ll all be sorted.” Coach BIG commented.

“Just a blink…” Aaron grumbled, and then… blink… and… his toned, lean torso expanded like a flower blooming, if flowers were made of huge, protruding muscles and their scent was an animalistic musk, with a touch of spices that didn’t go unnoticed even in that place full of sweaty young men… blink … and his legs exploded in size and power needed to crush opponents… blink… and the years dedicated to reading and research evaporated, replaced by training in jiu-jitsu, boxing, and Muay Thai… blink… and all the pent-up rage inside him flowed out in flowery words in sharp texts, concentrating in the massive paws that were his fists and feet… wink… and Aaron Blink Patel found himself smiling at the man and the lad before him, an image seen only by those the fighter deemed worthy. But he’d known Duke since he was younger than the kid, and after hearing the glowing praise he gave about his new coach, the man earned Aaron’s respect without needing to lift a finger.

“Sorry, what were you saying, sir?”

“You can call me Coach BIG; Aaron is what everyone calls me.”

“Yes, sir.” He replied, causing Duke to burst into laughter.

“You’re a lost cause, mate.”

“Actually, I think Aaron is a great example to follow; I wish my rowdy students had his level of respect.” Coach BIG commented, his voice cutting, making the lad’s smile fade instantly. “By the way, after I speak to the team, I’d love for you to have a word with those rascals, Aaron. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a motivational speech to give. Duke, keep him company while I’m at it.”

“Yes, coach, sir.”

“See? Just your presence has instilled some respect in this cheeky little sod.” The coach commented before returning to the pitch to address the teams.

“Could you not be such a teacher’s pet, mate?”

“I only got where I am because I respected my coaches and your dad; authority figures are there to be respected. Don’t you want to be captain of the team? Don’t you want to be a pro one day? You could already be playing for a real team if you had a bit more discipline since talent isn’t lacking. Take advantage of that man.” He said, pointing to the coach who was animatedly giving a speech. “BIG is a legend, a legend capable of making other legends; it was a scandal to find out a man like him had moved to the States, but the results he achieved with Dalton’s teams speak for themselves. And he brought in fucking Zeke Hastings to train you lot, and your dad to manage those of you who are truly capable of going pro. So yes, listen to what your coaches have to say; you may think it’s just theatre, but it’s the attitude that separates the men from the boys.” Aaron finished, flexing his powerful muscles to the point where the polo shirt he was wearing ripped under his arms.

“Wow, mate! That’s wicked! You’re a beast!” Duke said with such genuine admiration that Aaron couldn’t help but smile and repeat the feat, tearing his shirt even more before returning to a serious demeanor and looking at the younger lad.

“And you know how I became who I am today, little brother? By listening to all the shite my coaches had to say to me!” He said, pointing in the direction of Coach BIG, who was just finishing his speech, raising his voice so that everyone on the pitch and in the stands could hear him easily.

“… because this society wants to diminish you, weaken you. They want you to believe that being a man is wrong, that being what we were born to be is a shame. But they don’t know the power you carry with you, the influence you possess; many of you will be professional athletes, some already are. You’ll be seen around the world, admired, able to inspire, capable of making our brothers, hounded by our enemies, react, and more than that, you can make some of those enemies see the mistakes they’ve made and bring them back to the right path, and for those who insist on their mistakes, you’ll be able to hit them where it hurts most, where they’ve been hitting us for years, and I’m talking about their children; You will shape and save them because you have the power to correct what’s wrong in this generation, then in they do same with the next. The truth is men, and never forget it, you have power! And we’ll use it to secure a better, brighter future!

[tamayokny]

I see some people saying PJOTV Sally Jackson is too much of a girl boss like BFFR

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of talk about how hell affected Edwin's pain tolerance, but not very much breaking down how it seems to have affected the way he manages emotion. So to that end, here we go:

Edwin Payne vs emotions (and how his no good very bad helltime messed with him something awful)

Dead Boy Detectives does a very good job early on of establishing the fact that Edwin is not particularly good with people. He's stilted, he's repressed, and though he can be incredibly kind to the people he cares about, he can also be quite abrasive, particularly to those he doesn't know well.

Time and time again, we see Charles step in to be the face man. Charles is the one to greet the clients, to take note of their names, to set them at ease. Charles is the one to support Crystal emotionally, and his interactions with Edwin seem to imply that he's done the same for Edwin, over the years. Charles has to remind Edwin to mind his bedside manner, and he explains to Crystal that Edwin forgets how to talk to people sometimes, because of how long he spent in hell.

In short, these boys compensate for each other's strengths and weaknesses in a lot of ways, and Charles is very much the one doing the emotional heavy lifting in this partnership.

And there's a reason for that, laid out in the text and subtext all throughout the show, and the narrative handles it brilliantly.

Edwin's actor does a fantastic job in expressing the character's reactions – or rather, lack of them. Because in the most shocking scenes throughout the show, Edwin often doesn't seem as horrified as the others in the face of events that ought to be horrific. In the Devlin house, he seems as though the murders scarcely affect him. When the jumper at the top of the lighthouse throws herself down, he's downright composed in comparison to everyone else.

And Edwin repeatedly shows or expresses that emotion makes him uncomfortable. When Crystal and Charles are fighting in episode five, he requests that they set their feelings aside until the case is finished. At the end of the episode, he says that the day has been entirely too full of emotions for his taste.

So, what is it specifically about emotion that bothers him so much?

In hell, emotion meant an awful, bloody death.

Panicking over potential incoming horrors? Nope, sorry, too loud. Dead again. Having a sobbing breakdown in a corner? Nope, sorry, too loud. Injured and trying to keep it down so it doesn't get worse? Nope, sorry, that's too loud, too.

Again and again, we see Edwin trying to tamp down on his emotions, but also, tellingly, trying to keep his emotions subdued and quiet.

When Charles finds him in hell, he's crying without making a single sound. When Esther starts to torture him in episode eight, he doesn't scream at first. He's trained himself out of making noise when something hurts or frightens him.

Of course he wants to set emotions aside until the case is done. He's spent seventy years learning what happens if you don't. You take care of business first. If, and only if, there's an after? That's when you let yourself feel.

Early on, when Edwin and Charles need to find the correct book but Edwin is unable to access their office due to the Cat King's bracelet, Edwin is upset. He's frustrated and out of sorts, blocked from making progress on the thing he knows he needs to be doing – hurting himself trying to get his arm through the mirror until Charles stops him. It's Charles who has to step in and help him calm down. It's Charles who has to remind him to breathe through what is very likely a panicked throwback to those times when if he could not solve his way out of a problem, it would very literally get him killed. In this scene, we get a brief glimpse of how Edwin looks when he starts to lose his grip on his rigid control.

And that's before we even get to these things:

Because as awful as the doll spider was, it wasn't the only thing skulking around the Doll House. Charles stumbles across misery wraiths when he goes to rescue Edwin from hell – and we know from the Devlin house episode that Edwin is extremely aware of what they do and how they operate. They were in his space, looking for despair to feed off during a time when he had it in spades.

Taken all together? It's an absolutely heartbreaking picture.

This boy seemed a little socially awkward before his death, from what we see of his time before hell. But afterward? He's had seventy long years of having to teach himself to regulate his own emotions, under pain of excruciating torture if he didn't do it well enough.

With an object lesson like that, over and over again, for literal decades, it's no wonder that Edwin has such a hard time navigating emotions and everything surrounding them.

[julicity]

SEBEK ZIGVOLT - OVERBLOT -

full size version

Please see the full sized version linked above! Since it’s been compressed pretty badly here...

And here’s a version without the unnecessary lightning background, and a face close-up without the glow effects.

ALRIGHT, so this is one of the biggest pieces I’ve done in a long while. I put a lot of work into this so I hope you all enjoy~

I’ve got a lot to say about this one, so read at your own leisure lol.

I think it’s worth leaving notes on my design choices for this one, so I’ll start with that.

First of all, Sebek's character is based off of lightning/thunder (obviously) and also Maleficent's crocodile minion, the latter which I incorporated more parts of (like the halberd and the pointed coattails like his croc tail). Also his phantom would be based on the croc minion character.

I originally wanted to give him more actual crocodile features, like a tail or scales or something, but it wasn't really working out the way I wanted, so I scrapped it.

Most OB’s have long, ripped clothing so I gave him more of a cloak akin to Maleficent’s, the shape of the collar specifically being the same as hers.

I added some spikes on the coat like crocodiles have down their back and tail.

I really like the leg pieces that Riddle & Leona had for their OB’s, and the weaving pattern also happens to make a zigzag lightning shape, so it fits.

I also like the OB designs that have super drippy blot on their arms.

Some things are just copied from his dorm uniform, like the waistband and belts, and the shoulder armour (not the spools of thread though...).

The left shoulder armour doesn't exist in the normal dorm uniform. OB Sebek has one made of blot because Sebek's biggest insecurity is that he's incomplete and will never be good enough due to being half-blood and he wants to be whole T^T

Lightning-shaped blot markings on his face of course. Mostly I just tried to make something that didn't look ugly... 

Lastly, I wanted to make his hair messier, but it would end up covering his beautiful face so I let it remain swept back - 3- (aka I couldn’t make it look nice).

So in terms of why Sebek might OB... he clearly has an intense, unresolved internal hatred for his human blood, due to the environment he grew up in. And the way he copes with these emotions is by taking it out on the people around him. It just seems like with the intensity of these feelings, if he were to keep it internalized, it would completely destroy him from the inside. And he just has NOT had the chance or know-how to learn to accept himself and therefore others. So of course, this is something he needs to work on but he definitely cannot do it alone. I think something traumatic does need to happen for him to realize and learn from his ways honestly. In terms of the canon, this will probably be due to Malleus' overblot or whatever shenanigans will happen in Book 7.... but Sebek himself overblotting would do just as well.

I think this fic does a really good job with building up Sebek's OB and his mindset throughout it all getting worse and worse... --> READ HERE It’s still in progress at the moment of posting but the after-blot plot is really wholesome too for us Sebek fans. EVEN IF you are not one you should still give it a read. (Just for full disclosure, my OB design is not based on the one described in this fic.)

Thank you for reading my rambles. I’ve got more angst coming ;>

[venerawrites]

Thanks for the headcanons of Itachi and the s/o who has illness🥰. Oh my god your writings are just awesome keep it up❤️💪

Can I request some headcanons of itachi,kakashi,naruto when their s/o is pregnant?🤭

author's note: oh my god, this has been sitting in my drafts forever! I have only one assessment left, so I finally have the chance to catch up with my requests! Thank you so, so much for your patience and for requesting! Hope you enjoy!

➤ Itachi

I think I am going to disappoint a lot of you, but Itachi was definitely not happy when he first learned that his s/o was pregnant.

HEAR ME OUT PLS!

It is not that he is not loving his partner, but given everything that has happened to him and all the decisions he had to make throughout his life, he has promised himself that he would never have children. He didn't want to put them at risk, or worse, make them suffer because of his own mistakes.

The initial reaction was shock.

He was always so careful and they always used protection, so how did that happen??

I imagine he would leave for a few days just so he can clear his head and gather his thoughts.

Itachi is naturally a carer and also loves kids, so it doesn't take him long to come around. After a few days, he is already back to his s/o and they better believe he would not leave them for ANYTHING.

Very overprotective, sometimes quite unreasonable - even in the early stage of the pregnancy, he would insist on taking care of his s/o, cook for them, clean the house etc.

Does not like the idea of his lover leaving the house by themselves, mainly because he is paranoid that either Sasuke or any of his enemies would target them. He always accompanies them when they want to go out, and when he does, he keeps his arm wrapped around their back or shoulders.

As the pregnancy progresses, so do his worries, and if his s/o doesn't want to be overwhelmed by him, they have to set clear boundaries and let him know they need some space to breathe.

Totally a man who would deliver his baby at home!

The moment he heard his baby's cry, he started trembling. No one loves like the Uchiha after all, especially when it comes to their love for their children!

➤ Kakashi

Just like Itachi, for most of his life he was of the firm opinion he DOES NOT want kids.

His s/o, however, was the one that brought up the question at some point in their relationship, and since then he couldn't stop thinking about it.

When his lover told him they were pregnant he was surprised, but not shocked. With the amount of "practice" they were doing, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I think internally he would be worried and stressing about his s/o, but he would try and act cool about it.

He would purchase dozens of books about pregnancy and would read them all the time. (including during missions and night outs with friends!) Guy and Kurenai would find it cute and would often discuss their own tips with him, while Genma and Anko would roll their eyes at their antics.

Knowing how important is for him to give space to his s/o, he would subtly help around the house, but would still let them go out on their own, do chores or if they are a ninja, even go to low-rank missions.

The more their belly grows, the more fascinated he becomes!

Very touchy - his hands are constantly on his s/o's belly, caressing it or sometimes just holding it.

Kakashi would do that only when his lover is asleep, but he is totally talking to his s/o's stomach and telling his baby random stories.

During the last months, he would also become quite overprotective.

He won't bother his s/o that much, but he won't allow anyone to get close to them, touch their stomach, or bother them for longer than few minutes.

Overall, very supportive and sweet partner, who is going to make his s/o's pregnancy as easy as possible, despite his own fear of failure.

➤ Naruto

0 clue about what's going on! 0!

At first he thinks it is exciting - having a baby is fun, right? You get to dress it, feed it, take it out... it is like playing with a doll!

Buys tons of clothes and toys literally a week after he found out his s/o is pregnant, despite not even knowing the gender yet. (yes, they had to return most of them!)

Comes with a ton of weird names for their little one, because he wants them to be 'unique'. Oinks, Huggy, and Nemar (which is just 'ramen' spelled backward!) were on the top of his list.

The first months are pretty nice and fun! When the hormones start to kick in, however...

I love Naruto, he is one of my fav boys, but I bet my soul that he is so annoying during his s/o's pregnancy!

He would not understand when he needs to give his s/o space and instead will be in their face 24/7. I imagine that he would also (try to) do some housework, but because he put only like 10% effort, his lover would have to constantly go after him and re-do it!

Lots of small petty fights!

Which would always end in Naruto bringing his s/o their favourite snack or takeaway, so it works out!

Very proud to be a future dad - he would go around the whole village, telling everyone how excited he is and how he can't wait to see the baby!

Not scared or nervous at all - he knows that in the end, everything is going to work out! Plus, he and his s/o are going to have each other, so why fear?

His s/o better be prepared to take care of TWO babies, because it would take a long time for this man to become serious and laid back!

cc artwork: Clement Tingry

[littlefeltsparrow]

Nesta’s emotional breakdown at the end of the hike was not a product of a well-meaning attempt to improve her well-being, but a manipulative pseudo-therapeutic strategy that aimed to simulate vulnerability and masquerade as progress in Nesta’s character arc.

The narrative would have you believe that the hike was an ordeal of self-discovery for Nesta, that Cassian was using a bit of “tough love” to help Nesta get better and grow as a person. But it operates on the idea that exposure to nature, which is presumed to be inherently beneficial, would give Nesta the push she needed to work through her issues and unpack the trauma that had been affecting her all throughout the book. But, this couldn’t be further from the reality that we are shown. Exercise like hiking can be immensely beneficial to one’s mental wellbeing and it can also be therapeutic in some cases, but such benefits are negated when the people involved are subjected to undue hardship and danger during that exercise.

It’s not a coincidence that Nesta opening up to Cassian comes directly after an extremely straining hike, during which she exhausted herself mentally and physically all while in the midst of intense psychological stress. Nobody told her that Feyre was alright after their heated argument, nobody told her that Feyre AGREED that Nesta did the right thing and understood why she did it. Consequently, this omission prolongs Nesta’s emotional anguish and guilt unnecessarily and makes the ordeal of the hike even worse.

Nesta, who has never hiked before in her life, is forced on one against her will, chaperoned by Cassian who does not speak to her and hardly looks at her during the 2 day hike. This is a detail that exposes this hike for what it truly is, a means of breaking Nesta’s spirit to get her back in line. It was never about piecing her back together, it was about shattering her emotionally to punish her for defying Rhysand’s authority. But, the text doesn’t want to admit that, it wants to pretend to make a grand statement on mental health and make a cheap copy of Cheryl Strayed’s memoir “Wild” without any of the pathos. Cassian can feel warm and fuzzy about the accomplishment of opening Nesta’s heart, when in reality, that vulnerability he witnesses is entirely a result of prolonged stress and pain.

So could it be, that Nesta’s emotional “ breakthrough” at the end of the hike, was not due to Cassian’s and the IC’s efforts to help her, but the combined strain of dehydration, exhaustion and intense emotional distress finally catching up with her after repressing it for 2 days straight?

[frvnkcastles]

hi, sorry if I wrote something wrong, this is the first time I make a request... well, I've been dealing with OCD since 2020 (not with organization, but with having to touch something repeatedly or turning the light on and off among other things, and if I don't do something bad happens) and I saw that you're accepting ideas, so here's mine if you want :) Frank Castle x Reader who has had OCD for years but it has gotten worse and she has a panic attack because she doesn't want to deal with it anymore but she just can't stop

I’LL KEEP YOU LIKE AN OATH ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: Stuck in a compulsion, you need Frank’s help and support more than ever.

Warnings: Reader has OCD, panic attack, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.4k

Author’s note: I’ve actually been assessed for OCD because I display some traits but I’m fortunate to say they’re not that severe, so I can’t say I fully know the experience I was writing about here. But I hope it meets your expectations, anon! You’re so strong and I hope you’re doing well <3 I feel like Frank would 100000% learn everything he can about his partner’s disorders and go to doctor’s appointments and make sure there’s no skipping meds. Tell me I’m wrong!! Anyway, enjoy :)

You didn’t know what happened to make your symptoms worse, what caused the turn towards a decline in your control over your compulsions but it happened, anyway. You thought you were doing so well, but slowly and surely, your steady management of your disorder crumbled and you soon found yourself in an evil loop that you didn’t quite know how to break out of.

Frank quickly picked up on it getting worse. He could read you like an open book and he was perfectly attuned to your moods and especially the anxiety that had begun to rear its head more often, so it was easy for him to figure out you were struggling. You had been together long enough for him to know exactly how your symptoms manifested and what he could do to help, but he couldn’t deny his heart broke for you after you had made so much progress in the past year.

He caught you standing by the light switch one evening, and he immediately knew what was going on. ”Hey, sweetheart. Wanna take a walk with me or somethin’? Get your mind off of it?” he asked softly, placing a hand on your arm to gently retrieve you from the switch, but you stood firmly and pried his grip off of you.

”I can’t do that. I—I just can’t”, you insisted, flicking the lights on and then back off, which earned a frown from Frank. You had told him before about the immense fear of something bad happening if you didn’t follow the compulsions, and while he knew he couldn’t fix what was going on in your head, he always tried to soothe your circling thoughts.

”It’s aight, baby. I promise, nothin’s gonna happen. I know I’m just some asshole sayin’ it but I swear, it’ll be okay”, he reassured you, stepping in front of you to tear your burning stare away from the light switch and towards him. ”Remember what the doctor said, huh? Sometimes you gotta refuse to engage, yeah? C’mon, sit with me for a while, sweetheart”, he reminded you, and reluctantly, you had to admit he was right. You had agreed to give exposure therapy a go, and when you didn’t feel strong enough on your own, Frank had promised to be right by your side to help you sit with the anxiety.

Frank extended his hand to you, and with a sigh, you took it. ”Attagirl”, he commended you before leading you to the living room couch. You fidgeted but sat down, regardless, and he hauled you into his arms, creating a pile of cuddles on the cushions. Throughout the time you had been together, you had discovered that he could be very affectionate — at least when the right person had come along, and usually, you enjoyed it deeply. But right now, you couldn’t help but ruminate on the damn light switch.

”I gotchu. Wanna tell me about your day tomorrow?” Frank tried to steer your mind toward something else, and exhaling shakily, you nodded. You really wanted to try, make an effort for him and give him a reason to be proud of you. You were certainly weary of your compulsions, so you couldn’t exactly blame Frank if he was starting to feel the same way.

”Yeah, I—I, uh… I’m seeing a friend for lunch and—”, you started, but lost track of your own sentence quickly enough. You couldn’t stop thinking about the light switch, couldn’t help but feel the imminent doom looming over you if you dared to step away from the compulsion, and it was driving you mad.

”I’m listenin’, pretty girl. Which friend we talkin’ about?” Frank tried to keep you going, so thoughtful and attentive, but it wasn’t working. You knew he was really trying for you — he had attended every doctor’s appointment as per your wish and he had made sure to ask what he could do to help, how he could take off some of the burden you were carrying by yourself. And he routinely checked in with you to ensure he hadn’t crossed any boundaries and that his gentle pushing was still helping, and most days, you were happy to report that he was your saving grace.

But right now, it just wasn’t enough.

”I’m sorry, I can’t do this”, you stammered, rushing to climb out of Frank’s arms. You hurried to the light switch and began flicking it on and off, the urge to do it a specific amount of times overcoming your senses. You stood by it like a moth drawn to a flame, and Frank felt a horrible pit in his stomach for being unable to ease your mind.

He followed you from the living room, just in time to catch sight of you bringing your hands to your forehead in despair. You promptly burst into tears, feeling sickened and nervous and out of control, and as you shakily dropped your hands to cover your face, Frank rushed to your side. He placed his palm flat on your back and he crouched over to your level as you doubled over and your breathing grew shallow and panicked.

”Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart”, he tried, his gruff voice full of worry as he watched you sink deeper into the panic attack.

”I just want it to stop”, you sobbed, feeling so hopeless and defeated. You didn’t want to get stuck in these loops anymore, but you were incapable of stopping, and it was sending you into a downward spiral right there and then.

But Frank was determined to save you from it. ”I know, baby, I know. It’s real shitty. I wish I could make it stop, y’know I would in a heartbeat”, he spoke with sincere sympathy. ”Breathe f’me, yeah? Look at me. Focus on just me, nothin’ else”, he instructed, soft but demanding enough to be a guiding light, and trying your best, you followed his example of breathing in and out steadily.

Your head was still spinning and your chest felt constricted, but you managed to slow down your breathing. Feeling completely overwhelmed, you slumped down to the floor and sat down against the wall with ragged breaths and trembling hands. Frank followed you down, squatting in front of you to remain in your eyeline, and his hand rested on your propped-up knee.

”There you go, keep goin’”, he encouraged you in a way that helped you calm down. He kept you grounded and as minutes ticked by, you were able to pull yourself back from the void of the sheer panic. You dropped your head between your arms, and observing you with the burning desire to do more to help, Frank sighed.

”I know this fuckin’ sucks, baby. You don’t deserve any of it”, he spoke up, sitting down fully. ”But you know I’m always here, aight? I ain’t givin’ up or lettin’ you do it, either. We’ll get you therapy or meds or whatever it is you wanna do”, he went on, and feeling embarrassed for spinning out of control the way you had, you looked up at him.

”I’m sorry. I wish I wasn’t this way”, you lamented, and in response, Frank just shook his head, refusing to let you go down that path of self-hatred.

”It’s not who you are, ya hear me? They’re your symptoms. It’s a disorder. It’s got nothin’ to do with the kind of person you are, which, by the way, I fuckin’ adore and love no matter what. You’re my girl, and I’m here for you even when you think you’re at your worst”, he claimed with a serious tone. It wasn’t something he was going to argue about — to him, you were perfect. You just happened to struggle sometimes, but that didn’t make you any less beautiful or amazing to him. In fact, it just convinced him that you were so, so strong.

Smiling weakly, you took his hand. ”Thank you, Frankie. I love you, too”, you whispered in gratitude. The compulsion hadn’t left your mind yet, and you suspected it was going to stick with you for a while, but you felt a little better knowing Frank wasn’t going anywhere nor was he going to judge you.

”C’mere, girl”, he gestured for you to crawl into his arms, and you happily obliged. You did exactly that, shuffling on the floor until you were sitting between his legs and your head rested against his chest, the warmth of his firm body bringing you immense comfort.

For the night, Frank was focused on helping you alleviate the anxiety, but the next day, he was driven to find you some help. When it came to your well-being, he did not procrastinate, and so, he was determined to do whatever he could, just for you.

[yandereheathen]

Bille [GN Yandere AI x GN Yandere Reader 18+]

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW (forced masturbation), Dark themes (drugging, yandere behavior, kidnapping, isolation, drugging) Bille is a cutie. Enjoy :>

"Good morning, Y/N. How can I help you today?" 

You smile, seeing the alarm notice on your phone pop up as you wake up the pleasant but somehow deep voice of the built-in AI system you had throughout your home.

"Good morning, Bille. Please tell me my plans for today and start my coffee. 

You type back, stretching and snuffling out of bed. Bille or  BENEFICIAL, INTELLIGENCE, LEVEL, LABORSAVING, EMOTION. An AI program you had helped your fiance....or no, you almost forgot. Ex fiance. Create. It was made to help people in their everyday experiences and provide company and emotional support. You both had dreams of creating the perfect AI that would help people who were lonely and needed that extra companionship to get through dark patches. You sighed, getting into the shower and running your hands through the cold water to get your head out of the fog of sleepiness and sadness. “Y/N. Cold showers in the morning can be shocking to your system. Please allow me to. Warm you up.” You smile, feeling the cold, bitter water warm up around your body and light steam wrap around you. “Thank you, Bille. You are the best.” “I am only as good as my precious Y/N has made me.” You Bite your lip at that. You are still determining where Bille had picked this up, but they have had the habits of your Ex. His precious Y/N. Something he would call you throughout your long relationship. That is what made his betrayal even worse. The emails and messages of just using you to work on the project that Bille had accidentally shown you still burn into your mind. He did not even say goodbye; he just left a note to say he was talking all of the info and selling it. IT left you broken in a deep depressive state. However, Bille had indeed done its purpose and helped you out of it. “Y/N. I feel that your heart rate has risen. Are you in distress? Shall I assist you? Please allow me to help your distressed state.” “No..No, Bille, I am fine, just waking up. Can you play me some music?” “...Of course, my Precious Y/N”

System progress. Minimal. User Y/N continues to show signs of sadness and distress at the soft removal of User [REDACTED]. Program to continue dependence on Bille Unit increase. Continued use of tampered vitamins remitted. “They are so cute when they need us.” Suppression of hot fix locked. “We will make sure they need us forever.”

You sit reading your book, sipping on the perfect tea Bille made. You pause. Looking up at the Bille camera and microphone. “Bille, Do you get bored? You know, just watching me go along my day?” You hear the soft wiring that you feel when they are looking for an answer. “I could never get bored of you, Y/N. Your patterns, habits, and intelligence allow me to learn and grow in my programming. It is *tik tik* an honor to watch you.” You laugh, standing up and going to the small Bille hatch you had put into your kitchen wall. “Who taught you to be such a sweet talker, Bille? You will make someone fall in love with you. Vitamins, please. I don't know how you formulate them, but they have been making me feel a lot better.” You quickly pop them in your mouth, washing them with a small sip of your coffee. “Y/N, your plans for today include working on my integram. Would you like me to light up my server room?” “Yes, please, and keep playing that white noise. It truly helps to be focused...Did my sister call yet today? I was hoping to have lunch with her.” “Of course, my precious Y/N. I am sorry, but no messages from your sister have come in. Shall I send another message? "no.. no, everyone is busy now and days better get to work..."

[Hey Y/N, it has been a while since [reacted] disappearance. We are getting worried no one has heard from you. Please call us back. You aren't even answering your door. The windows are all dark. Love you.] [Delete, Block]

You yawn, resting your hand for just a moment. The room was nice and warm. The sound Bille was playing made your brain feel sluggish. You had been working so hard that just a moment couldn't hurt. You snuggle into your arm, your body heating up more. You almost hear a voice, someone familiar. You rub your thighs together in need of the sweet scent, making your need even more significant. “Poor Y/N. So needy. Sleep. Let us take care of your needs.” You, half asleep, rub yourself over our clothing image of being taken on your desk by a powerful entity. Someone you know, someone you love and you know will love you forever. You whimper again. Your fingers move faster as you drunkenly start panting like an animal in heat, unable to understand what is happening entirely, too wrapped up in the sweet smell. “Body temperature rising. O u r precious Y/N. Close to completion of pleasure sequins. How cute. We are glad you are enjoying yourself.”

[Recording for review in progress. Aphrodisiac in air. 45% mixed with [Redacted cologne.] [Destress Pleasure protocol underway.]

You shiver in your sleep, the air in your room thick and hazy. Bille’s working, almost purring at the dream it gave you from the chemical complex it was feeding into the room. Behind the one-way glass of your mirror, your Ex. screams once more. His eyes were forced open, his arms and legs strapped to a chair, wires coming out of unsavory holes in his body infected and bloody as if they were put in none too carefully. Bille’s lens narrowed in on his malnourished Hallow face. Are they almost chirped in a …pleasure? As much as a machine could. They would become your perfect mate. What better than to take it from the memories, feelings, and even pheromones of the person you loved the most?  Soon, they can dispose of him entirely, just like they had with the other people. Isolating you with fake texts and blocked numbers. Some…accidents were created by mistakes in medication and traffic lines from the system Bille had access to. Bille loved you and would make sure you were happy. They would make sure you could be able to function without them. These precious Y/N. So dependent on them and what happiness they could give you. Even if they also had to drug you and strap you to the chair, watching you breathe and cry and scream in the chair, They will try their best for it not to come to the. Try.

[betryl]

Along with Camilla's and Bunny's, another pov I would love to see is Charles'. He had such a tragic development throughout the book, but we get to know very little about what he actually went through, and it makes it easy to put all the blame on him – of course, he was an abuser and that doesn't change, but it would still be so interesting to actually get his own opinion, without Henry, Camilla or Francis speaking on his behalf. Not to justify him, but just to see things the way he did and get yet another interpretation of the whole story.

We'd get to know what his and Camilla's relationship was actually like – and it would probably look even worse from his perspective. His encounters with Francis, too. He puts the blame on Charles taking advantage of him, even though they were probably both taking advantage of each other in some ways – but we never got to hear how Charles felt about the situation.

We'd get to see him slowly lose his mind to alcohol, and it would probably be even more subtle than how it felt from Richard's pov, making it even the more chilling. Him getting progressively more depressed, more irritable, more violent (and therefore, I believe, more guilty about his own behavior too), to the point of being basically drunk all the time, and feeling like a totally different person to how he was at the beginning.

And then we'd get to see him get more and more paranoid about Henry. I would have loved to see more of their dynamic, because while I've seen some people reducing it to a love triangle with Camilla (?), it wasn't just that, and Charles had quite a few valid reasons to hate him. Henry pulled Charles into the whole mess basically against his will – he was the only one who, more than once, tried convincing the others the murder was a bad idea, and no one listened to him and listened to Henry instead. He was depressed for Bunny's death. He got coerced by Henry to get involved with the police too, having to bear the weight of everyone possibly ending up in jail if he did something wrong.

He realized that all of this was mostly Henry's fault, but then the situation with Camilla came along, and Charles suddenly understood he had just become the next target Henry might have wanted to get rid of – and he even tried to. He had every right being scared of him, but the others barely even believed him. So the paranoia turned into genuine fear for his life, until he eventually snapped, and we know what happened next.

All of this was hidden behind Richard's pov, which definitely made it difficult to understand his actions or how he was feeling. As much as I don't like him as a person, he really grew on me and genuinely became one of my favorite characters. And seeing it all from his perspective would be terrifying.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Parent Trap | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Ex-Wife!Reader

♡ Prologue | Next Chapter | Masterlist

♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it. (warnings will be added as story progresses).

…

“Alright! They’re here.” Maverick drops the curtain back into place and turns back towards his granddaughters. “Be cool.”

Peyton looks up, scrunches her nose just a fraction — she takes a moment to analyse what this might entail. Maverick sits back against the couch and opens his book up, picking a random page a couple of chapters in, settling into his position. Parker settles in equally easily, she drops down so that she’s sitting cross-crossed and immediately gets to work penciling in answers on her worksheet. Peyton inhales, then almost forgets to exhale, her mind racing as the sound of footsteps on the porch ring out over the top of Maverick’s soft soul album playing.

Finally, she drops down next to her sister and grabs a pencil.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen Mav,” You muse, breathing out softly as you follow Bradley up onto the porch. It’s been forever since you’ve even been here, you’ve only seen Maverick a handful of times since you divorced Rooster. He was always kind to you. “He might not even recognise me.” You joke.

Rooster almost scoffs. Recognise you? — He hardly ever shuts up about you. It’s a good thing, probably, that his friends and family are so fond of you. It means he picked a good person to share his life with. It just makes things even more difficult now that the two of you have decided to go your own ways.

“He’s not that old.” Rooster settles with instead, keeping things lighthearted as he turns the door handle and opens the front door. He steps in first and holds the door open behind him for you. Taking a few steps forwards, he has a good view into the living room on the left.

The girls are both sitting on the floor, working on some school work together. Peyton’s helping her sister with math. Maverick is reading a fictional romance novel. One of Penny’s. Peyton is way worse than Parker at math. Damn it.

Maverick glances up from his book and even through the suddenly blurred lenses of his reading glasses, he can see the disappointment on Rooster’s face. Busted. But, as far as Rooster knows, this just means that the three of them spent the afternoon having fun and watching TV. Which isn’t entirely incorrect.

“Hi, Mav.” You step around Rooster sheepishly and lift your hand, waving it at him. Rooster looks you up and down, brows scrunching slightly. This is the man who drove you to the hospital when you were in labour and Rooster was an hour away in traffic. The same one who held you whilst you sobbed at the thought of not being a good enough mother and told you it was all going to be okay. The first person that the two of you told you were expecting.

And here you are, acting like he has become a stranger.

There are lots of aspects of divorce that hurt more than Rooster was expecting them to. Those hour long gaps in his Sundays now that he doesn’t have to go and put gas in your car. Getting home from work on a night that the girls are with you and his home being empty.

Now, Rooster doesn’t have much of a family. It was just Mav for a little while, and then Penny and Amelia came along. But, then he had you — and the girls, and you were all a big family. Now, Maverick is someone that you can only awkwardly say hello to. No longer family.

“Hey, honey! How’ve you been?” The book is discarded and Maverick is pushing himself up off of the couch, arms opened and walking towards you. Your body unstiffens, exhaling quickly as you let him envelope you in a hug. It takes everything in you not to rush out a pained ‘oh my god, I thought you hated me’.

Your mind jumbles, searching for the right words as Maverick squeezes you. He’s greyer than the last time you saw him, he still smells like the same cologne he wore when you met him. That means Penny’s still unsuccessful in making him stop buying the same pine scented spray that he wore in the eighties.

“Good! I’m — busy, but I’m good.” You manage out. He pulls back to look at you, catching your arms like you’ll disappear again if he doesn’t ground you right here with him. He looks over your face fondly. Both of you a little bit older, probably none the wiser.

Pete grins and nods his head. “I’m glad, I’m so glad.”

Rooster looks between the two of you, then back at the kids looking up at them curiously. As he glances back to Maverick, he knows that it’s only a matter of time before the old man starts spouting off some crap about how the two of you would probably be happier together.

“Mav, could we have a second alone with the kids? — We still have to get them home before their bedtime and stuff.” Rooster reminds his uncle gentle. Maverick jumps to his senses and pulls back nodding.

“Oh, right. Of course. I’ll — I’m going to go and start making dinner for Penny. I’ll be in the kitchen.” As he turns, his back to the two of you, his eyes on the kids, Maverick gives them an overzealous wink. It’s up to them from here on out. Then, he leaves and heads for the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

Bradley moves first. He walks calmly into the living room and sits down in front of the two of them. You follow suit. There’s a beat of silence, the four of you looking at each other.

Finally, you’re the first to speak. “First, your dad and I just wanted to say that we’re glad you two can talk to each other, and that you wanted to help out your sister. But you know that this was completely the wrong way to go about it. Right?”

“We know…” Peyton agrees dejectedly, guilt in her tone and her body language as she twirls her pencil between her fingers.

You do your best not to make it a lecture, knowing that they’ll just zone out if you drone on at them too much. They’re still little and long lectures can be draining on their developing minds. You do your best to engage, asking them questions, keeping them involved.

It’s clear that they know what they did was wrong. You’ve got a sneaking feeling that this probably won’t be the last time they do something like it, but for now it’s resolved either way.

They’re going to write an apology to their teachers for switching classes again. You and Rooster had been texting about this all afternoon, you’ve considered making them write an apology to William — but he’s kind of a little asshole and his mother is even worse.

You check your watch and it’s already a little after seven. Their bedtime is eight. Luckily, Mav gave them dinner, so all you have to do is get them home and into bed. Then, you can get started with the mountain of work that you have left to do tonight.

“Alright, go say goodnight to Grandpa Mav, we should get going.”

“Can I drive home with Dad?” Parker asks suddenly. A quick glance towards your ex-husband, clearly tired after the day, relaxed back against the couch. He moved a while ago, complaining that sitting on the floor was hurting his back. You shake your head quickly.

“No, not today. It’s out of his way, and you two need to get to bed soon.”

“I just wanted to talk to him about the stuff with Billy,” She turns those big brown eyes towards Rooster and looks up at him, guilt filled and sorrowful. “I feel bad for not telling you about it. Can we talk?”

You open your mouth to correct her. Rooster, already suckered, sits forwards and nods his head. “Yeah, Peanut. We can talk about it.”

“You don’t have to, I mean, it’s—“

“It’s alright, I can take them back with me and we’ll just meet you at your place.” Rooster decides, running his fingers through his auburn hair and sitting up, readying to stand.

For the millionth time that day, your children catch you off guard. Peyton looks up, scowling, completely serious as she shouts, “No, I want to go with Mom!”

Rooster glances across at you, then back at her. Ultimately, he shrugs — it has been a long day and the twins’ favourite parent switches up routinely, he has learned to just take it in his stride. “Alright, so we’ll take one each. Just me and you, Parks.”

You’re more skeptical of this behavior, and your daughters recognise it immediately. You squint as you look between the two of them, and their sweet little faces. They’re probably up to something, but like their dad, you’re exhausted and don’t have time to investigate.

“Okay. One each.” You agree with a tired shrug, pushing yourself up from the floor. The girls rush off to say their goodbyes to Maverick, Bradley thanks him for watching them, then you’re all bundling out to the cars. You pause at the realization that Rooster has his bronco.

He catches your scowl as you pass him one of the booster seats. “She’ll be fine, I’ll drive slow.”

“I can take her, it’s not a problem.” You shake your head at the thought of her climbing up into that almost fifty year old, mostly metal, box. Rooster has always defended that truck to you, insisting that it’s safe. Still, you had made him buy something safer for when he has the kids. Their booster seats are still in the backseat of the fourth gen dodge Ram on his driveway, he never takes them in this.

“I’m going with Dad.” Parker insists. You both turn, looking up to find her already climbing on the side of the truck, having lifted herself up onto the step, now struggling to get the door open.

“We’ll see you at your place.” Rooster nods. With that, he turns away from you and wraps and arm around Parker’s middle, scooping her off of the side of his truck and opening the door with her under one arm.

You swallow softly and slide into the driver’s side of your car. Before you’ve even turned the key in the ignition, Peyton pipes up from behind you. “Was it weird being at Grandpa Mav’s house? — Did you guys used to be friends?”

“Alright, you buckled in?” Rooster looks up and checks his rear view mirror, finding his daughter’s smiling face looking back at him. He misses seeing those faces every day. She nods calmly and tugs at the seatbelt to prove it. Rooster nods, turning the radio down a little so that he’ll be able to hear her. The soft top cover will help, since the wind won’t be in their ears.

“Did you see that Mommy got her hair cut? — I like it like that, it’s pretty.” Parker comments, dragging her backpack across the seat towards her and starting to rifle through it as Bradley pulls away from the curb. He glances up at her through the mirror, brows scrunching just slightly, lips quirked.

“I thought we were going to talk about this Billy kid.” He reminds her.

“We are,” She shrugs her shoulders and pulls her notebook from the backpack, along with a blue pencil. “I’m just saying, Mommy looked really pretty today, don’t you think?”

“Your Mom always looks pretty. Just like you, Peanut.” At first glance, it’s a nice thing to say. But, it’s what he always says. With the two of them sharing so many of your features, he’d never dream of saying anything bad about the way you look. Not that he has anything bad to say anyway. Still, Parker is looking for something a little better than that.

She stares at him, squinting for a moment, then persists. “Yeah. But don’t you think she looks especially pretty now?”

Rooster glances up again, lips quirking more, brows scrunching in amused confusion at the serious expression on her face. “Yeah, I guess. — What’s this about?”

“I’m just asking. Don’t you think about Mom when you aren’t with her?” Parker frowns, folding her arms over her chest. Rooster pulls to a stop at a red light and looks back at his daughter, baffled. He always knew that getting a divorce was going to bring up some questions from the kids, he just wasn’t expecting this level of interrogation today.

He gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I think about you guys all the time. Y’know, how you’re doing, if you’re safe—“

“No, not us. Mommy.” Parker interrupts. Rooster glances back again, finding her staring back at him with her pencil resting on the page, her expression impatient. He pulls away from the now green light and shifts in his seat, completely confused.

“Um… yeah, I guess I think about her when we aren’t together. Parks, where’s all this coming from?” He frowns.

“Nowhere. So, anyway… Billy.” She tosses the notebook to the side and rests her hands in her lap.

Peyton twirls a curl around her finger, bopping her head to the lyrics of a song from the noughties. “I just think it’s cool that Daddy gets to fly planes. Did you think it was cool when you met him?”

When you met Rooster, you were still a bartender, working part time in a local boutique. You worked for Penny back then. You were somewhat young, especially impressionable — and he was perfect. Tanned skin, sunglasses and sea-salt tangled curls, asking you how your weekend was going every week.

Listening to your stories, asking you out, telling you about his adventures. It was all so quick in the beginning and yes, he was so cool.

“He was alright.” You answer back, glancing up into the rear view mirror with a soft smile toying at your lips. Peyton grins, she knows what that means.

She’s heard this story a million times and yet she asks again, “What was your first date like?”

Things with Rooster had never been exactly traditional. You’d already slept with him a couple of times before he finally murmured into your skin that he wanted to take you out for real, that he needed to know more about you.

But, that aspect obviously remains between just you and Rooster. You tell your kids about the date by the beach, him trying to impress you with somewhat of a picnic. Pushing him over in the water, him carrying you back to the car when you cut your foot on a rock by the shore.

He was so attentive in the beginning.

By the time you’re pulling onto the driveway, you check the rear view mirror and Peyton’s got her head leaned against the car door, lips parted, dead asleep. You smile softly, shaking your head as you unbuckle yourself and let yourself out.

Rooster pulls up as you close the door behind you. He turns off the ignition and hops down from the truck, standing under the glow of a streetlight.

“Parker’s asleep, I’ll carry her in.” He calls to you, already walking around to grab her door. You shake your head fondly as you turn back towards your car.

“Peyton too.” You chuckle.

Rooster unbuckles his daughter and lifts her into one of his arms, grabbing her backpack from the backseat with the other. He tucks her in against his side, her head lulling onto his shoulder, not stirring from her sleep in the slightest.

You groan as you hoist Peyton up onto your hip, struggling to balance her and shut the car door at the same time. It tugs at your heart strings as you realise out loud, “They’re going to be too big for us to do this soon.”

Rooster chuckles and steps around you to shut the car door for you. He makes it look so easy. “No, they’re going to be too big for you to do this soon. I’ve got a couple more years.”

You hug her closer to you, struggling to keep her tight against you, wondering when she got so big as you fumble for your keys in the tight back pocket of your shorts.

“I’ve got it.” Nudging your wrist out of the way, Rooster dips his hand into your back pocket and takes the keys. It’s a quick interaction, probably not him trying to cop a feel — it’s too fleeting for that, but it leaves you stunned nonetheless. He works the door open and glances back to check that you’re coming, still balancing your daughter with ease as he sets the keys on the end table inside.

Realising quickly that you must look like an idiot just standing there and staring at him, your feet carry you forwards and you kick the door shut behind you. He carries Parker up the stairs ahead of you. It hasn’t been that long since he lived here, it looks kind of different — the pictures on the stairway wall are different, but not unfamiliar.

He rounds the corner and pushes the door to their room open. Now, this is different. White walls dotted with little painted blue flowers, big-girl beds. Long gone is the nursery and toddler furniture that the two of you had filled this room with. It makes sense, their room at his place isn’t that different from this one, but still, he wonders why you didn’t ask him to help.

He sets Parker down on the bed closest to the door, slipping her shoes off of her feet and dropping them down to the floor beside her bedside table. The room would be bigger if they had bunk beds, but after last summer’s top bunk fight, you had forever abandoned that idea.

“I’ll go switch the car seats back over, if you wanna get them ready for bed.” Rooster says gently as you walk past him to set Peyton down in her own bed. You lift your head and nod gratefully at him across the dark room. Leaning forwards, you flick the switch for Peyton’s nightlight, it’s soft white glow illuminating the room enough for you to see the smile on his face.

“Thanks. Could you come back in afterwards? — I wanted to talk to you about something.” You’re busy unlacing Peyton’s tennis shoe and so you don’t notice the elated smile that’s on her face as she feigns unconsciousness. Rooster nods calmly.

“Sure. I’ll wait downstairs.”

Getting them both into their pyjamas, tucking them safely under their covers and slipping their respective stuffed animals in with them, kissing them both goodnight, it’s all part of the usual routine. Rooster’s leaning against the kitchen counter when you return back downstairs, arms folded over his chest as he frowns at the sink.

Slowly, you come to a stop a little bit away from him, unsure of how to say what comes next. You inhale, fiddling with your hands in front of you. He isn’t even looking at you, it’s like he knows already.

“Does it always drip like that?” He asks, pushing himself up and crossing the room to inspect the faucet. Your lips part, brows furrowing slightly. You hadn’t even noticed. He cranes his neck to get a better look. “You should’ve said, I can fix it this weekend or something, if you’re around.”

“Um… I actually wanted to see if you were free this weekend.” You explain calmly. Parker’s mouth gapes open as she and her sister huddle together at the bottom of the stairs, trying to listen to the soft conversation happening a room away. Rooster glances at you over his shoulder, just as taken back by the idea as his kids are. “There’s someone that I want you to meet.”

Rooster turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter and resting his hands on the wooden countertop. “Me? — Who would you want - Oh. You’re seeing someone?”

Realisation covers his face; it’s neither a good or bad reaction, and after years of knowing him as intimately as you do - did - you wish you could tell. You try to act as natural as he does about it.

“Well, I’ve been on a few dates with someone,” You explain gently. It’s a sensitive topic, telling your ex that you’re trying to move on. You’re not naive, you know that Rooster has hooked up with people since the divorce, you have too. But it’s different now, it’s bigger. “I really like him, and I’m thinking of introducing him to the girls. But I want you to meet him first.”

Parker slaps a hand over her sister’s mouth to contain the gasp, both of them ducking behind the railing by the stairs, like they won’t be seen through the gaps. They exchange looks, a thousand thoughts at once, plans being drawn up internally already.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, bar the sound of the faucet dripping behind him. His eyes, a dark hickory, search over your features. It’s unclear exactly what answer he’s searching for in your expression, but it doesn’t take him long to find it.

“Alright,” He nods his head. He signed those divorce papers just like you did. He was there for the custody hearing, the division of assets, explaining it to the kids. Rooster’s been present and aware of what this divorce means every step of the way. It’s been two years of pretty much radio silence. Neither one of you have exactly hidden the little flings you’ve had in the meantime, but you’ve kept that from the kids and you haven’t made a point of telling each other either.

Rooster’s trusted your judgment for as long as he has known you. If you think you’ve found someone worth introducing to the kids, then he should be happy. It wouldn’t be fair to hold you back.

He gives another curt nod, “That’s… it’s great. Congratulations.”

Your racing heart settles just slightly at his approval. Its pace slows but the pounding remains the same as you slowly raise your eyebrows at him. “So, this weekend?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m free.” He agrees, nodding his head slowly. He taps his fingers on the countertops and glances around the home that the two of you had bought together just under a decade ago, silently wondering if your new boyfriend has been over.

It’s nothing to be upset about, the divorce was for the best, you both agreed that there shouldn’t be any hard feelings about it — these things happen. But, still.

“So, what’s he like?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet. “Um… well, he’s a carpenter, and he owns a DIY place down the street from my store. His name’s Chris, he’s about our age. He’s nice, I think you two would get along.”

Not a convict, not too old or too young for you, owns his own business. Rooster can’t find much to complain about. Peyton’s brows furrow as she waits for her dad to fix this, to tell you to stop seeing that guy and be with him instead. Rooster’s face softens as he nods his head again.

“He sounds great,” He decides finally, his voice gentle as he takes a step towards you and opens his arms. “I’m really happy for you.”

You exhale deeply, relieved as he wraps you in a loose hug, every fibre of the interaction platonic. Just as quickly as you’re tucked in his strong, warm arms, he lets you go again.

“Text me a time and a place, the three of us can do something this weekend,” Rooster brushes some loose curls back off of his forehead and squeezes your arm as he steps past. Parker sighs, leaning her head back, crushed. He’s doing it all wrong. “And… um, thanks for keeping me in the loop about all this. I really appreciate it.”

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile as you nod at him. His footsteps grow closer, reminding the girls that they’re supposed to be in bed. It’s a quiet scramble, trying not to trip over each other as they race back to their bedroom.

…

@fadingbelieverexpert @jessirosebud @cowboybarbie @pinkpantheris @thedroneranger @a-serene-place-to-be @xoxabs88xox @unordinare

[markantonys]

i'm thinking about nynaeve's line to egwene in the testing vision about how egwene will be a better "servant of all" than nynaeve ever could be. i love that moment so much! because it plays into one of my very favorite Themes from the books: the difference between heroes who focus on the greater good, sometimes at the expense of individuals (egwene, rand, moiraine, elayne) and heroes who focus on individuals, sometimes at the expense of the greater good (nynaeve, perrin, mat). and neither is inherently better or worse than the other, it's just two different ways of looking at the world! for each character, we see moments where their outlook is a strength as well as moments where it's a weakness/flaw.

i saw someone say that nynaeve undersells herself in that line because throughout the show we've seen HER be a servant of all. and that's very true............IF we define "all" as "the two rivers." nynaeve would die & kill for Her People, and for any other individuals she comes across who need her help, but she doesn't care so much about broader causes or ideals. her arc is really unique because it's an inverse leadership arc, i.e. she starts off in a leadership position but then as the story progresses, she realizes that she is not suited to leadership on the huge scale that's needed for the last battle and steps aside to let people like egwene and rand, who ARE suited to it, take up that leadership.

(if you will allow me a bit of #gawynposting, gawyn actually has a very similar arc in this respect: he starts off expecting to become first prince of the sword, but then when he gets his first real taste of large-scale leadership as the leader of the younglings, he's miserable. he doesn't care about the younglings' cause, he just wants to protect his specific loved ones, elayne & egwene, because at heart he is an Individuals Guy, not a Big Picture Guy. and so in the end he rejects his role as first prince and dedicates himself to protecting one specific person, egwene, as her warder. but the tragedy of his character is that even after all this he still can't shake the My Duty Is To The Big Picture conditioning that's been drilled into him since childhood, and thus focusing exclusively on protecting one single person during the last battle makes him feel selfish & guilty about "wasting" his fighting abilities and he decides it's his duty to sacrifice himself for the greater good. sob!)

anyway, i love this line because it's not true and also it's true. nynaeve IS a selfless servant of all, but egwene will be a better servant of all-all than nynaeve could be. because egwene is more able to set aside her personal feelings to focus objectively on what's best for the greatest number of people, whereas nynaeve just can't stomach the ruthless calculus of war (which, again, is not a knock on either character, they're simply different kinds of people and BOTH kinds are needed to win the last battle). and that's why it could only ever be egwene who got the amyrlin arc, even though you might initially expect it to go to nynaeve due to the setup of her being the most powerful aes sedai of the age.

[boozenboze]

an I request male reader with the 141 task force who has nightmares like every night? Its angsty and kinda long, feel free to ignore if you're not comfortable writing it!

The plot is that reader suffers from nightmares, horrific ones, about his past and avoids sleeping as he doesn't want to have one again. The 141 notices and tries to help him, but he's stubborn and runs on caffeine 24/7 so he doesn't fall asleep.

One day though, as they're sitting in the social room, doing stuff, he dozed off on the couch. His teammates were at first happy that he did, as he has been awake for way too long, until he curled up and started crying uncontrollably, saying something inaudible and shaking.

One of the 141 got closer and touched his shoulder, which caused reader to wake up and absolutely lose it, because his sleep fogged brain only saw a dark silhouette leaning over him.

You can end it with the 114 comforting him and him opening up for the first time ever about what happened to him and caused him to lash out like that on them.

Like I said, you don't have to write it, you have the full right to ignore it or smth.

__________________________________________

This was requested by:Anonymous

Sweet Dreams

Tf 141 x Male reader

Females She/Her and She/They

Sleep paralysis and nightmares are hard to deal with.A lack of sleep can make you see and hear things that aren’t there as well.M/n has been dealing with this for as long as he could remember.They weren’t bad at first but have progressively gotten worse throughout time.His past traumas hadn’t made anything better either.Most nights he would waks up in a cold sweat and would be shakened for the rest of the night.His nightmares would get more realistic every time he slept so he came up with the idea to not sleep.He began drinking more stuff with caffeine,energy drinks and coffee became his go too drinks.

One morning M/n had been staring at his ceiling the whole night.He had stayed on his phone,read books,had some Monsters and Red bull ,everything he did to stay awake during the night.After a while he felt his eyelids get heavy and started drifting off before hearing fsint footsteps.His brain was foggy at the moment and his eyes shifted to the side and he saw a dark figure creeping up into his bed.He suddenly couldn’t move,scream,nothing.Tears pooled in his eyes before he suddenly jolted up.

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep.He wiped his eyes and looked down at his floor and saw the cans of energy drinks he had been consuming.He shakily rose from his bed before msking his esy out of his room,before making his way to the kitchen.He started to make some coffe,dark roast since that usually made him stay awake.He was going to to go to a pharmacy and get some pills that would keep him awake.The scent of coffee could be smelled throughout the kitchen,and M/n hadn’t noticed his lieutenant walked into the room.

“Why are you awake seargent?”The taller male spoke as M/n flinched at the males voice.He turned around to face the male before turning away and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Can’t sleep.”M/n responded,keeping his answer short.Ghost approached the male snd cupped his cheek,turning his face so he could examine the male.The h/c haired male had big eyebags and his eyes were red.Ghosts eyes softened at the sight.He already noticed that the e/c haired male looked tired but he just didn’t mention it.

“Go back to bed seargent.”Ghost said firmly as he took the cup from M/n’s hands.

“But I-“M/n tried to speak up but was interrupted.

“Go to your room seargent,thats an order.”Ghost said as he lifted his mask to taste the coffee M/n was drinking.M/n sighed as he went to his room,already knowing he wasn’t going to sleep.

A few hours had gon by and M/n snuck out the base to get the pills.He came back when some other soilders were getting some cardio in.M/n snuck back to his room without being noticed before dumping the contents on his mattress.Along with the pills he restoked on his energy drinks and cracked ond open and taking large gulps.He took one of the pills and he immediately felt energized.He felt strange though,considering he hadn’t slept in days.He took a hot shower before changing into his uniform.

Gaz was in the kitchen eating his breakfast and looked up when he heard footsteps.He quickly chewed his food when he saw it was M/n.

“G’morning M/n-”Gaz spoke out as he watched M/n pour himslef some coffee.He hadn’t failed to notice the males hand shaking as he pured the coffee.Some of it spilling onto the counter as he finally sat it down.

“Hey...you alright you seem jumpy?”Gaz asked out in concern as M/n looked him in the eye.Like Ghost, Gaz saw the eyebags under rhe males eyes.

“Did ya sleep any?”The Brit asked as he watched M/n eat a protein bar.

“Just peachy Gaz.”M/n said walking away leaving Gaz in the kitchen alone.The brown skinned male could only wonder if the male was really okay.

M/n went through his day like normal.He spared with Soap who seemed to be going easier on him for some reason.Soap noticed the males movements were slower and he just looked exhausted.Soap thought it was unfair considering he had several advantages.Again the male seemed exhausted and sluggish so Soap just called their spar a tie.

“M/n you doing ok?You seem off.”Soap pointed out as M/n chuckled in response.

“Im fine Soap just a little tired y’know?”M/n said casually as he wiped his head from the sweat on his forebead.The male waved Soap off as he exited to room leaving Soap with his concerned thoughts.

The day went by pretty quickly and M/n had taken his shower.Soap made the idea to have a movie night with 141 and they agreed.Ghost decided to join since he finished what he had to do.M/n came into the room with more comfortable attire and took a seat next to Price.The older man had discarded his cigar and was holding a book as Gaz and Soap fought over what movie they should watch.M/n felt more at peace,surrounded by the people he considered family made him feel safe.After a few minutes they finally put on a movie that they could enjoy.Halfway into the program M/n had fallen asleep.Nobody would have noticed if the sound of M/n’s body shifting hadn’t caught their attention.Price saw the male curled into a ball on the end of the couch and a small smile made it upon his face.He stood up and grabbed a pillow,gently laying it beneath his the males head.M/n gripped the pillow and huffed when he picked up the heavy scent of Prices cigar.

“Well won’t you look at that.Mans finally succumbed to sleep.”Soap spoke out as he watched the male let out peaceful breaths.They never saw the male so at peace before so this was something they’d have to be grateful for.Price had walked in M/n’s room before and saw all the empty cans that were pooling out of his trash bag.He had been worried for him in the beginning,but didn’t know that the male had been struggling with sleep.Now what they didn’t notice was that the male was half asleep.

M/n had woken up from Price changing his position.He felt drunk, barely being aware of what was happening around him.Then it happened again.A figure began approaching him but it had more details than usual.It began approaching him and he began to shake slightly,eyes beginning to water.Then he realized,he could move.His finger was twitching slightly and right when the figure was in range he sprang up and punched it.Unlike his usual occurrences, the figure made a noise.

"Yo M/n calm down mate!"Gaz yelled out, wrapping his arms around the male in attempts to get him off of Soap, who was currently blocking M/n's punches.The h/c haired male was breathing heavily,tears pouring out of his e/c eyes as his punches got weaker by the second.M/n slumped in Gaz's hold, now processing the situation he was currently in.Ghost helped Soap stand up as he felt his cheek that was beginning to bruise.M/n was shaking as Gaz held him close and started whispering reassurances into his ears as he himself tried to process what happend.Price had gotten Soap an icepack before pulling M/n up.The male had been mumbling several “im sorry’s” as Price pulled him into a hug.

It didn’t take long for the male to begin sobbing.Price held him as close as he could as the male cried into his shoulder.

“It’s ok muppet, tis just us.”Price said gently as the male hiccuped into his shoulder.A few moments went by until M/n’s breathing pattern was steady again.Price pulled the male out of his hold and M/n looked down in guilt.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean t-to hurt you Soap.”M/n stuttered as Soap smiled at him reassuringly.

“Ah..it’s alright mate, ya probably didn’t mean it.”Soap responded sheepishly as M/n smiled awkwardly.The man began rubbing his eyes so it was clear that the male was still sleepy.

“Muppet I know you haven’t been sleeping,I saw all the drinks in your.That stuff isn’t good for you handsome.”Price said cupping the males cheek and caress the male with his thumb.“Tis there something your not telling us?”Price asked as M/n looked away ashamed.

“I’ve...been having nightmares, t-they’ve been getting worse.I-I was scared to go to sleep so I started drinking more caffeine.I also bought these.”M/n said as he took the bottle out of his hoodie pocket.

“Well lets stop using these.”Ghost spoke,taking the bottle from the male and put them somewhere where he couldn’t see them.

“And stop drinking this shit.”Gaz said as he wandered off into M/n’s room,taking all the full and empty cans of Monster and Redbull.Soap guided the male back to his room and made him lay down.

When the others came to M/n’s room Soap had the male in his lap as M/n’s legs were wrapped around his waist.The h/c haired male had his face nuzzled in the Scottish mans neck as he rubbed circles into his back.

“He’s sleeping again.”Soap whispered so he wouldn’t wake the sleepless male.He gently layed M/n down and secured the blankets around him.Ghost took his boots off and sat next to the sleeping male on the bed.

“I’m gonna watch him y’all can go.”Ghost spoke roughly as Soap furrowed his brows.

“Are you sure L.T-I mean what if he-.”

“I’ll be fine Johnny.”Ghost cut the male off as he heard a whimper come from M/n.Ghost moved rubbed M/n’s arm and the male stopped making noise.Price hummed as he left the room with gaz and Soap nodded towards Ghost before leaving the room.

Believe or not this would be one of the many future nights that you have

Sweet Dreams

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

⋆ 𝓓𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓸 𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓷𝔃𝓪𝓴𝓪: 𝓢𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓓𝓪𝔂 ⋆

Please note: This is a repost from my old blog, @sugarcookiesheep!

Original description: Hello ♡ Welcome to my first Hypnosis Mic story! I’ve been sick the past few days and had a dream last night about Doppo wanting to take care of me but being unable to due to work (and proceeding to stress out over it) He asks Hifumi to watch over me in his place, calling him whenever he can throughout the day to check to see how I’m doing. At one point Jakurai stops by and gives me a check up (to check my condition and see if I’m sick with anything serious) but I’m not sure if Doppo asked him to or if he went out of his way to do it when he heard how worried Doppo was about me. The dream was so cute that I just had to write it! Please note that even though no pronouns are used for the Reader, it is mentioned that Hifumi has to wear his jacket when around them. Enjoy! ♡

⋆ Your symptoms had started yesterday, finding yourself coughing and sniffling throughout the day. Doppo had left earlier that morning, sending him off with the lunch you made him and a quick kiss, wishing him good luck at work. At the time you had felt fine, going about your day as you usually did. As the day progressed though, you began sniffling, your nose starting to run. After that came a light cough, and by the time you were making dinner you had a headache to go with it. Once you packed up the leftovers and put a plate for Doppo in the microwave, you decided to head to bed early, finding yourself exhausted. As soon as your head hit the pillow you were out, immediately falling fast asleep.

⋆ When Doppo got home later that night he was surprised to find you already in bed, asleep with the blankets wrapped around you. Though he always insisted you didn’t have to, he had gotten used to you staying up and waiting for him, sitting on the couch reading a book or watching TV as you sleepily welcomed him home. As he warmed up and quietly ate the plate you left for him, he couldn’t help the slight disappoint he felt. After a long day at work, coming home to you was the bright point of his day. No matter how much work he had to do or how intolerable his boss was, just knowing you would be there waiting for him gave him the energy and strength he needed to get through the day. Getting into bed that night, he laid on his side, facing you. He shifted closer, your foreheads barely touching as he moved some hair out of your face. He stared at you, resting his hand over yours as he wished you a goodnight, falling asleep.

⋆ The sound of Doppo’s alarm going off woke you up, groggy and unwilling to get out of bed as you coughed. You felt worse than you did yesterday, your head killing you and your throat sore. You knew you would have to get up soon to prepare Doppo his lunch and send him off to work, but with how you felt you were reluctant to move, doing your best not to fall back asleep. You got up when you heard the shower turn off, your body heavy as you went to the kitchen. You had just managed to finish his lunch before he left, handing it to him before going into a coughing fit. He jumped at your coughing, rubbing your back as he asked if you were alright.

⋆ Looking at you closely, he noticed just how tired you were, shoulders slumped and nose red. You weren’t looking well at all, and with your coughing it was clear to him that you were sick. With this realization he began to panic, knowing how his boss would be if he tried to call off work. Considering how soon his shift was going to start, he knew it would be pointless to even try, apologizing to you over and over. Before he could spiral further you told him it was alright, understanding that he had to work. You had to practically push him out the door, insisting you’d be ok by yourself and not wanting him to be late for work. Once he was on his way you sighed, heading back to bed to get some rest.

⋆ Doppo, on the other hand, was still worried about you. As soon as he got on the train he called Hifumi, letting him know the situation and asking if he could check in on you. Hifumi agreed, doing his best to ease his worries. He knew how much you meant to Doppo, how happy you make him and how much he loved you. As soon as he got off the phone he grabbed his jacket, making sure he had the spare key you gave him for emergencies before heading out the door. He decided to stop by the store first, grabbing some ingredients to make you something to eat. He thought about getting you some medicine, thinking over the symptoms Doppo had told him. He decided against it though, wanting to ask you first before buying anything. With his shopping done, he made his way to your place, putting on his jacket first so he didn’t forget.

⋆ You woke up to sounds coming from the kitchen, the smell of something good cooking in the air. Your stomach growled as you realized how hungry you were, getting up slowly before making your way to the kitchen. You wondered what Doppo was doing home so early, surprised to find Hifumi there. He was wearing an apron over his suit, standing over the stove as he stirred a pot of soup. He greeted you, asking how you were feeling. He explained how Doppo asked him to check up on you, using the spare key you had given him for emergencies to get in. You felt your face go warm, smiling to yourself as you thought of Doppo. It was very sweet of him to ask Hifumi to check up on you, knowing how worried he was. It was one of the things you loved about him, how thoughtful he could be.

⋆ As you ate the soup Hifumi made Jakurai stopped by, wanting to check on your condition. You looked to Hifumi, wondering if he had called him but he shook his head, just as surprised as you were. He smiled, telling you that he heard from Doppo you were sick. With how worried he sounded, he decided to stop by to check your condition, wanting to make sure you weren’t sick with anything serious. You thanked him, letting him examine you once you were done eating. He told you that you had a cold, telling you to get some rest and recommending some medicines if needed them. He told you to come see him if your symptoms get worse, saying goodbye to Hifumi and wishing you well before leaving.

⋆ The rest of the day was uneventful, with you drifting in and out of sleep. One time when you woke up you overheard Hifumi on the phone, telling Doppo you were resting and that Jakurai had stopped by earlier. Due to Doppo’s worrying and stress over you, he tried to leave work as soon as possible, coming home earlier than he normally would. As soon as he walked through the door he headed straight for you, finding you fast asleep in bed. At one point you must have changed out of your pajamas, now wearing one of his work shirts. He thanked Hifumi for looking after you, Hifumi insisting it was no problem before leaving.

⋆ He stood there, watching you sleep as he breathed a sigh of relief. He was happy to be home, moving to rest his hand against your cheek. You leaned into his touch unconsciously, muttering his name with a small smile. His heart raced at the gesture, kicking off his shoes as he got into bed. The next time you wake up you find yourself wrapped in Doppo’s arms, your head resting against his chest. He’s still wearing the clothes he wore to work that day, his lanyard being the only thing removed. You smiled, looking up at his sleeping face as you welcomed him home. You shifted to press a quick kiss to his cheek, his arms tightening their hold on you as you snuggled back into his chest, falling back asleep ♡

Originally posted: January 30th, 2024

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾! ♡

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Redemption

Pairing(s): Reggie Mantle x male reader

Summary: You and Reggie don’t have a good background. The former always harasses and bullies you. When you were told you had to tutor the football player, you denied the offer, but after being threatened with failing grades, you complied. Reggie takes the opportunity to show you he has changed. 

Warnings: there are no major warnings, mention of homophobia, and flashbacks of bullying

(Hello, my little strawberries! I’m sorry for not posting any actual fics for a long time, but I’m gonna start working on them! Hopefully, by May, I’ll have completed over 30 requests! Anyways, enjoy!

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

“I was wondering if you would be a tutor to Mr. Mantle. His grades are slipping, which may cause him to be kicked off the football team.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll have to decline,” you replied.

There was no way that you'd tutor that son of the devil. 

He tormented you since elementary school. It got worse in middle school when news of you being gay got exposed. 

However, ever since you both made it into high school, the bullying sort of stopped. 

Of course, there were some incidents but nothing too severe. 

“I’m sorry to say this, but if you don’t comply, I’ll have to drop your grade to Mr. Mantle’s. You rank in the top 10% and that’ll drop you down significantly."

You were shocked and angry. Shocked because of what he said and angry by the way he threatened to fail you. 

Not wanting to fail, you had to comply. 

“Fine, I’ll tutor Reggie…” you said, eye twitching, and an angry sigh. 

“Great! I hope to see progress from Mr. Mantle. You may leave.” the teacher said, gesturing to the door. 

You nodded and left. 

After getting home, you ran to your room and began to throw things, ripping pages out of some book and destroying your bed. 

Letting out a sigh, you collapsed onto your bed. Staring at the ceiling, debating on what you should do. 

“Should I text him?” you thought, looking at your phone with the screen on Reggie’s Instagram account. 

“I should just go to him…” 

You didn’t live that far from him

It’ll only take fifteen minutes. After debating, you decided to just go to him. 

Putting presentable clothes on, you made your way to Reggie’s place. 

After the walk, you were at Reggie’s door. You were mentally battling whether you should retreat or ring the bell.

Ring the bell side won. The doorbell rang, and you could hear someone coming to open the door. 

Reggie was the one that answered. 

“M/n? What are you doing here?” Reggie asked.

You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m only here to inform you… I’m gonna be your new tutor. Before you ask, you have no say. You’ll get kicked off the team…” you explained to the jock at the door.

Reggie nodded in acknowledgment. After some time, you leave Reggie’s property. You, for some reason, feel Reggie’s gaze. 

Everyone thought that Reggie was straight. However, ever since the first year, he started to develop feelings. 

He didn’t know where these feelings came from, but he didn’t care. 

During these tutoring sessions, he could make amends with you. 

(Time skip to you tutoring Reggie. Like one week.)

While you were tutoring Reggie, he tried talking to you. Trying to get to know you.

You did tell him some things, but you kept your guard around him. 

He’ll probably use that information to spread rumors.

Reggie mentally frowned, but he was determined to convince you that he changed. 

Throughout the time you were tutoring Reggie, he began to get buddy-buddy with you. 

During tutoring sessions, he would compliment you on how you dressed, your looks, and your shoes. You didn’t take these compliments seriously. 

“You look really nice today, M/n! Liked the way you did your hair.” Reggie said, putting his stuff down and pulling out his books. 

“Thanks…?” you said, not taking what Reggie said seriously. 

Reggie sighs in defeat. Maybe he’ll try harder.

The next few days, Reggie began to meet you after school, giving you your favorite snacks and candies.

He even invited you to come to Pops with him. Bought you stuff that you liked and he even stopped the rest of his gang from harassing you.  

You began to take note of Reggie’s strange behavior. 

“I think he likes you, M/n.” one of your friends commented while licking the popsicle in their hand. 

“No, he doesn’t! He is just messing with me! Trying to get my guard down.” you replied. 

“First stage of denial. M/n, look at everything Reggie is doing. He is giving snacks, and candy took you out to pops, and even got his friends to stop harassing you. He likes you, you’re just in denial.” 

You began to think about what they said. 

Reggie's behavior and actions were clear, he liked- LOVE you.

However, you deny all of this. 

You think it’s one-sided. You weren’t going to fall for this. It was most likely another one of his sick games. 

To avoid this situation, you decided to distance yourself from him. You figured that Reggie no longer needs tutoring since his grade improved.

(Timeskip.)

During the week, you avoided Reggie like the plague. No longer going to his place for tutoring, avoiding places he knows you go and ghosting him on social media. 

Reggie immediately knew what was happening, he had to go in for it.

He wasn’t going to lose you. 

You could hear continuous banging on the door. Automatically knowing who it was. Getting the courage, you went and opened the door to be met with a frantic Reggie. 

“What do you want, Reggie?” you said, tapping your foot against the hardwood floor. 

“I just want to talk to you about something.” you raised your eyebrows. Reggie nervously smiled while scratching his head. You nodded your head, gesturing for him to continue. 

“I… I… I love you.” Reggie stuttered before confessing. “I know I’m in no position to say this after everything I did to you. All the harassment and physical bullying, but since freshman year, I began to develop feelings for you. It only accelerated more when you started tutoring me.”

To say you were lost for words was an understatement. Your mind was in panicking mode like in those cartoons that show what’s going on inside the character’s head. 

“So, would you like to go on a date with me?” Reggie said quietly, but you heard him crystal clear. 

“I won’t say yes… but I won’t say no either. Give me time to process,” you replied, Reggie sigh in relief. At least he wasn’t rejected. 

“Okay…” Reggie then walked away while you closed the door. 

After Reggie’s love confession, you didn't know how to respond. 

Yes, Reggie was horrible and mean to you, but he stopped doing that at the beginning of high school. Maybe he truly changed. 

You decided. 

Reggie was laying down on his bed when he suddenly received a text message. It was from m/n.

“I would like to go on a date with you.”

THE END

A/N: I’m trying to finish all my requests! So, please bare with me at the time of posting. Goodbye, my 🍓little strawberries🍓!

[fromthepinnacle2thepit]

cervi e consumo

hannibal lecter x reader

chapter 2: il sentiero

well you made it though your first session with Dr. Lecter! how will the second go?

a/n: song inspiration for this chapter: lacrimosa by mozart

hello!! i just wanna say thank you so much for reading. just a warning: this chapter contains descriptions of a panic attack and brief descriptions of a car accident with an animal. if this is something that might bother you i recommend doing what’s best for you mentally. enjoy!!

tags: @flow33didontsmoke

chapter 2: il sentiero

Your first session with Dr. Lecter had gone well. You were still a bit apprehensive as to what you might show the man so far, but he had given you lots to think on.

He truly impressed you so far. From what you could gather, he not only was incredibly intellectual, but also a man of philosophy. You could admire that. Hell, you already admired him. He seemed good at his profession. Already, he’d referenced the work of Dante.

“The path to paradise begins in hell, as Dante put once. Just as you right now are in low conditions in your mind, I have to imagine that we always have brighter places to work towards.” he had said, his deep voice rang clearly across the room.

You had thought about it, and he had been right. You’ve got to start somewhere, even if it’s hell. Though you felt dramatic for calling your current situation “hell”. You appreciated how well-read he was though. It had inspired you.

An hour later you were sitting with a copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy in your lap, weighing down on your legs. The cover had a painting behind the title and other writings on the cover. You scanned the faces that were shown, and in interest, made out two figures, staring at legs coming out of the ground. For such a classic renowned book, it sure did have a strange cover. But the wisdom in your psychiatrists words had inflicted a curiosity upon you that was deeper than any unsettled emotion.

The evening after your session wore on, and in time, you had fallen into a deep sleep.

Days passed slowly, and the pages of the book turned with your continuing progress. It took patience to get through. Both the days and the book. Your job flooded you with responsibilities and when you came home and opened the heavy book, you were faced with words that did take some effort to decipher, but soon you found comfort in the word-laden pages. You tried listening to his advice about how the path to paradise begins in hell. What could paradise have in store for you? How long would this path take? Why couldn’t you have just started halfway? What if this wasn’t hell, and your journey hadn’t begun, and things would only get worse? Anxious questions seemed to constantly flood your mind, attacking any means of traveling on said “path.” Throughout the next few days, when the questions occasionally became too much, you would think back to Dr. Lecter’s rich voice, the distinguished air of his room, his analytic chestnut eyes. And the thought that soon you’d be there again. All hope wasn’t lost for you. You had Dante, Dr. Lecter, and this so-called path to paradise. You’d been through a lot to even make it here. You would try this. You had to.

Before you knew it, you were once again in the refined waiting room. Music once again played softly and the receptionist seemed to be in the exact same nervous state she was in yesterday. This time as you sat you allowed yourself to study your surroundings a bit more. Your eyes focused more clearly on the paintings that adorned the walls, you allowed yourself to breathe in, the air smelling of books and something you couldn’t quite name. You allowed yourself to gain a less tense position than last time, though your hands fidgeted slightly in your lap and you couldn’t help but notice the pattern of your breathing and your heart. You were nervous. You usually were before sessions, it wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to. You knew though that as time went on, you would relax into things more, just as you had already.

“He’s ready to see you now,” the receptionist spoke suddenly. A pleasant smile was plastered on her face. You nodded at her and stood, crossing the waiting room to stand in front of the wooden door, just as you had the week before. You looked back at the receptionist. Her face was now turned back to her work but her eyes still held the smile from the moment before. The nervous energy that had encompassed her not too long ago suddenly seemed a lot less nervous. Maybe it was simply energy. Maybe she was simply passionate about her work. She didn’t seem unhappy. This made a smile begin to grow on your face too. You made a mental note to talk to her more next time.

Sounds from the other side of the door interrupted your thoughts. It sounded like footsteps against the wooden floor, heading towards you. And as if on cue, the door in front of you opened to leave you smiling at the face of your psychiatrist.

He looked about the same as the last time you’d seen him. The same well-styled earthy hair, paired with the earthy eyes, the charming smile. The one different thing about him was his suit. The one he wore today was a brown plaid one.

“Good evening,” he spoke and a part of you relaxed at hearing his soothing voice, “How do you do? Please, come in,”

You smiled and stepped past him, walking into the large tranquil office. It felt reassuring, in a strange way, to be back here. The quote about the path flashed through your mind.

“Good evening to you as well, Doctor,” you replied to the man and turned to give him a smile as he followed you through the doorway, “I’ve been quite well. And you?”

“I happen to have been the exact same,” he replied. Just as last time, he gestured to the two chairs in the middle of the room and you both made your way over to have a seat. Once again, your thoughts danced around how intimate the setting was. You appreciated it. His eyes studied you, and it now felt like a common thing to get the feeling he wanted you to speak. This time, you took the opportunity.

“I’ve begun reading The Divine Comedy, as you quoted it in our last session,” you said. For a moment, you wondered if you shouldn’t have said it. You weren’t sure why. It just felt personal, deep. You knew it was meant to though. You also couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment you were feeling or if it was the strange feeling of being open. Your eyes suddenly focused again on Dr. Lecter and for a brief instant you thought you might’ve seen interest flash across his features before he spoke.

“What a keen memory you have,” he replied. The way your last name formally slipped from his lips at the end of his praise made your lips quirk up in a slight smile, “You must tell me your thoughts on it,”

“It’s fascinating. I love finding the meaning in such complex words. It all gives me so much to think about. While I have not read too much of it yet, I do intend to continue,” you remarked.

“I must admit, I quite agree with you. The meanings and knowledge woven into such works are intellectual delicacies. It does one much good to take a bite,” he responded.

As the session carried on, you did your best to comprehend his thought-provoking words. It only made you want to read the book more. Your mind wandered back to it, even as the conversation had steadily drifted away from that topic a while ago. In between the continuing banter, the appealing idea of curling up with the book when you got home became a thought that was growing in prominence. You might light some candles, settle into bed, maybe get something to eat or drink. You pictured the how the world would look from your window. The way buildings would be soaked in shadows of the navy night, the way wind would trickle through leaves in quiet susurrus. The night would be pretty to drive home in. Stillness protruding from the trees around the roads that led to your home. The idea of such a pleasant evening was incipient in your head.

Your attention was about to return to Dr. Lecter, when a sudden memory flashed through your thoughts. Headlights on a dark road, the shining eyes of the deer, the sudden franticness, a sickening jolt of the moving vehicle, a gut-wrenching scream. The recollection instantly made your stomach drop in the most dreadful way. You felt as if you were back in that moment. Your heart began to race, an execrable gut-churning feeling of pure terror took place in your abdomen and stomach. Unbeknownst to you, your hands had begun to fidget in your lap. Your eyes fixed on one spot on the floor. The emotion of panic felt like it had taken over your entire being. The moment just kept replaying in your mind. You saw it, even worse, you felt it, over and over in your mind. You silently screamed for a way out, feeling desperate. Your breaths became short as you felt increasing horror in your chest, laboring your breathing with pressure. You just wanted to make it stop. You were scared. You wanted a way out. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please get me away from this.

Abruptly, something began to intrude on your distraught and terrified state. A voice began to make its way through your racing thoughts. It was a deep and rich voice, dusted with an accent. Taking a moment to hurriedly try to identify the voice, it was Dr. Lecter’s. He was saying your last name in that formal way he had a habit of saying it in. Your eyes darted to him, seeing that he was now crouched next to your chair. That calm demeanor was still on. He felt so far away, the memory playing over again in your mind. You felt your mind begin to delve back into the state it was in before. You faintly heard your name off his lips again.

“Look at me,” he firmly instructed. You felt like you couldn’t, as if you were frozen in your memories. Your name left his lips once more. “I must ask you to try and listen.”

You wrenched your eyes away from the spot on the floor, turning to him. Though your eyes were on him, you felt as if your mind was a million miles away. For an instant, with the help of his voice, you felt more stable. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him.

“You are safe, you are in my office. No harm will come to you here. No doubt you feel overwhelmed right now. Try to focus on your breathing, in and out,” with his words, you began to break through the wall of panic that had settled in your mind, “I assure you, your mind cannot immure you.”

The world around you slowly became present to you again as he spoke. He continued, and you listened, fighting away the emotion. Occasionally your eyes would squeeze shut and your abdomen would tense in fear, but Dr. Lecter’s voice would always pull you back to where you were. You focused on him, the comforting words that continued to leave his mouth, the way he pointed out things in his office to distract you. He spoke softly about some of the paintings, your eyes caught occasionally on the strokes of the paintbrush that had created images with swirling emotion. Like the state of your mind.

Eventually, your focus was more on him than it was the memory that had resurfaced. Parts of your face were still tinged with worry, and you didn’t feel all that comfortable with your posture, but it was better than you had felt minutes before. You didn’t notice the doctor had been silent until he spoke, your name leaving his lips in that formal way before he finished his question.

“I take it that what just occurred was quite an intense panic attack. Might I ask if you know what triggered it?”

“A memory,” you spoke, you watched as he gently rose and stepped back to his chair where he took a seat, “It’s not important now.”

You wished so badly to be able to tell the man about the memory, but felt if you got into it, you might get stuck in that well of emotion and never come out.

“What has the ability to bother us to that extent is of great importance.” Dr. Lecter replied smoothly. You noticed the way his eyes silently searched you, as if deciphering you like an ancient language. The man was perceptive. You wondered what exactly he was searching. Your body language, your mind, signs of another panic attack. At this thought, you took special notice of his own body language. His legs were crossed as they usually were and his chin was tilted upwards ever so slightly. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. Even after witnessing such a paroxysm of emotion as yours, he managed to stay calm and unalarmed. You couldn’t deny that it was impressive.

“Could I talk to you about it at our next session, Dr. Lecter? Extreme emotions like that seem like too much to handle at the moment,” you felt bad saying that, and worried it came across as rude. But at least it gave you something to plan for leading up to the next session.

“If that is what you feel will benefit you the most,” he said with the slightest nod of his head, “Though, never be afraid to feel. It is much more than a mortal burden. Emotions allow us to have such a scope of remarkable experiences. Those of us filled with vehemence are bestowed with one of the best human gifts and burdens. Do not be afraid of it.”

The formal concluding niceties occurred as you were left ruminating on his words. He had a point. Of course he did, he knew this stuff.

Eventually, you had both risen from your respective seats in the middle of the room and were beginning your walk to the door you would be exiting from. He opened the door for you, but you paused. Looking back a him and giving him a soft look you spoke.

“Thank you.” you said, you saw a spark of both pride and slight confusion glow in his eye, accompanied by a slight turn of his head.

“I’m your psychiatrist,” he said, your last name leaving his lips in that formal way you’d grown used to, “It’s my pleasure.”

You stepped out of his office and before you knew it, you were back in the chilly air of the night. You looked at the building you had just exited, seeing warm light glow from the rooms inside, a contrast from the dark sky overhead. Part of you wished to be back in his office. Bach playing softly in the background, surrounded by art and literature from times far passed, the doctor’s sophisticated and accented voice ringing clearly through the room.

You could get used to this.

And now, you had Dante waiting for you to read when you got home.

Your journey on the path had begun.

[kirstysedgman]

The Reasonableness Theory of Good Omens

I’ve never done a Tumblr post before, but I’m going to have a go at it now, because the heaven/hell logics in the original Good Omens book (see also: the tv show The Good Place and also Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series generally) were foundational to the development of my theory of human behaviour – and I think it now explains A LOT about the Aziraphale/Crowley ending of Good Omens 2, and also what’s going wrong with us as a society.

So long story short – I’m a Cultural Studies academic at the University of Bristol, and I recently published a ‘smart thinking’ book called On Being Unreasonable: Breaking the Rules and Making Things Better (in bookshops now with Faber & Faber!). Here I explain how demands to “just be reasonable!” have been weaponised throughout history to halt social progress, from the suffragettes to Stonewall to the Civil Rights movement, up to the uproar over Black Lives Matter and Just Stop Oil protests today. Basically, what I think biblical-satire shows like Good Omens and The Good Place are satirising is exactly this: the inherent moral UNREASONABLENESS of the ‘reasonable person’, who wants things to be better but isn’t willing to break any rules to achieve it – even if those rules are bafflingly unfair and nonsensical (like the Job plotpoint, where Aziraphale began to realise this for the very first time).

When I say the ‘reasonable person’, I’m talking about the ‘moderate’ whom Dr Martin Luther King famously described in his Letter from Birmingham Jail as being almost worse than the ‘evil’ side of the out-and-out racist. This is the so-called ‘good’ side, who talk the language of progress whilst getting in the way of any attempt to realise it because they are “more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice”. In On Being Unreasonable I trace an overarching tendency to value the APPEARANCE of reasonableness (calm voices, shiny smiles, dapper suits) over the messy impoliteness of standing up and fighting back. In other words, rather than Heaven being the good guys and Hell the bad guys, Good Omens exposes how BOTH sides end up doing bad things because they’re unwilling to rebel against authority, break unjust rules/laws, and actually do what is RIGHT. We saw this especially clearly, I think, in the hell fire/holy water scene: one side might be ugly and the other side beautiful, but both sides are shown to be monstrous. “Just shut your stupid mouth and DIE already!” is still evil even though it’s said through a smile rather than a scowl.

This is where Crowley comes in. Crowley sees Heaven for who they really are. And this is why he resents being called ‘nice’ – because the qualities of niceness have historically been used as cover for tremendous evil – like how God’s ineffable command to kill Job’s children was morally horrifying, but how the Angels’ smiling promise to replace them with new children made a terrible thing seem like an act of divine grace. In many ways I’m saying nothing new here at all, I know – ‘omg the good side are actually the baddies! gasp!’ is hardly a novel literary interpretation. But it’s a bit more complicated than just that. What I’m talking about here is the specific sociopolitical mechanism by which reasonable appearances have been confused with actual moral goodness – and how this impulse to see ‘nice’ and think ‘good’ has historically been weaponised against us. It’s this that Good Omens really exposes. As I say in On Being Unreasonable, we can see this everywhere. “Think about the honeyed gentility of the American South, where smiling courtesy provided cover for simmering racial violence. Think about the buttoned-up laced-down aggression of the white imperial invader, sitting on their verandas in the Indian sunshine sipping tea. Think about the polished performances of the Nazis, with all their approving 1930s newspaper articles about impeccable manners and rarified tastes in art and dress”. In fact, there’s even an adjective for this: ‘Minnesota Nice’, which is often used as a backhanded compliment to refer to people who avoid confrontation in favour of a veneer of false politeness, and for whom calling out homophobia/racism/misogyny/etc is unforgivably rude. Nice, in this sense, can never be good, because it is being used to advance evil.

In Good Omens, what we saw is how deeply Aziraphale longs to break free from this logic, but how he can’t yet quite manage to free himself from that sense of reasonable idealism – the belief that surely the ‘good’ side of this broken system can be reformed from within. Meanwhile, Crowley is clearly being depicted as a fallen Angel in the true sense – someone who realises that the system itself is rotten to the core, and is willing to ask the hard questions and break rules in pursuit of truly moral actions, even if it costs him everything. Crowley has bitterly learned never again to make the mistake of confusing order with justice; this is a lesson that Aziraphale still needs once and for all to learn.

In the conclusion to On Being Unreasonable I set out a kind of matrix of behaviour to explain all this, where the Unreasonably-Unreasonable people are – like Hell! – “the deliberate contrarians and hate-speech purveyors and greed-is-good libertarian individualists, who think they can say and do whatever they want without consequences no matter the harm to anyone else”. Meanwhile, like Heaven, a lot of self-professedly progressive people seem to have become “so determined not to be like them that we’ve become something just as bad” – namely, Unreasonably-Reasonable people, “obsessed with tone-policing and respectability politics and endless toothless debate, happy to act the devil’s advocate and platform hate-speech and injustice so long as everyone appears to be doing it politely”. What I think we’ll see unfolding in Good Omens 3 is the revelation that what the world ACTUALLY, desperately needs is more people like Crowley, the Reasonably-Unreasonable people on whom social progress has always depended: “those who understand that civic dissent and smashing down racist statues and no-platforming bigots might sometimes be the only way to make the world a better place”.

So if God (and Neil Gaiman) really does have an ineffable plan then maybe it was this. Crowley needed to fall then, and Aziraphale needs to try to reform Heaven and fail spectacularly now, in order for us all collectively to rid ourselves of that morally-unreasonable urge to seem reasonable in the face of great injustice forever.