#thank you messenger pigeon

[locallygrowndaikon]

Delivery for one Daikon Soup

"He was too tall, it was bound to happen"

-on behalf of Question Bringer

MY SON NOOOOOOOOOOOO

[ghcstcd]

Squeeeeeeeeeze!!! You've been given a hug! Send this to all the people who deserve a hug. See how many you get back 😊 Now let the hugging begin! 💜

[gummyeyes]

Humgry,,,,

[astonmartinii]

it must be a sign | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem deaf! red bull engineer!reader

when the two most unbothered people in the paddock combine their joint powers to be the it couple

request sent by the lovely @bibissparkles xx

author's note: heyyy so many of you won't know but i am actually deaf - i am 50% deaf in both ears and wear hearing aids so i love requests like this! (all i do most of this stuff as a deaf person, turning off your hearing aids >)

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 302,446 others

yourusername: you can't complain about the dutch national anthem when you can just turn your hearing aids off

view all comments

user1: the way max's engineer is as sick of that damn song as us

user2: turning off her hearing aids makes how bored she looks during podiums make sense

yourusername: it was a banger during the mercedes dominance but would it kill someone to play the australian anthem

danielricciardo: i knew you missed me

yourusername: sure, jan.

user3: her and max signing slay to each other will always be so personal to me

maxverstappen1: gonna pretend you didn't just say that

yourusername: boo hoo babe, you gotta lose something sometimes

user4: babe? are the flowers from max?

maxverstappen1: would rather choke on my own spit and fall into a pit of snakes, hope this helps ❤️

yourusername: rude! i wouldn't want flowers from you either :(

user5: i swear we get into this argument every weekend, i think people will still assume they're together until their married to other people

liamlawson30: stop using me as a messenger pigeon please and thank you

yourusername: but i thought red bull gave you wings?

liamlawson30: do not use a pr answer against me 🤨

yourusername: no comment

liamlawson30: choke.

yourusername: idk what's going on in the red bull junior academy but spit in helmut's coffee not mine

user6: y/n consistently giving all the red bull guys shit is my favourite thing ever

user7: the amount of times the sky broadcast has caught her waving them off or taking her hearing aids out lol

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 782,309 others

oscarpiastri: switched four tyres for two this weekend

view all comments

user11: you can't distract us with your slutty bike pics WHO THE FUCK IS THAT

landonorris: A WOMAN? A WOMAN? IS THAT A WOMAN OSCAR JACK PIASTRI?

oscarpiastri: yeah i'm pretty sure

landonorris: don't play smart with me buster - why was i not informed?

oscarpiastri: i don't ask to be informed of every time you get rejected in the instagram dms

landonorris: FAKE NEWS

oscarpiastri: okay buddy

user12: i be seeing the sign language book, oscar you are so real for that

user13: that's my king, i need a oscar and y/n link up in the paddock - my unbothered queens

user14: she's in the likes !!!!!!

logansargent: oh we've entered the soft launch phase i see

oscarpiastri: and what?

logansargent: someone is feeling defensive this morning, dude i won't tell i've already kept it a secret for so long

landonorris: HE KNOWS? DOES BEING YOUR TEAMMATE MEAN NOTHING?

oscarpiastri: he's my childhood best friend?

logansargent: there's levels to this game norris

landonorris: @oscarpiastri consider yourself UNDER SURVEILLANCE

oscarpiastri: okay girly

user15: oscar has the patience of a saint, the mystery gal may want to rethink it before having to deal with them all

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 381,044 others

yourusername: unrelaxed, unbothered, moisturised ✨

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user18: queen SHIT THAT AIN'T SHIT

user19: but this mystery man IS

maxverstappen1: yeah sorry about that... but at least boyfy has made his instagram debut?

yourusername: about time, he's too sexy to gatekeep

maxverstappen1: well i'm not going to agree out of respect for you

yourusername: so you don't think he's sexy? i might not be able to hear but HE CAN MAX BE NICE

maxverstappen1: first of all it's a text, second of all i've been way too nice to him

yourusername: he beat you in padel fair and square you're just SHIT AT IT ❤️

maxverstappen1: you know that's a sore subject WHY WOULD YOU BRING IT UP

user20: my queen was really like you wanna tell me to fuck off? oh here's my sexy boyfriend

user21: jos verstappen really didn't know who he was tangling with that gal may be chill but she doesn't take shit

user22: she's like a female version of oscar lol

user23: i knew there was a reason i liked her

this comment was liked by yourusername

danielricciardo: why am i left out of everything these days?

yourusername: snooze you lose

danielricciardo: I AM AWAKE REPLY TO MY TEXTS

danielricciardo: I JUST SAW YOU PUT YOUR PHONE ON DO NOT DISTURB

yourusername: protecting my peace

danielricciardo: i'm on to you buster

oscarpiastri

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1,209,455 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: overjoyed to get my first (proper) win in formula one and even more overjoyed to have my amazing girlfriend (and even better engineer) up on the podium with me

view all comments

user27: so this was the special occasion?

user28: so this is why she said she wanted the australian national anthem over the dutch one?

user29: this is now my roman empire

yourusername: babe is so fucking good and i'm so fucking proud

oscarpiastri: i'm so glad to have been able to share this moment with you

yourusername: you deserve this and more, i love you

oscarpiastri: i love you too xx

user30: wait so oscar knows so much more sign language than i thought

user31: he looked so excited and even mark knows some

logansargent: he forced (we were happy to do so) me, mark and his family to learn as soon as he secured the date lol

oscarpiastri: and now we're all so cool because of it

logansargent: cool and able to chat shit without people knowing what we're saying

yourusername: best bit about it tbf (everyone please learn, it's a beautiful language)

landonorris: I KNEW IT

oscarpiastri: no you didn't

landonorris: no i didn't :( i'm hurt

oscarpiastri: if it's any consolation, we didn't tell many people, max and logan are exceptions

landonorris: WHY WAS I NOT AN EXCEPTION???

yourusername: boo hoo

landonorris: i'm not gonna say anything back to that you kinda scare me

yourusername: good ❤️

yourusername

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, oscarpiastri and 529,778 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & oscarpiastri

yourusername: me and a racewinner (and our world champion third wheel)

view all comments

user32: fave trio in the paddock no competition

logansargent: logan erasure

yourusername: we love you logan, sunday roast at mine this weekend ❤️

logansargent: SCORE

user33: every time you post there's a new plushie

yourusername: we usually get one to commemorate a big weekend and we both got one for osc's first win

user34: that's so FUCKING CUTE

oscarpiastri: it's all fun and games until you don't fit in the bed because y/n feels too bad to put any of them on the floor

yourusername: they have FEELINGS OSCAR

oscarpiastri: she cried one time when max set off the smoke alarm cooking breakfast and the bed alarm shook so bad that all of them were thrown to the floor

yourusername: it was HARROWING but it also did wake me up so at least we know it works

maxverstappen1: actually my favourite couple to third wheel, but enjoy it while it's here osc, i won't lose again

yourusername: yeah sorry osc it's actually my job to help max win so you're gonna have to wait for him to retire if i have anything to do with it

oscarpiastri: not even for me :(

yourusername: sorry not sorry (i'm really sorry, i love you so much)

oscarpiastri: i love you too even if you won't sabotage max for my race :(

maxverstappen1: okay i know i said you guys are cute but that's enough for today

yourusername: we ARE cute thank you

oscarpiastri: the CUTEST

fin.

note: heheheheh i hope you enjoyed this, i love requests like this xx also on the comment about the bed alarm i had one in uni halls and when the alarm went off that baby SHOOK it was kinda scary

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 1/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Drowning, descriptions of drowning, shipwrecks, dead body, fever, storms.

Note: Here is chapter one of Lighthouse hehe. This fic was inspired by me listening to the song 'Lighthouse' by The Waifs. Thank you all for being so patient for this. A it is going to be a mini-series, its going to be between 3-5 chapters long! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Cruel Seas

The waves rolled up the side of the rocky cliff face, salty sea spray disintegrating into the air like mist. The sky had turned a deep grey, a storm having rolled through the vast sea the evening before, which was now beginning to turn its way towards your little island.

You knew immediately from the sky that you would have a long night ahead of you, tending to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse to ensure that it stays lit for the duration of the dark night to come. 

It was an arduous and tedious existence. Day after day, the same routine, and not once could you stray from it.

Each evening before the sun would set, you would climb the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse and light it, ensuring that its wick was good for use and would last the night. And then when daybreak came, you would extinguish the flame as soon as the sun rose, unless of course, a storm or fog had crawled amongst the salty waves of the sea, which caused for extra vigilance and keeping it lit at all hours.

The lighthouse itself was perched on the top of the cliff of the small island you lived on, just off the coast. And on that island, you had all that you needed; A small cottage with one bedroom, a kitchen and a small privy out the back.

Outside of the cottage was your own modest vegetable patch where you grew what could survive the acrid sea air; potatoes, pumpkins, and any sort of hardy vegetable that was good for pickling and hearty meals. All other food was brought to you once a month by boat, or if you dared to leave your post, you would take your small boat back to shore, not too long of a journey, weather permitting, to go to the local stores or market to buy your wares. But if you were truly in a spot of trouble, you had a small messenger pigeon that lived in its own hut by the garden that would send word to shore about your dire needs.

You had lived and worked at the lighthouse for years, happy to be alone and in your own solitude, finding companionship in the books that you read, or the occasional ship that sailed by.

A man named William came every one to two weeks, an old friend of your father who would bring your reprieve, to deliver you food and any other supplies that you may need to keep the lighthouse in check; more oil, more wicks, paint, or items to repair any damage from the raging winds that raced across the surface of the small island. 

William was a kind man, older and sea worn. He had a wife and three daughters back on the coast, and on occasion would bring them to join you, or extend an invitation for you to join them, weather and duties permitting. They lived in the small town by shore, where you had been lucky to befriend shopkeepers and locals on your short visits. 

It had been only a few days since William’s previous drop off, and for the most part, the weather had seemed fair. Each morning and each evening you would log the skies and seas conditions into a worn little leather book for any changes, and then, you would prepare for the lighting of the lamp. But the evening before, the wind had changed drastically and the sky had darkened, and you watched from the top of the lighthouse as a storm broke just on the horizon, black cloud glowing with strikes of lightning that cracked through the darkness. 

You hadn’t risked going back down to your cottage to retire for the evening, instead, sitting yourself in your old wooden chair to watch the storm and ensure that the lamp was lit, and if any ships were to come to close to shore, they would be alerted by the light.

However, now it was morning, and the lamp no longer needed to be lit. For now. Though on the horizon, the storm continued to barrel towards shore, and you knew that you would have light it again soon.

Extinguishing its flames, you took the long winding steps down, crossing the small grassy knoll to get to your cottage, opening the old wooden door, which hinges squeaked and whined, salt rusting the joints. You whispered to yourself that you would fix it eventually, as you trudged to the fireplace and began to set it ablaze.

The cottage was cold with the winds of the storm that approached, and you shivered as you slowly lit the kindle, piling log after log into the hearth as you heated the home up. Your stomach growled loudly as you stood from your crouched position by the fire, joints complaining as exhaustion from lack of sleep, or food, finally caught up to you. 

You decided that now was the time, more than ever, to eat and rest before you’d have to return to the lighthouse. You lit the stove with a candle by the fire and sat your kettle atop, water inside ready to boil. On William’s last relief drop, he had brought a large sack of flour and even some milk for you, and so with this, you had churned your own butter and made a large supply of scones and bread for the coming week. 

The loud whistle of the kettle alerted you to the water boiling on the stove, steam pouring from its nozzle. You poured it over some tea leafs and unwrapped a scone from the cloth pile you had on the bench. As the tea steeped, you decided to spread some of the jam William’s wife, Celia, had made for you, using it sparingly before sitting before the hearth. 

You ate slowly and sipped on your tea with ease, eyes cast out one of the many windows to check the progress of the storm. The dark clouds were slowly rolling in, and by your estimate, wouldn’t reach you until at least the afternoon, and with time on your hands, you decided to allow yourself a small rest, laying your head back against your worn couch, closing your eyes as the warmth of the fire lulled you into a shallow slumber. 

-

The distant rumble of thunder pulled you from your light rest, half eaten scone wrapped in a smaller piece of cloth and shoved into the pocket of your skirt at the front. You would eat that later as you lit the lamp again before the storm arrived. As you cast your eyes out of the kitchen window, looking out to sea, you saw that it had approached far quicker than expected, and in fact, seemed to have regrown in size. 

You made quick work of it, throwing on your large waxed coat that swept around your ankles, buttoning it up to your neck as the beginning spray of water began to lightly mist at the windows of the cottage. Racing to the lighthouse, you climbed the steps with ease, years of the same routine causing you to be fitter than most. Once you reached the top you looked out to the swell, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky cliff face below, and then swept up against the small sandy beach of the island on the side. 

But it was not the storm that peaked your interest, you were no stranger to those. It was the objects that bobbed amongst the crashing waves, and lined your small beach. Concern coursed through you as familiar wooden planks, barrels, and other ship items crashed onto shore.

“Fuck.” You cursed.

There had been a shipwreck. 

But not at your island. 

It must have happened out at sea last night with the storm. 

Your eyes cast down to the sandy beach again, gaze darting up and down the shore, looking, searching, and hoping for any sign of survivors, if they had been lucky or fortunate enough to be swept this far to shore after. 

Another crack of thunder pulled your gaze away, the storm rapidly approaching. If you lit the lamp now, you could race down to the shore to look out in the water for any sign of survivors, or what kind of ship it had been to report back to shore. So with determined hands, you lit the large oil lamp, ensuring that the flame was strong and the glass that surrounded it was clear and in position to amplify it out to sea.

Rain began to beat against the glass of the lighthouse, and with one last glance cast at the lit lantern, you raced down the steps, two by two, skirts pulled into your fists as you flew down them, all but throwing the heavy wooden door open to begin to race down to the small sandy cove.

Thick drops of rain began to pelt down from the sky, the rumbling of the storm growing closer and closer, clouds growing darker with lightning striking through them. You squinted at the shore, skirts in one hand as the other hand came to try and shield your eyes from the growing downpour, looking for anything that could identify the vessel.

Your leather boots sunk into the sand and you raced along the shore line, eyes looking down to the broken wooden planks, and a large hoisting rope tangled amongst half a mast. Further ahead, a tangle of what looked to be shrouds, sail and hull. 

The waves crashed against the sand as you moved towards the next clump of shipwreck, passing smaller pieces of debris as you went. The water that crashed against the shore was dark and unforgiving. Amongst the crashing waves, more planks of wood, net and barrels of something. 

Chill dripped down your spine as your coat, as waxed and as warm as it was, took in the blast of rain and wind that blew into you with every gust. 

The storm was coming, and it was coming with a vengeance. 

You needed to move, and fast.

There ahead of you, amongst the tangled shrouds, was a large chunk of hull, with what looked to be the remnants of gold paint.

A name. 

The name of the ship. 

You almost tripped into the sand as you ran towards the mass, shoes now filled with water, socks soaked against your skin, toes numb from the cold. You bent down, pulling at the shrouds, the wet rope heavy in your hands as you looked at the broken hull. 

'Vhag-'

You blinked.

Gods be damned. 

Your hands moved faster than you thought humanly possible as you ripped the rope away from the hull, revealing the glimmer of silver beneath that had caught your eye.

There, tangled amongst the shrouds, trapped atop the broken hull, was a man. 

Your knees hit the sand, wet soaking into your skirts immediately as you began to pull him from the wreckage, yanking at the ropes to untangle the body that was ensnared in them. 

He lay on his stomach, face obscured by a mess of wet, silver hair that draped across his cheek and forehead. His clothes were soaked, and his skin was as pale as moonlight, blue veins prominent under the surface. 

“Hello?” You called to him frantically, moving to turn him onto his back, his head lulling to the side. 

You brushed away the hair from his face with haste, and your breath stilled in your chest. 

His lips were blue, and across one cheek, cutting up through an eye, was a long and deep scar. The man’s nose was sharp, and his jaw even sharper, slender neck and shoulders peaking through the half ripped tunic that he wore, the white see-through as it clung to his body soaked. 

Another crack of thunder boomed above, your head momentarily darting upwards to look to the sky, the storm having begun to move closer, crawling above the small island you called home. 

You prayed in that moment to the Drowned God that he was alive. 

Please, spare this man. Bring him back to the living.

“Please.” You whispered, hand at his neck as you tried to feel for a pulse, tried to feel for any warmth of his body that may indicate life. That may lead you to believe you had a sole survivor that washed ashore your tiny island, surely blessed by the Gods.

His head lulled in your hand as you looked out at the shore for any more bodies, whispering to yourself as you thought of what to do; If you should take him back to the cottage and send word that a body had washed ashore, that a ship that began with ‘Vhag’ had met its untimely demise in the cruel sea. Or if you should leave him at shore and hope that the waves do not carry his body away by the storms pass.

Your teeth began to chatter in your skull as your hands slipped around him, checking over his body for any grievous wounds or indications that he had died from anything other than drowning. But his body was fine, all bar his cold and pale skin.

Shifting to a crouch, you made your decision, and it pulled at your heart.

He would be too heavy to carry up to your cottage, but you also didn’t want to risk his body being taken back out to sea with the storm, this man, whoever he was, deserved a burial of some sort. So your option was to carry him further up the beach, to where the grass meets the sand, and send word on the morrow once the storm had passed.

You felt a pang of guilt for the man, a man who looked to be a handsome and skilled sailor, young but not naive in age, taken too soon. Though no sailor was skilled enough to survive the rolling waves, or the wrecking of a ship. The sea was a cruel mistress, and she took when and if she pleased with no repentance, rhyme, or reason. Your hands curled beneath his arms and you pulled, his dead weight dragging you down almost to fall in the wet sand.

“Bless him with salt,” You began to endlessly pray, something your father had once taught you many years ago, “Bless him with stone, bless him-“

The man’s chest erupted with a cough, sending you falling into the sand in shock, dropping his body back onto the beach as water spluttered from his lips.

“Gods be good.” You scrambled to him in the sand, turning him on his side so that the rest of the sea water would come out easier. 

It seemed to go on forever, the jerking of his body as his lungs expelled spray after spray of water, until all too soon, he stopped again, a weaker cough or grunt falling from his lips as the last of the water was expelled. 

The crack of lightning above you made your heart race faster than it already was, and so reaching beneath his arms again, you began to drag him up the sandy shore and back to your cottage. 

He was alive.

A survivor.

It was no easy feat, taking him away from the furious waves, and by the time you had gotten to the cottage, your lungs and body ached from dragging him up to your home. 

The man had groaned once or twice as you made the journey, storm full above the both of you, and once you finally were inside your home, you collapsed on the stone floor beside him, lungs burning as you sucked in air. 

But now was not the time for you to rest, the man had grown paler since moved, and you watched as he shivered on the stone floor. Your teeth clicked in your mouth, from nerves and from the cold, your dress and coat soaked completely and shoes filled with water. 

Your clothes weighed you down, but you only moved to take your coat off, dropping it by the hearth with a wet thump before you laid an old blanket from the couch by the fire, dragging the silver haired man to lay atop it as you surveyed what you could do. 

First, you needed to get him warm, and the clothes that he had on were chilled from the sea and rain. You removed his torn tunic, his face creasing with pain as you ripped it off of him, pulling his leather boots and socks off after. His pants however, you faltered at, looking down at his dark breeches as a blush rose to your cheeks.

Not now, this man needs our help.

His privacy can come later. 

You threw the last thick woollen blanket that sat on the couch over the top of him for privacy before you pulled his breeches down without looking, throwing the soaked article of clothing in the far side of the room before you laid him on his side to face the fire. You tucked the thick blanket around his body, noticing the chill of his skin that seeped through immediately, before pulling his wet hair away from his face and neck. 

By then you were out of breath, muscles burning and joints aching, collapsing beside him again as you looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell weakly with every rattling breath he took. You prayed he would survive, but you had your doubts. The amount of sea water he had swallowed, and the way he looked so pale that he was almost translucent, gave you little hope. 

But there was nothing else you could do. 

Nothing more that you were able to do but wait.

And all you had was time as the storm raged outside. 

Unlacing your boots you pulled the from your feet, toes beginning to prune and ache as they were soaked inside and cold, water dribbling out of each shoe as you tipped them upside-down in front of the fire, pulling away the soaked woollen socks with it. You shook as you began to peel layer after layer of drenched clothes away from your body until you were left in your shift, shivering by the fire as you desperately tried to warm yourself up.

Your hair lay wet against your back, drying as you slowly warmed, the light of the fire being the only light source in the cottage until you finally moved and began to light your various lamps and candles around the home.

It wasn't until you were back by the fire did you spare the man another anxious glance, eyes immediately watching his chest rise and fall weakly, much to your relief.

He wasn’t dead.

Yet.

But you hoped he would at least save the night and storm until you could send word for help, and perhaps even send for a doctor to come to you. You suspected he would be too fragile to move just yet. So now, all you had to do was wait.

Wait until the man either rose to consciousness, or perished from the sea’s assault. 

But the longer you looked at him, looking at his silver hair, to his sharp features and plump lips that were almost blue, to the golden ring that sat upon one of his fingers, you couldn’t help the thoughts that turned over your head about this man. But one question in particular seemed to rise above them all.

Who was he?

-

The storm raged on, day and night, wind howling outside your cottage causing the old home to shudder and groan. The windows rattled with the force of the gale, rain pelting against its surface loudly. All the while, the lamp in the lighthouse never went out, thanks to your constant checks, back and forth up the many stairs, bracing yourself agains the rain and winds.

The silver haired man had not moved, nor woke since you dragged him up from the beach. The only sign of life given being the rise and fall of his chest that occasionally jerked with a cough or wheeze. His long hair lay like a halo around his head, soft waves teased from the salted water and dried from the warmth of the fire. The mans skin stayed the same inhuman paleness as before, though some colour rose back to his cheeks and his plump lips.

You had been sitting at your small table writing notes on the weather in your log book, fearing that perhaps there was a larger storm that lingered out in the back of the sea, which caused the one on shore to rage for so long, when a soft groan caught your attention. Your eyes immediately flicked away from your notes and down to where the man was laying, the slightest shift of his head to be seen. 

Swiftly you made your way over to him, kneeling back down beside him, knees pressed into the hard stones as you looked him over. His brows were scrunched shut, and lips pulled slightly down. But that was not initially what caught your attention; It was the sheen of sweat that covered him head to toe. Lifting a gentle hand, you placed the back of it against his forehead. 

A fever. 

The man was burning up, and the sweat beneath your hand was proof of it.

This was not good. 

You stood and made your way to the kitchen, riffling through a draw to find one of the many warn, and scraggly cloths inside before you pulled it out. You grabbed an empty bowl and took it to the dry sink and began to use the cistern pump to fill it with rain water. When the bowl was half full, you threw the cloth inside and made your way back to the feverish man on the floor. 

You wrung out the cloth of its water and began to wipe at the sweat on his face and neck, hoping that the cool rag would help to fight the fever that was causing the man distress.

Fevers were dangerous things, and after what he had survived, you worried that the fever may be the final nail in his coffin, so to speak. 

The silver haired man shivered in the warm glow of the fire, though his body ran hot. Each swipe of the wet cloth caused a crackled breath to fall from his lips, the scar on his face crinkled with movement. With every moment or so, clearing the sweat from his face and neck, you would dip the cloth back into the bowl to then wring it and begin again, hoping its coolness would have some effect.

His chest rose and fell shallowly as you wiped away the sweat and salt from his collar bones, small pink scars littered amongst the flesh of his chest. As you worked, you could not help but admire the man. His sharp features and strange hair was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and had only heard once or twice in tales from town about people who lived in lands far from yours, with silver hair and violet eyes.

You had never believed those tales, for who could have such Godly hair, and even stranger eyes, and whilst the man had not opened his one seeing eye as of yet, you wondered if you would find it to be violet, or perhaps a more common shade of blue. The scared and clouded one was no indicator of what could be revealed on the other side.

A part of you hoped to see that the tales were true, that perhaps your world was much larger than you had thought, but for the most part, you just wished for him to stay alive. 

As you rinsed the cloth once more and brought it to the scarred cheek of his face, you took caution with the skin, looking at the way it deeply marred the flesh around it, and prevented the clouded eye from ever closing. You brushed the cloth gently by his temple when suddenly you were greeted with a vision of lilac.

The man gasped, hand shooting out to grab your wrist holding the cloth tightly, pupil of his eye widening and shrinking as his brain tried to focus on the person touching him. Your heart beat in your chest, your own gasp falling from your lips as you looked down at him, his eye on you. 

It was true then.

He was one of them.

The grip on your wrist tightened and you hissed, the wet cloth falling from your fingers onto the stone floor beside him as his brows furrowed, looking at you.

“Skoriot iksis… ñuha…” The man gasped, language foreign to your ears.

You shook your head down at him, his breathing becoming shallow, grip on your wrist faltering, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You told him, voice slow and clear as his head rested back against the flagstones, lone eye blinking sluggishly up at you.

“You’re safe here. You need to rest.” Your hand hovered above his shoulder, unsure if touching him again would cause him more distress. Instead, the hand that held your wrist slumped back to the stones, and his lilac eye fluttered shut, mouth parted weakly.

You pressed your fingers underneath his jaw, and were relieved to find the slow, but steady, beat of his heart.

Your heart on the other hand was another story entirely. It raced rapidly within your chest, breath coming in short pants as your knees began to ache from how you were sitting over him. Gaze roaming over his soft skin and hair, you came to a mind spinning conclusion that the tales were true, and people who looked like him did exist, which only meant one thing. 

This man was a long way from home. 

Feeling as though you didn’t want to startle him from his rest again, you took the bowl and cloth to the table and placed it by the ledger. If you needed to ease his fever again, you could repeat the process later, just not now. 

Outside the storm raged on, rain flying sideways and the crash of thunder above. At one point you had brought your pigeon inside with you to place in a smaller cage out of the rain and wind. She was much happier now, and sleeping restfully upon her perch.

You had to stifle a yawn as you sat back on your chair by the table, noting that you had had scarcely more than five hours rest over the past two days. You were running on fumes, and if you needed to keep the lamp safely lit, and the man by the fire alive, you certainly needed your own rest.

By that time it was midday, and you could safely rest a few hours before you would need to check on the lamp once more. Your limbs felt as heavy as stones as you trudged to your bedroom, pulling your heavy dress from your body and shoes from your feet before you slid into the warmth of the covers in your slip.

-

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of the storm outside, but rather to the unfamiliar groans and grunts of a man. Ripping the covers away from your body, you wrapped a robe tightly around you, fastening it against your waist with its belt in a knot. It had been your fathers, and was entirely too large for your smaller frame.

He lay where he was, still on the hard stone floor, the fire having shrunk during your slumber, but still, his eye did not open again. So you piled more logs into the hearth, stirring the embers with a fire poker before moving to fill the kettle with the pump by the stove. 

When you looked out the window, the lamp was still lit, and the storm still raged on, rain and wind flying through the air, booms of thunder booming above you, and the constant shrill whistling of the wind through the cracks of the windows and doors. It was an eerie sound if you were not used to it, but after all those years in solitude already, it was as common as a birds cry, or a bugs chirp. You lit the coal stove and placed the kettle on top, casting your eyes back to see if he had stirred again.

There hadn’t been a minute that had gone by where you hadn’t wondered who this man was. What he did. If he had a family to go home to, a wife, children.

Were his parents still alive? Were they fretting for his arrival or communications? Wondering where their son had gone? Or did he have no-one? Were they too lost to the sea and not fortunate enough to have washed upon the shores of your small island?

By the time the kettle whistled loudly, you poured it into your tea pot, but behind you came a groan again, this time, much louder, and to your surprise, more conscious. Forgetting your tea, you raced to his side, the mans face screwed up in confusion and pain, eye blinking sluggishly up at you. You pulled your robe against you tighter as you knelt near him.

“Take it slow, you’re okay.” You reassured him, hands unsure of whether or not to touch him or stay limply by your side, “You’ve survived a wreck. The Gods saved you.”

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry. His mouth parted, and a broken and confused echo came out, “Gods.”

You nodded, “Yes. The Gods surely showed you favour when they washed you on this island. We are the lighthouse just off the coast.”

It seemed to be a lot for the man to take in, his brows pulling downwards from either pain or confusion or a terrible mix of the two, but a more burning question came forth from your lips, “What is your name?”

The silver haired man, who’s cheeks had more colour than when you brought him inside days before, blinked at you sluggishly, mouth parting and then closing, before a rasping request came forth. 

“Water.”

You jumped up from your spot beside him and raced to the pump, filling a glass before coming back to his side. You knelt on the stones, helping him to lightly sit up with a hand at the back of his head, leaning the glass up to his lips. At first he spluttered the water back into the cup as he tried to drink, a lone dribble trailing down his strong chin and neck, but then after a moment, he drank greedily, hand coming to grasp yours to tilt it quicker down his throat.

“Slowly. You don’t want to drown again.” You tried to make some light, and the man seemed to enjoy it, as he coughed into the glass, or at least, you assumed he did, as one side of his lip pulled into a weak smirk.

He coughed again once finished, and you asked him if he wished for more, to which you got a weak shake of his head, ‘no’. You gently laid him back down as you looked at him, pressing your hand against his forehead. Although the fever had seemed to settle, he was still hot to the touch, yet despite this, he shivered. 

“...Cold.” His voice came out smoother this time, no longer dry and parched from dehydration, though it was still raw and ragged from the sea.

“You have a fever,” You explained, pulling the blanket only a little higher on his chest, not wanting to exacerbate it, “But it looks like it shall break soon.”

The man watched you with a half lidded gaze, lips mumbling in a foreign language once more, “...Issi… se… Riña…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You frowned at him again, "Do you speak the common tongue?”

The man watched you with his half lidded gaze before he nodded. You couldn't help but look at his cloudy eye that didn't move. 

Now that he seemed more conscious, and had even asked for water, it seemed to you that perhaps this man would not die in your home after all.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

A nod.

You went back to the kitchen, filling his glass with water again before grabbing one of your scones to bring back. You came to his side and began to break the scone in your hand into smaller pieces, lifting his head once more to feed it to him. He ate slowly, coughing occasionally to which you’d give him more water to help him wash it down, but you could tell that he was grateful.

“...Thank... you.” It came as barely a whisper, but it was there none the less. 

You still didn’t know his name, and it ate at you. 

“What is your name?” You asked again, hoping now that he had both food and water in him, that he would be able to answer you, but instead he just stared at you blankly.

Perhaps he had hit his head in the wreckage and forgotten?

And then another thought came.

Or perhaps, he was a pirate, and hiding his identity for fear of capture.

You stood and dusted the scone crumbs from your skirt, leaving the man beside the fire as you moved to the kitchen, pulling some carrots, potatoes and onions that you had grown in your garden out of your basket to rinse and begin to prepare.

“I’m going to cook a stew.” You cast your head to the side, voice calling out to the man, “I think it would warm you. I have some dried meat I can use in it too. I think it would-“ 

You turned around to find the man asleep again, “-Do you some good.” You finished quietly, moving back to the task at hand.

It didn’t help that a strum of disappointment raced through you at his unconsciousness, but it couldn’t be helped, after all the man was practically with the Stranger when he washed ashore.

-

Steam rose from the pot of vegetables and broth, the dried meat you had cut and put inside having absorbed the stew and become soft again as you stirred it. It smelt good, and as you had helped to bring it to boil, you had had enough time to check on the lamp in the lighthouse, ensuring that the oil and glass was all in order.

The storm seemed to have settled somewhat, but from your experience, it meant only that the eye had reached shore, and the worst of it was soon to come. 

Not once had the man moved as you cooked, nor when you walked past him to put back on your dress, coat ,and shoes. He looked better, and somewhat peaceful on your floor, but you knew the harsh stone would do naught for his rest, and so as you stirred the stew you thought of ways in which you could get him up and into your bed.

You blushed immediately at the thought of him spread out inside of it, silver hair around his face, soft lips parted as he breathed, the furrow of his brow having softened as he rested, properly rested. And although it seemed indecent to have a man inside of your bed, to have him inside your house and bare, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t anything untoward, nor would you be touching him, and it was just until he was well enough to leave.

It didn’t help however, that he would be the first and only man to ever be in your bed. 

You stifled a laugh at the thought. 

The first one in your bed, bare and handsome, only because he was on the brink of death.

The laugh proved to not be as stifled as you had thought, as the voice of the man startled you from your slow stirring.

“...Who are you?”

You placed the spoon down by the stew, turning around to look at him from the coal stove, to tell him your name. As you spun however, your name came as a bare whisper, eyes finally landing on the man by your fire. 

Not only was the man conscious, he was sitting upright, leant heavily on one arm as he looked at you, legs stretched out in front of him. Your mouth went dry and you blinked, the blanket that you had carefully tucked around his body having fallen to his waist, bare chest on display.

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat in your cheeks as you tried to avert your eyes, but the image of his toned and lean chest blared in your minds view. 

“Do you often strip drowned sailors?” The man mused, clearly having noticed his undressed state. His voice still crackled, but underneath, it was as smooth as honey.

The heat in your cheeks increased tenfold, and your feet took you swiftly over to the table where his now dried tunic and breeches were neatly folded on top. A crack of thunder boomed over head as you looked towards the kitchen, holding his clothes out to him to the side, feeling the weight of them being taken out of your hands. 

“You were soaked and close to death," You explained, "I saw no other choice.” You cleared your throat awkwardly as you heard rustling beside you, moving yourself back to the kitchen as you kept your back to him to stir the stew in avoidance, “I kept your modesty with the blanket. My one priority being-“

“-A joke, Madam.”

“Miss.” You corrected him.

You were no married woman.

You didn’t dare turn back around, instead, beginning to pour stew into two seperate bowls using your ladle, ensure that his had an ample supply of meat and broth within to help give him his strength back.

As he dressed, you could hear him grunt and struggle, but offered him no help. A man of his breed would likely suspect you meant something untoward, and you had learnt from a young age that a mans strength and will should never be questioned, for their ego's, fragile as they are, shall bruise.

You could feel him watching you as you continued on, shaking the embers beneath the stove loose to put them out slowly, allowing for the stew to finish its simmering before putting the large lid on top.

“Who are you?”

You frowned.

Had he forgotten already?

You told him your name once again.

“No." He sighed from behind you, "Who do you serve here?”

Turning, you faced the man.

His tunic was thrown back on, but it gaped at his chest where it had been ripped, revealing the soft pale skin beneath that you could not help but admire. But despite his handsomeness, his question served to insult you.

“I serve no one.” You said stiffly, dusting your hands down on your apron, before grabbing two spoons to throw into the bowls.

This seemed to dissatisfied the man as he hummed, “And the man who tends to the lighthouse?”

The man?

Hands on your hips you glared at him, watching as his brows lifted slightly waiting for your response, “There is no man here. None but you.”

His brow furrowed, “Then who te-“

“-That would be I.” You snipped, turning back around to grab his bowl before handing it to him with his spoon, “I take you can feed yourself now?” All patience gone from your body.

And to think, you had brought this man back from the dead, and he still thinks that a man must tend to the island and not you.

Clearly the silver haired man was shocked by your station, and also your brazen way of response, “I meant no offence, Miss. I have only known men to tend to Lighthouses.”

You huffed through your nose, exhaustion from the almost week of storm, and nurturing the man on the floor back to health nipping at you cruely.

“And now you know a woman.” You moved back to the kitchen to grab your own bowl and plate of sliced bread, sitting at your table to eat your stew, all the while feeling his eye on the side of your face. You grabbed the plate of bread and offered him a slice, a small thank you coming from his lips as you ate in silence. 

There was minimal talking between the both of you as you ate, and the sound of the storm seemed to fill the space instead. By the time the both of you finished eating, you knew you had to brave it outside once again, and climb the never ending stairs to check the oil and wick of the lamp.

You took your bowl and his to the kitchen, before coming back, standing above him as you pulled on your coat. 

“I have to tend to the light.”

He nodded.

You shuffled on your feet as you looked at him, thinking of your earlier plan to move him into your bed so that the had a reprieve from the stone floor.

Now was the time if there ever was.

“Do you think you can stand?”

The man blinked at you.

“I won’t cast you out in this storm,” You reassured him, though his face didn’t change, “But you shouldn’t lay on the flagstones to recover. They’ll do more harm than good.”

A nod.

He shifted, pulling the blanket off of him to reveal his long, now clothed, legs, bare feet stretched out at the end. You came to his side, pulling an arm beneath his and offering your other hand as you slowly brought him to stand. The man swayed and groaned, and his face grew pale.

“The bedroom is not far.” You reassured him, steering him down the small hall, each slow step, moving slowly, and his breath coming out with a rough rasp. His weight was heavily leant around your shoulders, and you felt your muscles strain to hold him up. The man stood at least a foot and a half taller than yourself, and yet slumped over was still nowhere near your height.

He grunted as moved him to the side of the bed, sitting him down on the edge as gently as you could, pulling the sheets back before helping him to lay down. He coughed and wheezed and groaned as you moved him, eye scrunched tightly shut, as you lifted his legs up and onto the mattress. The man looked paler than before, and his seeing eye became half-lidded with fatigue. 

You pulled the sheets up to his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn’t roll out of the bed on either side.

Then suddenly you were hoping that he didn’t mind the feel of your sheets, or the spring of the softness of the mattress, or the plump of the pillows.

You shook your head.

Why were you worried about that?

“Rest.” You told him, but his eye had already slid shut, and so away you went.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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[beybuniki]

Hello,

Horikoshi does not have a phone, we communicate only through messenger pigeons. We have tried to give Dabi nipples but every time we try, an intern adds piercings. We had to forgo them altogether to avoid this.

Thank you ありがとう

Hello Mr. Studiobones

are dabihawks going to fuck in an anime-only filler? when will dabihawks get to fuck in an anime-only filler? will it be yaoi or yuri? will y/n be there? can endeavor die ?

[randomalistic]

Hey can you tell me about pigeons I like the noises they make and how they look 💥

PIGEONS (rock doves) ARE PUDGY AND SOFT AND KIND CREATURES and they have very complex and diverse coloration when living in cities thanks to a bunch of escaped domesticated ones breeding together. I think.. They’re also able to be trained and they have great navigation abilities so they were bred as messenger carrier pigeons in WW1 and WW2. Important Historical Significance I say.. but most importantly they have pink feet

(I hate to tell you that I only have Immense Enthusiasm for birds and I’m actually kind of Knowledge Bare on diverse bird facts so idk a lot about pigeons because I don’t live in a large city. Or at least I only have surface level knowledge. This will change. I’m ravenous for new DEEP CUT bird facts.)

I swear I saw a really in depth pigeon coloration post on tumblr once. You gotta trust me it’s out there… But you can still find other stuff :] pigeons are very overhated 💔 so it’s nice to want to learn about them! I also think their cooing sounds are lovely and unique

[laalaaliaa]

Hi can you a James Potter thing where the reader has a crush on him but he’s really rude to her and something end up happening to her to where he finally care about her?

“Boys will be boys”- J.P

Thanks for the request, apologies to everyone who sent a request to me, I took a break from writing, allowing me time to focus on myself, and now I’m back. I stayed up last night writing this, and it’s not the best, but I hope you enjoy 🤍

James Potter X Fem!Reader

Summary: There really is a thin line between love and hate

Warnings: none

Proofread? no

James Potter was a nuisance. Albeit he had what some would claim as a gratuitous spirit, underneath all that was just a pitiful being. You had liked—or more so deemed him as an acquaintance at one point. You both thrived in different social spectrums, lived in different houses, and had no common interests. As the years progressed, it seemed as if James couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you, let alone your presence.

You were perfect. You were a perfectionist in James’s eye. You worked hard, went all out, and never missed an assignment. There was a blank spot in his brain at one point. You were a blank spot at one point. Before seventh year, or even the year prior. You were bland in his eyes. There wasn’t much James could associate you with other than the fact that you were good friends with the girl he’d been in love with. It made sense, you were both the smartest girls in seventh year. You shared many common interests, and that only irked James even more. His friends always joked that you were practically her twin, saying things like—“If Lily keeps saying no, just ask L/N out.” He hated that idea, so he now hated you.

It was safe to say neither of you liked one another, but you were much more mature than James was. You only focused your time and energy on things you deemed important, and James was not one of those things. At some point you had a fairly normal teenage girl crush on him, but he crushed your little heart, so you choose to stay away from him. It wasn’t purposeful, and you knew that. James being his usual extravagant self, decided it would be best to send a second year as a messenger pigeon to retrieve Lily, only for the nervous bloke to point at you and direct you in the direction James was waiting at.

When you arrived, James had said some not so nice things to you. You were sour after that, and sought it best if you stay away from him for the rest of your schooling. That was your fifth year. You were a seventh year now, a seventh year who was stampeding down the hallway to her first class of the day. You were late, and you knew for a fact it was purposeful, seeing as James left a note that said—“Goodmorning sleepyhead.” He even had the audacity to leave a smiley face. You normally would’ve found it amusing, but right now you felt burned out.

You came to a slow pace, your mind running on overdrive as you shrugged your bag higher up on your shoulder. You were halfway there, but it felt useless to even show with only two minutes to spare before class ended. You slowly lifted the parchment you spent the past few weeks working on, a heavy frown overtaking your usual blank expression. There were splotches of ink on the parchment, making it indecipherable. That wasn’t there the night prior.

With a slump of your shoulders and a tight grip on your parchment, you turned back, walking back where you came from. You felt defeated. It was also no surprise to hear James calling out to you, his voice holding a hint of cockiness, and you could bet he had a smirk on his face. You didn’t turn back though, your morning was already ruined enough. “Come on Y/N, aren’t you thankful you got enough rest?” He teased as his arm slung across your shoulder, weighing your shoulder down a bit. You were silent, pushing his arm off as you threw him a faint smile, continuing on your silent journey.

He hated that. Whenever he tried to get under your skin, or cause an aggressive reaction out of you, you’d either smile, or tell him you found whatever he did to you ‘humorous’. With a forced laugh he walked beside you, throwing a quick glance at his friends with a ‘I’ll be back’ look on his face. You both walked silently side by side, up until James let out an annoyed huff as he threw his hands up defeatedly.

“Why are you so—so you? It’s frustrating, you walk around all high and mighty even after all the bullshit I pull.” He was vexed by your laid back demeanor, a scoff falling from his lips as you let out a wry laugh. He assumed you were unbothered by his acts of service, which only infuriated you. “James Potter,” You started, crumpling your parchment further, “You think I like waking up every morning, knowing that you and your band of blokes have nothing better to do so you continue to ruin my school year?”

James only stared at you, his tongue poking his cheek in contemplation as you stared at him incredulously. He was a jerk, he did what he wanted, and he has the audacity to be upset just because you wouldn’t react to his sick jokes? He’s your least favorite marauder now. “Look James,” You sighed tiredly, as you slipped him your parchment, “I’m burned out. Isn’t this what you wanted? Me being miserable?”

He opened your parchment, a quizzical look on his face as you stared at him pointedly. “Y/N, I didn’t do this if that’s what you think—I, why would I do that?” He stammered, slight offense resting upon his features as he rolled the parchment back up. “James, you don’t have to lie, I wouldn’t have cared if it was an essay, or a stupid potions assignment, but I spent weeks on this.” James refrained from speaking, handing the parchment back with a delicate sigh.

“Can’t you just use magic.” He muttered the obvious solution, an irritated crease in between his brows as he surged on, “You’re a witch, just fix it.” You released a dejected laugh, holding the parchment closer towards his face as you harshly poked at his chest. “That’s not the point James, I shouldn’t have do all of this,” You gestured between the two of you, “You’re a bully, and you still question why Lily doesn’t like you? Newsflash James, it’s because you’re an egotistical jerk.” Had you gone too far? No, you hadn’t.

Although you felt terrible, a large mass of the Hogwarts population was staring at the two of you as if you were a scene in a movie. It was embarrassing, not for you, but for him. With a resentful frown, James turned silently, following his previous footsteps to find his friends. As he did that, you collected yourself. You were a non-confrontational person, yet telling off James Potter made you wanna smile like a fool.

That night as you wandered outside the castle, your mind couldn’t help but drift towards James. You acted like him, perhaps he is growing on you, but not in the best way. With a stumped sigh you carried on, up until your heard a brief growl and a pained whimper follow after. Your head immediately turned towards the forbidden forest. It was forbidden, for good reason, to keep those—like you—from possibly doing something stupid. With a quick glance back towards the castle, you continued deeper into the woods.

You weren’t shocked by the loud growl that lured you out in the first place. However, you were shocked at the sight of a lanky looking werewolf continuing to attack what appeared to be a stag. Were you an idiot for coming out into the forest? Yes, but you weren’t stupid enough to stand out in the open and possibly become dinner. You hid behind a large tree trunk, anxiety over coming you as the werewolf kept snapping its teeth at the stag. In a panicked state, you glanced around the dirt, picking up a large rock before you threw it, hitting the wolf straight on the head.

You were in fact, an idiot. Upon impact the werewolves head snapped back, sharp teeth on display as he growled, releasing the stag and keeping his sights set on you. Now you were screwed, you were dumb, and James was right about everything he’d ever called you. With one last stare off with the werewolf, you ran. You didn’t stumble, or trip like you usually would, this was life or death. You heard barking from beside you, causing you to deter your attention from the path in front of you, to the black dog that appeared on your right.

Bad decision. You tripped, a tree branch causing your demise, and ultimately causing you to tumble forward with a quiet groan. Your body hurt, but with the adrenaline in your body, you were quick to stand, only to be knocked down by the stag you saved. You were out of breath, his large body had knocked the wind out of you, causing your eyesight to become hazy. You couldn’t see a thing, your eyes stuck on the night sky as you caught your breath. The only things you heard before you passed out was barking, howling, the stupid stag’s cries, and for some weird reason, squeaking by your ear.

You were startled awake, your eyes snapping open as you took in the interior of the hospital wing. As you began to move, a weak and scratchy groan fell from your lips. Your body hurt, each bone and body part aching from the events the night prior. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Madam Pomfrey spoke as she stepped into your resting area, bandages in her hand as she made her way closer. “You could’ve died.” She spoke factually, making you laugh before you groaned at the sudden pain in your chest.

“I could’ve, but I didn’t.” Madam Pomfrey only shook her head at your stubbornness, aiding you as she helped you into a sitting position. “You have a lengthy amount of claw marks going down your chest Miss L/N, will you allow me to change your bandages?” You were silent this time, no quip or retaliation out of you. You only nodded, a weakened hiss falling from your lips as she began to rip the bloody bandages resting on your chest.

Once she cleaned you up, and allowed you to settle in, the night prior really sunk in. You nearly fought a werewolf, only to cower away, but you could brag about it (right?). As you closed your eyes, in hopes of getting more rest, you were forced to open your eyes at the sound of a throat clearing. You were shocked to see James Potter dressed in the same hospital attire you wore, a sheepish smile on his face. “May I come in?” He joked, lightly pulling at the privacy curtain he slid open upon entry.

“You look like shit.” He laughed at that, one of his hands quick to clutch his ribs as he frowned in pain. He slowly slid the curtain shut, allowing the two of you to sit in utter silence, and complete privacy. It was awkward to say the least, you two hadn’t spoke since you gave him a reality check, and now, you were both stuck in the same room. Tick. Tick. Tick.

You quickly glanced at the noisy clock before turning your attention back to James. “I’m sorry.” James had spoke, his eyes holding a genuine nature as he made his way closer to you. “I’m sorry as well, It wasn’t fair of me to lash out at you like that.” James only snorted, a hand quick to push his glasses up as it slipped down his nose ridge. “No, it was definitely fair of you Y/N, I deserved it.” The two of you only smiled at one another. A thin silence spreading around the two of you.

You felt awkward, but you couldn’t look away. So with a soft sigh, you tried your best to scoot over on the bed, patting the spot beside you. At first, James was hesitant, his fear of hurting you heightened. You only smiled reassuringly at him, patting the spot a little bit harsher. “Just lay down with me James.” He scurried closer to the bed, settling down beside you with a faint blush. His broad shoulders were pushing against yours, and his thick thighs taking up half the room. You wanted to laugh, but refrained, punching his shoulder playfully.

“How do you even fit in a bed by yourself?” You teased, causing him to scoff in faux offense. “Are you calling me fat?” He slurred dramatically, only for you to shrug your shoulders playfully. He was like a breath of fresh air, although it could also seem like that cause one of your lungs was nearly crushed. You were pulled away from your thoughts as James hauled your legs over his thick thighs, the two of you forced to face one another in your newly found position.

James wanted to punch himself. You were pretty, pretty to the point it hurt him. He’d treated you terribly, and even after all of that, you were still willing to sit in a bed with him and joke as if you were best buddies. He wanted to punch himself whenever his heart beat. Whether it be when you laughed and threw your head back at whatever he said, or whenever you smiled at him, a genuine smile. As time progressed and you grew more tired and tired, you forced yourself to stifle a yawn, a sleepy look casted upon your face.

“Go to sleep.” Your eyes fell on James who was already staring at you, a worried expression on his face. You shook your head, your head falling on his shoulder as you mumbled sleepily, “I’m not tired.” James laughed at that, his laughter soft and gentle, barely moving you. “Just sleep Y/N.” You didn’t respond this time, prompting James to move a stray hair from your face, allowing him to see your eyes already closed. He shook his head with an amused smile. Stubborn.

For once, you slept amazingly.

For once, you slept in James’s arms.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Flies

Ineffable Bureaucracy Week Day 2: Flies ***

“Can I ask a question?”

“You just did.”

“Well, can I ask another?”

“You just-- heh. Fine, fine. Ask away.”

“Why Lord of the Flies, of all things?”

“Well, I designed them.”

“Ah.”

“You sound surprised. Were you expecting a more sordid tale?”

Leaning back on the wooden bench, idly watching the swarm of flies feeding on the remains of what had been a fish before the small stream dried out in the heat of summer, Gabriel shrugged. “It never occurred to me that someone had the task of creating these… smaller… life forms, at some point.”

A huff, the sting of an elbow against his side. Not a lot of sting, to be honest. Beelzebub could certainly do worse, which meant they were holding back. The thought made Gabriel smile just a touch. 

“They took as much work as bigger ones, you know. There are hundreds of thousands species still in existence, and there used to be more. And besides, I didn’t just work on life forms. I made my fair share of star systems, I’ll have you know, while you were starting out your career as a messenger pigeon.”

The smile turned into a frown. “Delivering messages was vital in order to ensure all of us were working according to the same--”

“Lord of the Pigeons. Has a nice ring to it.”

“No one ever called me pigeon, thank you so very much,” Gabriel informed them. “Although some did refer to me as the Peacock of the Angels…”

“Let me guess. You took it as a compliment?”

Gabriel blinked. “Wasn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of it.”

“Humans like peacocks, don’t they?”

“Symbol of vanity. It does fit you. How did you even live with yourself in the millennia before tailored suits and silk ties were a thing?” Beelzebub asked, and Gabriel was almost annoyed. Except that they causally leaned the side of their head against his shoulder, and he promptly forgot how to be annoyed.

“Well-- I believe we’re getting sidetracked here. You haven’t told me why it’s Lord of the Flies. I mean, you surely made more impressive things you could make your title about, no?”

A soft scoff. “Absolutely not. Flies are my masterpiece.”

“... Because they fly where they’re not wanted, make noise, and are annoying?”

“I’m sorry, when did this conversation turn to angels?” Beelzebub asked, looking up, and Gabriel laughed, placing a hand over… the approximate location where a heart would be, if he had human internal organs. 

“Oh, ouch. A low blow, that.”

“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.”

They both turned their gaze back to the small swarm of flies; Gabriel would have been perfectly content to let the matter drop and focus on nothing but the unnatural warmth against the shoulder Beelzebub was leaning on. Except that he didn’t.

“So, what is it about them?”

“About what?”

“Flies. What makes them so perfect?”

“Aside from being emblematic of putrefaction, death, and decay?”

“Well, yes. Aside from that.”

Still leaning on his shoulder, Beelzebub held out a hand, and a few of the flies separated themselves from the swarm, coming to buzz around their hand, landing on their fingers. 

“First of all, they can outmaneuver any angel or demon. See how they fly, hover, land upside down? I made them some balancing organs to function like gyroscopes. They are the greatest aerial acrobats of all Creation. And this is just one of the families - the parasitic ones are a marvel of their own. There is this genus that lays eggs in ants, and once the larvae is big enough, it decapitates the ant to keep growing--”

They talked, on and on, and Gabriel was all too happy to listen. It had been a very, very long time since he himself had felt anything much about the wonders of Creation; it had sort of grown old, like gorgeous scenery you pass by every day to work and back until it’s really nothing more than a backdrop. He’d even forgotten which parts of it he’d had a hand in making himself. How ironic, he thought, that the Grand Duke of Hell never forgot what they made.

All things bright and beautiful, as a famous hymn went, and they’d all been so very proud of it all, once. All things wise and wonderful.

Nothing had really seemed bright and beautiful in a very long time. Nothing had seemed all that wise, and nothing had seemed all that wonderful.

Until now.

Beelzebub got so animated when talking, and Gabriel found himself marveling at each minute facial expression they made while describing a type of fly that looked like a spider and lived in the fur of bats to feed on their blood. Probably not something that fit most of the known universe’s definition of bright, beautiful or wise, he thought.

But most of the known universe never got to sit under the scorching August sun with Beelzebub’s head against a shoulder, listening as they talked about their most complex and beloved creations, watching said creations dance around their fingers.

No one else but him, and Archangel Gabriel-- I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God --had never felt luckier in his entire existence.

[poisoned-sugar11]

Responding to @meme-lorbius.

First of all, "publicly lied about me to make me look like a cunt."

That is not true. What I said to you? Yeah, those weren't lies. I'm fucking terrified of you. I'm only making this post so that you can't keep tricking my friends into thinking this is just some sort of argument.

I know what you did to me, Finn. It was a cycle. We'd get into an argument. You'd tell me I was an asshole and a horrible person. Then, eventually, you'd beg for me to come back.

You made sure I knew how much you were struggling right off the bat. Our first ever out of character conversation was you venting to me. You talked about wanting to die. You mentioned how you couldn't lose anyone else. You told me that I was your best friend.

With how much I trusted you and all the shit I let slip, don't act like you didn't know how old I was when we met.

I was 13. You were 18. You convinced me that you were emotionally dependent on me. I was scared to leave because I was convinced that you would hurt yourself if I did.

I vented to some of my close friends and asked for advice. They told me it sounded like it was abusive. I blocked you. You guilt tripped me into coming back.

Eventually, you blocked me again. I actually ended up getting close to moving on when that happened, so thank you for that, I guess.

You eventually regretted that, though.

I didn't make Viyella a messenger pigeon or whatever the fuck you want to call it. You did.

After we eventually decided to run again, you refused to leave us alone. You contacted us through two more people who were not previously involved.

Onto the supposed doxxing.

You went from yelling at me and accusing me of a crime to immediately begging me to stay. You also messaged me from an alternate account as a form of ban evasion just to do this. Seriously, what the actual fuck?

I do not have the mental energy to finish this post, and due to working from mobile, I can't add any more images at the moment. If anyone doesn't believe me based on this, tell me, and I'll add more information later.

[basilcruzzzz]

Dysfunctional Fam™

Dysfunctional Fam™

sunboi: yo guys why poseidon looks mad

messenger pigeon: wdym bro

sunboi: he looks ready to turn someone into a dolphin

drunk_on_LOOOOVE: ey! That’s ripping me off!

sunboi: fine he looks ready to turn someone into a horse happy

drunk_on_LOOOOVE: very

seaking: ATHENA.

Athena Parthenos: Poseidon.

sunboi: soooo

What’s wrong people???

free therapist here yk

seaking: WHY IS HE BACK ATHENA?!

Athena Parthenos: it has been years poseidon

Let. it. Go.

sunboi: so were ignoring the free therapist offer

ok

interested in a calm the heck down lollipop?

seaking: I AM NOT LETTING IT GO AFTER ODYSSEUS STABBED MY SON IN THE EYE

Athena Parthenos: so what?

Your son was ugly anyways.

seaking: GASP

YOU DID NOT SAY THAT

NONONONO

.DFKAKFHSDFAKSDFHKASHFDASHDFKSH

messenger pigeon: bro got so mad he couldn’t even speak properly

drunk_on_LOOOOVE: lmao screenshotted

Athena Parthenos: Stop being childish, Hermes, Dio.

messenger pigeon: hey, listen, im just tryin to break the tension for our readers

Athena Parthenos: what

drunk_on_LOOOOVE: what

sunboi: what

seaking: what

messenger pigeon: what

sunboi: moving on-

You two @seaking and @Athena Parthenos take this to the Dms

Me and Hermes here need to talk privately too.

messenger pigeon: what..?

sunboi: you heard me, messenger boy

dms, now.

messenger pigeon: … sure.

*

sunboi > messenger pigeon

sunboi: why are you hiding from me, hermes?

messenger pigeon: what do you mean?

sunboi: youre avoiding me

You wont even look at me

Hermes

What are you hiding

messenger pigeon: i cant tell you, apollo

sunboi: what do you mean?!

Is someone threatening you?

If they are i swear on the styx im going to toss them in the worst pits of tartarus

messenger pigeon: NO NOTHING LIKE THAT!

I just…

I cant say

sunboi: hermes please

I need to know

I dont want to be like this anymore

messenger pigeon: apollo…

Its supposed to be a secret

sunboi: so? 

That’s not as important as us

messenger pigeon: its about artemis

I just thought that, you know,

It wouldnt be fair to tell you to keep it from her

sunboi: i can hide something from her

I swear!

ive gotten better

Tell me

messenger pigeon: alright. Ill tell you

Its about orion

He’s returned.

sunboi: no.

No, no, no, no, no

It cant be

messenger pigeon has sent a video

messenger pigeon: this is the video hephaestus saw on cams

This is why he took so long to respond

im sorry apollo

sunboi: artemis is goig to finds outtr

yuo knwo that riughts???

messenger pigeon: eventually, maybe

but not now.

sunboi: i dont knwo whaat illl do if orion comes back

Wha t if artemis seeshim and brings him to olympus

Thentheyll both hate me

I dont want artemis to hate me

messenger pigeon: apollo thats not going to happen

Shes your sister

she’ll stick by you

I know youre panicking

Want to call?

sunboi: mhm

messenger pigeon started a call that lasted 6 hours

*

messenger pigeon > machines <3

messenger pigeon: hephaestus

machines <3: you told him, didnt you?

messenger pigeon: how did you know?

machines <3: I saw the messages in Dysfuntional Fam

messenger pigeon: well, you’re right

machines <3: do you really believe that he’ll manage to keep it a secret?

messenger pigeon: well it seems he hasnt kept a secret from artemis in a long time

But we dont know, so maybe he has

machines <3: i suppose thats fair

But its just a guess

not fact

messenger pigeon: are you angry?

machines <3: no, no

I should’ve expected it, really

after those issues with the cows were ironed out, you and apollo were inseparable

messenger pigeon: thanks for understanding, hephaestus

machines <3: no problem, brother

~

sorry for not posting but hereeee

[potatothots]

This Coffee is Gonna be Good

02.26.2023

Genre: Comedy

Rating: Teen, for some minor language and a tiny bit of angst themed

Pairings: bucky x reader, nat x reader (platonic)

Warnings: it's waaay to cute for it to have come from my brain. No cheating, no nothing like that. Just fluff and a stupid lie. Also, the game "Among Us." If you don't know that game then what are you even doing? It's so much fun. Go play and piss people off. ;)

Summary: Bucky is a liar. You're tired of keeping up with it. 

Bucky knows technology*. You know this, he knows this. Why does no one else know? 

The question burns in your head as you stomp down the hallway to your room. It makes you mad how he's fooled everyone. It's even worse when you're forced to run an errand during work hours to give him a message. It doesn't matter if you work in the same building you live in - he should have the common decency to at least admit to having fundamental knowledge so people stop using you as his messenger. 

You're his girlfriend, not a carrier pigeon! 

You slam open your door. You're greeted by the sight of Bucky laughing his tight little ass off. His personal laptop in his lap, the best/worst game ever made called "Among Us" open on the screen. He has the audacity to look sheepish when he glances over at you. 

"Hey, doll. Off work early?"

You look from him to the coffee table and see his dumb, prehistoric flip phone laying there. 

"Explain to me how no one realizes you can use technology perfectly fine?" You snap at him as you close the door harder than needed. 

He raises an eyebrow in question before looking down at the offending items. 

"I just, you know - "

You cut him off before he could continue with his stupid reasoning. "Don't start with the shit, James Buchanan Barnes. I know what you do. I both saw and heard you agree with Steve when he said modern technology is so confusing."

He shoots in a quick "But it is!" 

"You play Among Us! On your own laptop! You begged me to get for you under my own name but with all your stupid customizations. You can't bullshit a bullshitter, James Buchanan Barnes." 

He opens his mouth again, but you point a finger at him. "No. There is no excuse. You have a laptop, a pc, a fucking smartphone, a smart car, and yet you have the audacity, the nerve, to complain texting is too hard for you?"

"My thumbs are too big and my arm -"

"No excuses! You have a stylus! The screen can pick up your fingers thanks to help from Suri! Who, by the way, you've also fooled. Ayo seems to be the only person, besides me, who knows your tech obsession. 

"Like, how did you fool Tony? The stuff is mostly his tech! And Natasha? She sent me on this little errand because she's tired of garbled texts and you never messaging or calling her back."

His mouth opens and closes, then he shrugs. Bucky lets out a sigh through his nose. "I just hate the idea of people knowing everything. I hate social media. I only go on it to see you guys." 

He pauses so he can close his laptop and set it on the coffee table. 

"I love you so much. The thought of Hydra, or something else, fucking us over again gives me panic attacks. You know this, babe. You know why I ask for everything to be made a certain way. 

"I mean, I can barely eat comfortably at new places or change my room around. I need security, even if that means using the flip phone you don't even know how to text from."

You glared at him as he smirked at that truth. Those phones sucked. The last time you used one was…decades ago. Your job was current technology, not archaic bricks. 

"Fine. But, you need to get a hold of Nat."

He nodded. "I will." 

You looked him up and down, then turned to leave. 

"Don't I get a hug?"

"No. I'm working. You owe me a coffee for this." 

You open the door. Natasha is leaning against the wall. She gives you her signature sly smile. You wink. 

"I'll buy you two coffees for a hug. Three for a kiss? Look, I got the app up, let me know what you want…" Bucky's voice trails away when he walks out of his room after you. "Oh, shit."

"Barnes." Natasha crosses her arms, glaring at him. 

"I expect a coffee on my desk in an hour. You know what I like." You smirk at your boyfriend as you speak. "It's in the app you love to use."

He looks over a highly angry Nat's shoulder at you. It reminds you of a lost puppy. You wave to him before you turn and leave, your steps a little lighter now as you hear your friend chew out the former Winter Soldier. 

You can't wait for that coffee.

*I am under the belief that he knows how to use technology of nearly all types. Fight me. *

WHAT DOES GOOGLE SAY, BUCKET BARNIES BOI?? HUH?

[harlowtales]

Y/N has a chance meeting with Jack and his friends and it’s just the beginning

PART 1

18+ Adult Themes | Romance

You were in Kentucky on business when a well dressed big and tall man with dreadlocks approached you as you were looking at the menu at Ceviche, a high end restaurant and favourite spot to Jack Harlow and his crew The Homies.

“You always be looking so fine all alone?” The man asked

“Who wants to know?” You countered coyly. He sure had some nerve coming up to you and you kind of liked it.

“Name’s Quiiso. You can call me Quiis if you want.” He said extending his hand for you to introduce yourself.

“Y/N” you said sizing him up as he took a little too long to release your hand.

“You obviously from out of town because you have a different look about you. He said in the local smooth southern drawl.

“I am not from here you are correct Mr. Quiiso.” You said formally and took a sip of your margarita

“Margarita’s at lunch? Where’s the after party?” He asked “May I sit?”

“Quiiso, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but…” You started to explain but he cut you off as he felt rejected.

“Say less. Have a nice day.” He said and excused himself from your presence. All the Homies came in and they grabbed a booth in the back of the restaurant. You recognized all of them and knew exactly who he was. In playing it cool, you were concerned you had turned him off. You went to the bathroom to practice what you were going to say to fix the situation and the bad impression you left.

When you walked back to your table Jack Harlow was sitting in your spot. You froze.

“You can’t give my man a chance?” He asked as he relaxed in your chair.

“Um…my gosh. THE Jack Harlow?” You said after your mouth stopped hanging open.

“I am him.” He said with a grin as if he were some god.

“I came off rude, I was just shocked is all.” You explained. “Tell Quiiso I’m sorry.”

“I ain’t nobody’s messenger pigeon. Tell him yourself. We’re in the back booth.” And with that he went back to his crew.

You stood there for a moment gathering courage and walked up to a booth of about 10 guys just staring at you. This could go horribly wrong. “Hi Quiiso…I…I didn’t mean you couldn’t sit with me. I just..I…you’re welcome to come and chat for a bit at my table is what I mean. Only if you want to, and I would understand if you didn’t…but you can.” You were nervous and fumbling your words but it worked. It worked on everyone. They all looked at Quiiso.

“I have a better Idea” Jack said “We got room for one more right fellas?” They all nodded yes “Grab your plate and come on over.”

“Ok sure!” You said happily. All the awkwardness left you as they all seemed friendly. You returned to their table and sat next to Quiiso. He smelled amazing and was dressed in a shirt and tie.

“What’s the occasion? Everyone all dressed up?” You asked

“Celebrating a win that’s all.” Quiiso said “My project just dropped and doing numbers so I felt like celebrating. Did you listen to it?” He asked you

“What Lemon Peel? Um YES.” You answered with just the right amount of attitude and the table went nuts.

“Ohhhhh shit! She’s a real one!!” They said as they erupted in cheers for you. It was embarrassing but sweet.

You had the best time with them chatting taking selfies. Your friends were not going to believe this!

“Listen Y/N” Urban said “We’re having a game night at Jack’s place you should come by.”

“I’m alone in town I don’t think so but thanks for the invite.” You politely declined.

“We don’t bite. We get out old fashioned board games and just have fun. Other girls will be there too if that’s what you’re worried about.” Shane said

“Oh well that sounds like fun actually!” You said as he convinced you. As you were a few margaritas in you accepted the invitation a bit too loudly. A few of them tried to hide chuckling.

“Man good one Quiis baby. She’s cute. Real cute.” Jack said patting his friend on the back as you were due at other meetings for work and excused yourself.

“Yeah man you want help with that?” Urban asked

“Maybe” Quiiso said with a slight grin “Let the games begin fellas”. He watched your ass in your skirt as you walked away.

@okaaay-mice @ride4harlow @itsyagirljaz

[lestappenforever]

Max watching tit streamers anon here (I shall sign as 🍒 anon)

During quarantine, Max broke up with his then girlfriend Dilara. And well, ig he did need to fill an need of his so he went ahead and followed a bunch of insta models and also started watching tit streamers on twitch (idk if that's the proper term for them but yk they were "gamer" girls wearing some rather suggestive clothing).

People learnt about his endeavors on Twitch because he would comment stuff on these girls' streams and even make donations (i remember him making a donation and commenting sth abt the girl using the money to buy a simulator(?)) Our boy is not that creative with usernames so everyone could more or less understand it was him.

Now it's fair to mention that at the time Max had created an account on Twitch, which he streamed on, however quickly gave up on it. Plus he didn't use this account to comment on these girls' streams. He did so from his burner (?) account

When people found out they started pointing out his comments on Twitter and tumblr and I remember there being a post where they mentioned that Max had once wrote in some girl's that was wearing glasses chat that she looks like a "sexy teacher". The next day Charles had a stream and it was one of the first times he wore his glasses on stream, so some people considered it to be a funny coincidence (or not just coincidence we may never know👀)

Part 2:

🍒 anon again

"Regarding that particular stream Charles did (where he locked his now-ex gf out of the apartment) we have no clue whether Max watched it or not.

What we do know, though, is that Max liked Charles' tweet about it.

I remember lestappies in 2020 (that I'm pretty sure could be counted on like one hand), we were having a field day with it.

It was actually rather interesting that Max liked Charles' tweet given that this was back when they didn't use to be as close and used Lando as their messenger, as well as the fact that they do not follow each other on Twitter.

So this did raise the question as to how Max found out abt this tweet, but most concluded that he found out because Lando had interacted with it.

Really, lestappen and their relationship with each other back in the 2020 quarantine period is quite an overlooked chapter of their story, and it's filled with such small moments worth mentioning"

YOU CAME BACK! Thank fuck.

Okay, so during quarantine I was working retail in a grocery store and had to work harder and longer days than I had ever done in my life (and let me tell you, being an essential worker during the pandemic was exhausting), so I must have missed the comments on women's streams altogether. But I am so glad to have you, 🍒 anon, to fill me in on little things I might have missed over the years!

The 2020 quarantine era of Lestappen is definitely overlooked because there are so many gems like this that should get more attention. And Lando being the Lestappen carrier pigeon during this time is just one of those glorious gems.

Thank you so much for this, 🍒 anon! ❤️

[scr-ppup]

[ID/A dark red line with gold lining and a repeating star and half moon pattern./end ID]

Messewarimeian

[PT/Messewarimeian/end PT]

A term related to war imagery, to messengers/runners, medics, and to messenger pigeons for gender reasons.

[ID/A rectangular flag of 9 uneven horizontal stripes the stripe sizes go from top to bottom as; two medium, two big, one small, two big, and two medium. The colors go from top to bottom as dark cool green, cool green, dull lighter cool green, light grey, dark grey, light grey, light blue, blue, and dark blue. The center of the flag has a symbol that consists of a sphere filled in with light blue and it has an outerline of dark green, inside it is an open envelope with a paper inside./end ID]

[ID/A dark red line with gold lining and a repeating star and half moon pattern./end ID]

Etymology: messenger + war + medic + ian

Requested by none.

Taglist: @obscurian @radiomogai

[🪦]Please do not tag my neogenders as xenogenders they aren't xenogenders! Kiitos (thank you).