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deardev0teddelicate · 4 months ago

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february thursdays |

jpxreader

Pairing: javier peña x afab!reader

When Javier comes home to see you passed out from exhaustion, he takes care of you. After all, you always took care of him.

WC: 4.1k

Warnings: fluff, angst (hurt/comfort?), mentions of burnout, mentions of weight loss due to stress (weight/size not mentioned), reader has hair (no specifics), mentions of reader’s breasts, soft!javi, nudity (implied sexually and nonsexually), IMPLIED smut (minors dni), no use of y/n. Overall, nothing too explicit, just some soft and loving moments (and a little self indulgence)

Today was long. Most days were, but today, for some reason, it was even more tiring than usual. It was a Thursday, one of the longer days of the week for you. Mondays started late, and Wednesdays and Fridays were usually reserved for your work hours at the local daycare. Tuesdays and Thursdays, though, you would wake up and leave before the sun rose, returning home only after it set.

You loved going to classes; it was just the fact that you were trapped in a tiny, windowless lecture hall all day for almost eight hours, only to go outside and be greeted by the cold, harsh February wind that bothered you. And with the darkened clouds always looming in the sky during the winter months, it was just…bleak. You yearned for the sun and for warmth—anything to pull you out of the sluggish state you’d been stuck in the past few weeks.

You loved going to classes. You did. Truly, you loved learning about anything and everything.

What was strange, and particularly frustrating, was that this morning hadn’t started any differently than your usual mornings. At 5 AM, Javier kissed you on the cheek as he left for work, just like he always did during the weekdays. It was a welcome greeting, and despite the early hour, it was your favorite way to wake up. Your eyes fluttered open and shirt for a moment, listening to Javier’s footsteps in the kitchen while he grabbed his work bag and walked out the door. You listened to the start of his engine and to the soft crush of the gravel under his tires as his headlights faded from view. After a moment or two, you got up as well. Pushing back the covers and sliding your legs off the bed, you tucked your feet into your slippers to protect yourself from the icy hardwood floor. Most mornings, you would make scrambled eggs and toast, but sleep fogged your muddled brain, so you just poured a small cup of leftover coffee Javier had made and a bowl of some wheat cereal. While you ate, you read over your notes you had taken on Tuesday to prepare for your classes, which began at 8:30 AM.

And then you went through your day as usual—listening to lectures, completing assignments, studying material, etcétera. Most days, you minded your own education, but as the semester had progressed, you noticed your peers and their interactions with each other and the professors. They spoke to one another so…efficiently. They asked complex questions and received complex answers from the professors. You love learning. You loved going to class, even if it was sometimes harder to keep up with the fast-paced environment.

By the time you ended up driving home, it was seven at night and the sun had already sunk low into the sky, leaving hardly any light except for the sparse lampposts and the passing cars in town. You didn’t even have the energy to flip through the radio stations on your old, dusty blue Chevy truck—the one you and Javier had bought in Laredo. No, you just listened to the low grumble of the engine and the harsh wind battering against the windows.

In the silence of the truck, you couldn’t help but wonder about Javier. Did he ever feel this tired at the end of each day? The kind of tired that leaves on unable to articulate even the smallest of words. The kind of tired that leaves one unable to move more than what is barely even required. The kind of tired that is too exhausted to register one’s surroundings. Your brain felt like mush, your eyes were blurry, and all you could think of was how debilitatingly exhausted you were. You tried to focus more on the road and your frozen hands gripping the wheel, breathing in and out with increasing effort.

As you drove further and further from the center of town, your thoughts slowly drifted further and further from the present. After you and Javier decided to leave Bogotá together, your fear of Escobar and the narcos began to slowly subside, only to be replaced with the fear of the unknown. You had never left Colombia before; your world wasn’t much larger than the block you grew up on. Not only were you afraid, but you were worried—worried for Javier, specifically. He would never admit how hard it was for him to leave Bogotá, to leave his work that he had spent his life on, but you could see it. It was etched deep into his molten eyes and the crevices of his face. What you might have not entirely realized was that you had helped him out of the trench he found himself in during your time in Laredo. With you by his side, he found his groove once again and moved forward with his life. That’s why, when a group of law enforcement officials approached him with the opportunity to be director of defense tactics and investigations at a new policing academy in the flats of West Texas, he jumped at the chance.

Your train of thought was interrupted by the sound of your truck turning off the main road onto the old dirt path that led to you and Javier’s house. Flicking on your brights, you slowed down, watching for any critters that might scurry across the dirt road. A minute or two passed, and you pulled up to your small house, parking your Chevy in the driveway. You turned over the engine, and despite the cold leaking into the cabin of your vehicle, you signed and sat there. You listen to your breathing pick up from its slow, even pace to a more erratic pattern. A sting pricked behind your eyes, blurring your vision further as tears welled up. It felt like a rock sat in your throat, forcing you to think more actively about swallowing. You sat and stared for a long moment before you gather your items and wiped at your eyes.

Slowly, you trudged into he house, not caring to take off your shoes by the twisting coatrack in the corner of the entryway. The house creaked in the wind, settling into itself as it tried to make peace for the night. Normally, the lack of light filling the house would disturb you, and you would flip on almost every single light switch to scare away anything lurking in the dark—a habit that Javier wasn’t always the most appreciative of.

“You gonna pay the electric bill this month, baby?” He asked, flipping off the unnecessary lights. You tucked your feet under the blanket and pulled your knees to your chest as the living room grew dimmer.

“Only if you protect me from the ghosts,” you laughed, looking at him as he climbed back on the couch, pressing you to his chest. The scent of cigarettes and rosemary filled your nose. His cologne always smelled like rosemary and something else—something woodsy. It was euphoric, making you feel as though you were intoxicated.

“Ghosts? Of course, I’d protect you from the ghosts,” he said, grinning as he looked down at you. You giggled at his declaration. “The ghosts will never getcha. That’s my job!”

Before you could react, Javier tackled you onto your back, hovering over your body. His hands came up to attack your sensitive sides, eliciting a deep belly laugh from you.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” you tried to say through a fit of giggles. “Javi, Javi, Javi—”

His fingers slowed, finding rest by your sides, a smile stretching across his face. He laid on top of you, his weight pressing into you, anchoring you. You loved the feeling of him on you; it felt as though a blanket of his devotion had found you, protected you. In the warm yellow light, you basked in contentment.

You didn’t turn on the lights. Instead, you made a beeline for your bedroom, if only to prevent your body from collapsing and shutting down right then and there. You and Javier’s room wasn’t small, but it was a nice and comfortable space to live. Knick-knacks form your endeavors together were meticulously placed on shelves and desks and walls. Papers and sticky notes covered in your handwriting and Javier’s chicken scratch were scattered across the desk by the windowsill. Your bed, which was usually made up before you left for the day, had the covers hanging halfway on the floor, making you sigh in defeat.

Without another thought, you dropped your bag on the floor, undressed, and turned on the shower. Steam from the hot water filled the air, clouding your vision like some kind of hazy dream while you went through the motions…

A day’s work instructing at the police academy was long and exhausting. Not as exhausting as being int he field, though. The slicing cold of the West Texas wind only made it worse, as this type of weather was not exactly what Javier had been used to. But what got him through the day was the knowledge that his lover was waiting at home for him. Since meeting you in Bogotá, you had changed something in him. Once, he was a unsatisfied man, consumed in his work of taking down Escobar’s empire. But you gave him a purpose, a different kind of constant in his life. Going home to you left him feeling safe and tame—it made him feel loved. You were his peace.

When you and him decided to move to the States together, he became worried that once you got a taste of life outside of Colombia, you would decide that there was more to see and you would leave him. It was an uneasiness that struck him deep in his chest. When you arrived in Texas, you did get a taste of the world and of life, and you did decide that you wanted more. You hungered for more. Javier’s anxieties were quelled when you approached him with the idea of attending college. His fears were replaced with pride and joy as he smiled and helped you prepare for your exams, applications, and interviews.

By the time Javier got into his car and began to drive home, all he could think about was getting you in his lap and on the couch, holding you in his arms while the two of you talked softly into the night about each other’s day. Your voice, your face, your body—everything, every little thing about you filled his head. Holding you, dancing with you, sleeping with you…It took all his strength e not to speed through town to get to your home. Passing cars and rickety buildings int he dark of the night led him the way, eventually pulling into your driveway next to your truck.

Your truck was usually always in the driveway before his, so that was no surprise to him. What did surprise him, however, was the total darkness he stepped into upon crossing the threshold of the old house. He was used to being blinded by every single light that was turned on.

“Hermosa?” he called out, placing his work bag on the countertop in the kitchen. He flipped on the lights, grimacing as his eyes adjusted to the soft, almost orange lighting. He looked over to the living room in search of signs of you, but alas, there was nothing. Making his way into your bedroom, he almost tripped over your bag that lay on the floor. He looked toward your shared bed, where you were laying diagonally on top of crumpled sheets and a quilted cover, your hair wet and mop like. You were on your stomach, arms tucked under your breasts, with a towel wrapped around your torso. Obviously, you hadn’t been out of the shower very long, given the state of your hair and the steam still clinging to the mirror. In the bathroom, the soft, yellow light above the sink was still on, and a slow drip flowed from the shower head. Javier turned off the light and proceeded to shut off the water completely.

Striding over to your sleeping form, he leaned down on his knee next to you and placed a gentle hand on your cheek, rousing you from your sleep. You curled in on yourself and groaned, protesting his attempts to wake you up.

“Hermosa,” Javier whispered, “we need to get you in bed. Okay, baby?”

You simply grunted in response to Javier. He knew that your classes recently had been taking a toll on your energy. Almost every day now, you’d come home with a million new things you’d learned that you’d excitedly share with him over dinner, while you lay together, or during a late-night ride with him. But as much as you were learning, you were spending almost every moment of your day studying, or working, or completing whatever else needed to be done. Every day, you’d wake up with bags under your eyes, despite the greedy glint in your eye for more—more knowledge, more work, more anything.

Javier had asked you to slow down, to rest with him, to just press on the brakes once in a while.

“Why on Earth would I do that, mi amor?” you yawned. Your shoulders hunched over as you sat at the desk. Pencil residue clung to the side of your hand from your endless pages of writing you had been immersed in for the past several hours.

“Because it’s Friday, and I miss you,” he looked over to you from the bed. Your nose was just inches from a textbook as you furiously copied down the concepts. When you didn’t respond, Javier knew that you weren’t ignoring him—you were simply in your own world. “Hermosa, you’re going to overextend yourself. Gotta take a break.”

Javier rose from his spot and walked over to you. He leaned over to read what you were writing, resting an arm over your shoulder. He kissed your cheek and played with your hair.

“C’mon, baby, you need a break. You can finish in the morning.”

Finally pulling your head up, you turned to look at Javier. His concern was clearly written on his face. “I’m fine, Javi, just need to finish up this chapter real quick.”

In your relationship, you were always the strong one, his support beam. Not only did you take everything life threw at you in stride, but you would also make something else from it. You had this way of changing your perspective on things on the fly, something he greatly admired about you. Since you started the new program at the local college, though, he could see you slipping from the edge. You put all of your energy into your studies, leaving Javier in awe of your work ethic. The way you juggled everything in your life was something else. But. Just as he would never admit to struggling in Laredo, you would never admit that you were burning the candle at both ends.

Dark circles began to form beneath your eyes, and you had lost some of the plumpness from your face and body. Your hair had become strongly and brittle, unlike its usual volume and texture. Though you always walked around with the same happy-go-lucky demeanor you always presented, there were shadows in your eyes and an edge to your voice that suggested you were only a moment away from breaking down on the spot.

And as much as Javier would ask you about your day, your thoughts and your feelings, you would always reply with nothing but positive remarks. You would say you had a wonderful day. You would say that this has been the greatest experience of your life. You would say how much you loved the town. What you wouldn’t say was how much constant information was thrown at you during classes. What you wouldn’t say was how discouraged you felt when your peers spoke with such confidence and understood everything around them with ease. What you wouldn’t say was that, even though you loved your new town, you sometimes missed Bogotá.

Javier would never force you to talk about things you didn’t want to, but he wished that you would speak out your frustrations to him—or anyone, really. He wished you would stop holding everything in and pushing it down. He wished you would find a way to let everything out. Your brave face, though admirable at times, was becoming more of a mask to hide the obviously struggling person behind it. He just wished you would let him bear the stress on your shoulders, support you, ease your mind—just as you had done for him in Bogotá and Laredo.

Sighing, Javier rose from his spot in front of you, and walked over to the dresser where he knew you kept all of your garments. Top drawer for underwear, middle drawer for pajamas. ‘Pajamas.’ Your pjs were just old shirts o this that you would sneak from him. You started your collection only just a few days after you started seeing each other. Javier hadn’t even noticed you were slipping things form his apartment until he stayed over at yours for the first time and spent the whole night there.

“It’s that my shirt?” he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette as he watched you pull the old, tattered yellow shirt over your sweat lined, bare body.

“It is!” You grinned, spinning around, showing it off to him as you strode to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s my favorite; it’s so comfortable.”

Javier let out a quiet laugh and exhaled, putting out his cigarette, “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.” he leaned down to kiss your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and then your soft lips. The tender kiss quickly turned into a fervent, hungry kiss. A battle of dominance and power ensued between the two of you. Sliding your arms from your hold around him, you pushed him till his back ran into the wall, placing a hand on his chest.

“Wha’d’ya say? Round two?” You asked, looking at him with feigned innocence. His head leaned back against the wall as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

Smiling at the memory, he pulled out some soft, dark blue panties and that old yellow t-shirt. Javier wandered back to where you lay. Carefully, he turned you over and leaned you against his chest as he pulled the dusty pink towel from your body, tossing it as best he could toward the bathroom. He slid the shirt and underwear onto you, savoring the fact that you were letting him take care of you for once. He could feel your slow breaths flowing in and out and was hyperaware of the warmth of your skin against his. He relished every moment of tranquility you gave him, but there was something different about this moment in particular. Something about the way you were half asleep, helping him maneuver your body into the clothes.

“Javi,” you mumbled, curling up into a ball with your head on his lap, arms tucked into your chest. “Javi, I am sleepy.”

“I know, c’mon, let’s get you into bed, mi amor,” Javier said with a smile, moving you off him so he could pick you up. With you in his arms, he adjusted the covers and gently laid you down, your head on your preferred pillow. He covered you with the cotton sheets and the patchwork quilt you had picked out together, then proceeded to get ready for bed himself, climbing in next to you.

He pulled you into his arms, your back to his chest, as he tucked his face into your hair. God, he thought to himself, you smelled so good—coconut and lavender, the combination that made him instantly think of you. It took every ounce of control not to kiss your neck, worshipping your very being. Groaning, he tugged you in closer, his grip on your waist tight, as though you might be taken from him.

“Javi, you’re gonna squeeze the life from me,” you chuckled softly, whispering over your shoulder. You moved your arm to try and create a little space between the two of you. He eased his grip but kept his arms around you. Shifting to get comfortable, you finally flipped over to face him, settling back down. “There,” you sighed.

You mustered up the strength to look into his eyes. His soft puppy-dog eyes gave you his undivided attention. He look content, something you hadn’t seen in him until recently. There was something else written on his face, though, in his furrowed brow—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“What’s wrong, Javi?” you asked, bringing your hand to his jaw your thumb rubbing lightly against his mustache. He leaned into your touch, craving any physical contact you offered.

“Nothing, mi vida. I should be asking you that. Are you alright?”

You didn’t know what else to say to him that you hadn’t already said, “I’m fine.”

“No. You’re hangin’ by a thread. What’s goin’ on?” He wasn’t usually one to be pushy, but seeing you passed out from exhaustion, bare naked, on the bed…It made him more than just nervous.

“I’m just tired,” you looked down, avoiding his intense gaze. “It’s just a lot of work, and this next round of exams is going to take a lot. I might need tot take a day or two off from the daycare.”

“Have you found anyone to study with in your class? Maybe that would take some of the pressure-”

The rock was back, and the stinging in your eyes had returned as well.

“Hey? What’s-” He cut himself off, lifting your chin so he could look at you completely. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, upset with yourself for slipping up and letting something like this get to you. Upset that you weren’t able to pull yourself together enough to let it pass. How were you supposed to admit that you…you couldn’t do it all?

“Sometimes,” your voice wavers. “Sometimes, I just—I don’t always understand. You know? I just don’t…”

And just like that, Javier understood a little more why you were so exhausted. Why sometimes you wouldn’t speak for several hours.

You exhaled and whispered just loud enough for Javier to barely hear, the words tumbling from your mouth, “I understand everything, but sometimes, I just can’t keep up. They say things and I know what they’re saying, but I don’t think like them, and I have to spend so much time, and I can never keep up.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he pressed you against him, rubbing circles on your back with his palm. He knew that you loved your classes—that was almost all you talked about to him. He had never considered the fact that you would have more obstacles than the others. Javier held you and let you cry to him. Feeling more vulnerable than average before but never safer, you let the barriers you had built up so long ago crumble down.

A moment or two passed as you cried in Javier’s arms, sitting in his quiet affection. As your tears slowed, you inhaled deeply, trying to recover. Sleep beckoned to you once again, feeling heavier than before.

“I’m so sorry, I sh-” you tried to apologize to him, but he stopped you mid-sentence, shaking his head softly.

“In Bogotá, you cared for me, took the weight from me. In Laredo, you encouraged me, loved me. If you can sacrifice and support and be there for me in every waking moment, I can do this for you. You can cry to me, rant to me, anything. I’m worried about you. Let me bear this with you.”

You listened to his pleadings with open ears, taking his words to heart. “I know, mi amor. I am sorry. I am going to be better, I promise.”

A yawn escaped your lips, as he reached to wipe away the tears from your face.

“Go to sleep, hermosa. You need sleep, need rest,” he whispered to you. “Thank you for tellin’ me what been goin’ on. We can talk more tomorrow.” He moved to kiss the top of your head. “But you need rest.”

“M’not tired.”

“I beg to differ, baby,” he said in that tone of his he gets when he’s amused.

“No, I promise,” you yawn again, eyes fluttering closed from the weight of lack of sleep. “I promise.”

“Mhm, “ he threaded his hand through the hair on the nape of your neck, lulling you back into your dreams. “G’night, mi amor. I love you,” he kissed you again, drawing a soft sigh from you.

“Love you. Nigh’,” you breathed out, leaning further into the safety of him as sleep lovingly took you over.

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sexydoffyman · 1 year ago

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Weird request but how would TF141+König and Alejandro react to meeting an orphan around 15 years of age who's like extremely talented in engineering, mathematics and physics, like they could build a rocket if they had the materials ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It can be HC, whatever you want! I was thinking maybe said orphan got in trouble with the government for unknowingly building some sort of weapon, maybe it was stolen? Twist that however you wish.

Just ignore this ask if you wanna <3

A KID?

genre: action

characters: König, Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, Kyle Garrick

A/n: expect a lot more mistakes. Also thinking this needs a second part.

It’s been 6 years now since the war began. You were left stranded. All by yourself. Left on your own by everyone. Living was hard, but you pulled through. You learned how to do a lot of shit since you were there only with yourself for some time. Building stuff. That was your biggest interest.

You were constantly making things. New weapons mostly. You were always moving, never staying in one place for too long. You got brutal throughout the years you were alone. You took the uniform of a dead soldier. To blend in. You were mistaken for a recruit and pulled inside a helicopter by a military dude.

The military was a great provider of food and healthcare. So you just went along with everything they threw at you. Your knowledge of building shit helped out a lot. And even when some dude figured out you were a kid he let you stay.

The same dude put you in a task force with a man he trusted. You were cautious of everyone in there, but at least you had some people who you could trust a bit.

You picked up how things work from the years of pretending to be a soldier. Pretending to be an adult was getting easier and the task force you were assigned to found a place in your heart.

“There’s gotta be a way.” You finally snapped out of thinking about life before the war. You thought that the military would be a great cover. But now all your hope of making it out alive hit zero. You were stuck and with gas slowly filling the room that you and the others were in you knew your chances of survival were low.

You sat in the corner of the room. You had given up a few minutes ago already. The others were still trying to figure something out.

Suddently you felt something inside of you snap. You were not gonna die today. It must’ve been the panicking of the rough men infront of you that made you have that feeling. You started to search for a solution.

You found a small vent. It was too small to fit a grown man in, but you were not a grown man. You took off your gear and crawled into the vent unnoticed by your team.

You finally got to use the skills you gained. You crawled through the vent and dropped down from the ceiling right on the other side of a door that the rest of your team was trying to open. You managed to get inside some kind of an electrical system. You cut some wires and reconnected some other ones. The door opened with a space in between the doors just a centimeter big.

Grabbing a metal piece from the electrical you prayed the door open. You were met with the looks of your crew. You looked down and put your hand above your forehead to block your face. By now all of them realized that you weren't of age.

You ran into the room to grab your gear while your team gave each other a disgusted glance. “We need to get out of here ASAP,” you said as you walked away from the room. Price grabbed you by the shoulder to stop you. You turned to him with your mask on now.

“How old are you?” he was looking at you worriedly while he said that. You didn’t know what to answer and so after a few stutters you answered “Classified” This only made them feel more curious.

It has been days since that mission and nobody brought up the fact that you were a kid. You did notice that Price stopped shouting orders at you and started just saying them in a normal calm tone. Soap was making more small talk with you than usual. Ghost was staying closer to you, knowing you might not be able to fend off an enemy. Gaz was making sure to double-check your gear.

When you teamed up with Mexican special forces and met Alejandro you were given tasks that you’d be on with multiple people.

When you were stranded from the team, finding your way to a spot they could locate you at, you met another dude. Austrian and huge. Big dude. He was your enemy, but it didn’t take him long to find out that an adult dude would have a little more strength than you did. He forced your mask off and found out that you were in fact a kid.

Instead of killing you, he spared you. Helping you locate your tram instead of them having to look for you.

Would you survive the next missions? That you don’t know. But you do know that you don’t have to worry about pretending to be an adult.

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letsdosciencetoit · 26 days ago

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Snippet from the BuckTommy Season 1 Canon Divergent - Working title: I'm Where the Spiders Go

Another scene from my BuckTommy AU. I've picked a working title, and getting into some canon material now - Chim's rebar accident.

Reminder - Tommy never left the 118, so Buck was assigned to the 122 for his probationary year.

Likes, comments, speculation and engagement are love.

I'm Where the Spiders Go

Buck and the 122 arrive on scene for a motor vehicle accident. Dispatch has advised them it’s a multi-vehicle collision, but two cars have the worst of the impact. One of the drivers is on the line with dispatch, alert but pinned. They don’t have confirmation on the other driver.

Captain Warren sends Buck and Oscar to take a look at the truck and check on the driver. Front end is a crumpled, but the cab looks intact. the rebar is poking out of the sedan in front like a pin cushion. It doesn’t look promising for the second car, but Buck pushes it from his mind and focuses his attention on the driver side door.

The driver is slumped against the steering column, but there isn’t anything impeding access. Oscar already has the Halligan ready to pry the door open. Buck goes to grab the backboard and C-collar as Oscar gets the door blown wide. He can hear Oscar telling the man, “Don’t move, let me check you over first,” meaning the man is starting to come to, but he’s hearing commotion from the other vehicle as well.

Warren is telling their paramedics, Serrano and Sutton, to back away, while a couple of guys from the 141 start to approach. Warren waves them off as well. For a moment Buck fears the worst about the second driver, but he sees Warren crouching next to the open driver’s side door, clearly talking to someone, and speaking into the radio.

Again, Buck puts it out of his mind, helping Oscar cut the belt and pull the man from the white truck. They get him on the backboard, and Serrano and Sutton take over, loading him onto the bus and preparing him for transport.

He’s itching to offer assistance with the second vehicle, but turns his head when he hears the sirens on another engine pulling him. His heart lodges in his throat when he realizes it’s the 118. Captain Warren leaves Sal with the driver, and approaches Captain Nash. Buck can’t hear what’s being said, but he sees Nash gesture to Tommy and a black woman to wait where they are. Warren and Nash return to the car, and Sal comes back, walking with purpose towards Tommy and the woman.

Buck steps closer to the trio, close enough to see Sal nod at the woman. “Hen,” He says in greeting, but his voice is grave. “Tommy… it’s Howie. He’s refusing treatment from anyone outside the 118.”

He sees the woman, Hen, flinch. Tommy stands a little straighter and asks “What’s the damage?”

It isn’t evident in the way Tommy holds himself, or the tone of his voice, but Buck can tell Tommy is devastated. He’s still projecting the capable confidence, but it’s like there’s an aura about him of stoic grief. Buck knows Tommy doesn’t have a lot people he considers close friends, but he’s mentioned Howie more than once around him.

“He’s pinned by rebar,” Sal confirms while Buck is trying to figure out what he can do in this situation to help more than he is. It looks like Sal is going to say more, but Nash returns.

“Wilson, Kinard – with me,” Nash orders. Tommy and Hen immediately move in step with him as he keeps speaking. “Chimney’s been impaled by rebar, through his head. He’s alert, talking, but doesn’t appear to be in any pain.”

Buck moves to follow, but Sal grabs him by the shoulder and holds him back.

“Nothing you can do now, kid,” Sal says with a shake of his head. “We need to focus on wrapping things up and clearing out. Cap will keep us update if there’s any news about Howie or the 118.”

Buck watches Tommy and his crew walking towards the car, wishing he could somehow be useful behind the clean up. He doesn’t see Tommy again before they’re back on the engine and pulling away.

*** 9-1-1 ***

They get Howie to the hospital, and into surgery, but the team still has a shift to finish out. Nash goes to talk to Tatiana, but comes back to tell them she’s not going to the hospital.

It strikes a cord with Tommy. Howie cared about this woman enough to propose to her, and she can’t even be bothered to make sure he’s going to be okay. Not because of any societal pressure, but because she doesn’t want the obligation.

Everything is at a boiling point when they’re called out regarding the abandoned container truck. He’s jealous that Hen is the one who takes down the driver. He figures it would probably be for the best. He’s not sure he would have stopped at just tackling the man.

He’s got a text from Sal when they get off shift. The man asks for an update on Howie and asks if the team needs anything in the interim. He thumbs back a quick response, that Chim’s out of surgery, but still unconscious.

He and Hen decide to split the visitation. He’s going after shift, while Hen is going to go home, see her wife and son, and come back one they’re settled for the night. Tommy remembers Howie having parents, or parental figures, when he first started with the 118, but as for as he knows they were estranged after Kevin Lee’s death. He contemplates asking Bobby to check Howie’s records to see if anyone has their contact information, but thinks better of it. He wouldn’t want anyone contacting his parents in case of emergency.

He showers at the station and changes into is street clothes. He grabs a protein bar out of his locker and eats it in his truck on the drive to the hospital. He parks in the overpriced lot, and drags his feet to Howie’s room. There’s no one there when he arrives, so he stands in the doorway to take it in.

Howie’s head is bandaged, and his skin is pale, but the steady beat of the monitor confirms he’s alive, and he isn’t intubated. Tommy thinks that’s a good sign. He makes his way into the room and pulls one chair away from the wall so he can sit next to Howie’s bed.

He’s not going to do anything as dramatic as clutch Howie’s hand in his, but he remembers reading that coma patients benefit from people talking. He feels a little foolish, but he just starts into it, a conscious stream of thought. “I go to the movies by myself. I used to go every Tuesday with my mom in the summers to see the big summer block busters. We’d go to the drug store and pick up chocolate bars, two for a dollar and sneak them in my mom’s purse with a can of pop.

“I still go every Tuesday we have off,” Tommy continues. “I stopped for a while when I was engaged to Abby. She didn’t like leaving the house all that much after her mom got sick, but our first date was to an old screening of Warm Bodies. She was not impressed by the movie, but I must have done something right because she stuck around for a couple of years.”

Tommy swallows, realizing he’s telling Howie a lot of things he hasn’t opened up about. “If you remember this when you wake up, you’d better keep it to yourself.

“Anyway, I started going to the movies again. I don’t need to, but I still smuggle in a pack of Twizzlers to eat with the popcorn. I don’t know what it is about the popcorn, but I cannot recreate it at home. I’ve tried the coconut oil trick, and the special seasonings, but it’s still missing something.

“And hey! When you’re out of here and cleared to drink, you’re coming with me to see whatever shit block buster is playing at ArcLight. The one in Pasadena is serving craft beer in all of their theaters. I’ve started going there if the timing works out. I saw Molly’s Game last week. Idris Alba was exceptional.”

Tommy trails off, mind going back to a few weeks prior when he’d mentioned to Evan that he wanted to go see the movie. “Listen to this, Howie. Probie at the 122 is completely uncultured. This kid doesn’t get any of my movie references. I mentioned Idris Elba and he asked if it was the guy who sang with Macklemore. He would drive you nuts.”

Tommy trails off again, thinking a little more of Evan. He’d seen the 122 at the crash site, and clocked Evan the moment he’d hopped off the truck. They don’t cross paths with the 122 often, so it’s the first time he’s seen Evan in his turnouts. It was clear Evan didn’t know why the 118 had been called until Sal and then Nash explained the situation to them, but his presence was a comfort regardless. Tommy knew if he’d made eye contact with Evan the other man would have approached. Evan would have wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leaned in close, and Tommy would have leaned right back, no matter who was around.

When Sal had first explained that Chimney was injured, it felt like someone had cut his strings. The only thing keeping Tommy upright was sheer force of will. Howie was one of his closet friends, and always bragged about not having any scars. He’d carried Tommy from an exploding building, and Tommy still hadn’t repaid the debt from that.

Tommy leans back in his chair and looks at Howie’s face again. His eyes are still closed, and the monitor continues to beep. Tommy’s eyes start to sting, he can feel the tears wanting to well. He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and pinches the bridge of his nose to stem the flow, then leans back in his chair.

He huffs, and looks back at Howie. “You’d probably like him, actually. He’s a cocky little shit, and has no filter, but he’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.”

He looks down at his lap, leans forward and continues in a whisper. “I probably like him more than I should. He makes me want to do things I’ve been avoiding my whole life.”

He huffs a little laugh this time, and almost says it out loud, this burning secret that’s been eating away at him, but he clocks movement at the door to the room. Hen is leaning against the door frame, purse over her shoulder, and a book in the crook of her arm. His stomach sinks, and he worries she’s heard his confession, but her face doesn’t offer any knowing glances.

“You’re spelling me off already?” Tommy asks, looking at his watch and realizing more time has passed than he expected.

Hen shrugs, and walks into the room. She sets her bag on the empty chair, and nudges Tommy’s shoulder. “Denny is in bed, and Karen has an early morning. I’m not going to be missed, and I’ll have the chance to get some uninterrupted reading done.”

Hen holds up her copy of “The Girl on the Train.” The bookmark is halfway through, and Tommy recalls her reading it on shift for the last few weeks.

Tommy stands and moves to wrap her in a one-armed hug. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Message me if there are any changes.”

Hen hugs Tommy back, and promises she’ll pass any news along.

*** 9-1-1 ***

Tommy turns onto his street, is contemplating whether he’ll shower, sleep or eat first. He’s coming off a 24 hour shift, and hasn’t shopped for groceries yet, so it’s unlikely there’s going to be anything edible in the home. He showered when he came off shift, but something about sitting in the hospital makes him feel dirty. He’s debating the merits of showering while he waits for a take out order, or just skipping the meal in favour of going to bed.

His mind occupied, he doesn’t notice the Jeep parked on the street. It’s not unusual for there to be vehicles parked on the road. The driveways are short, and after the housing collapse in ’09 it’s been more common to see adult children sharing homes with their parents and needing the extra vehicles means they spill over onto the street.

Tommy pulls his truck into the driveway, grabs his go bag from the back, and is looking down at his keychain for the house key as he walks up towards the front steps.

He nearly trips over Evan, sitting on his front porch. The kid is asleep with his head resting against the side of the house, a small cooler sitting beside him. Tommy’s arrival startles him awake, and he shoots up immediately, brushing dirt from the back of his pants.

“Tommy!” Evan starts talking a mile a minute. “I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced, but I figured you could probably use something to eat. Not that you couldn’t get your own food, but I thought you might want something home cooked, or at least station cooked after the day you had. I probably should have texted you first. I’m sorry! I can just leave the food here for you and get out of your hair. There’s reheating instructions on the tray when you want it…Mffm.”

Tommy stops his rambling by stepping into Evan’s space, wrapping one hand around the back of Evan’s neck, and slotting their lips together. Evan hesitates for a split second before he’s melting into the kiss. He’s hands grab at Tommy’s shirt, and his chapped lips part under Tommy’s tongue.

They’re secluded enough, and it’s dark out, so Tommy doesn’t worry about any of the neighbours seeing. As he tightens his grip in Evan’s hair, holding Evan where he wants him, Tommy’s not sure he’d care if the neighbours saw.

This is what he needed, he realizes. Not food, or rest, just someone bright, and vibrant, and alive.

#9-1-1 #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #sal deluca #henrietta wilson #9-1-1 season 1 #9-1-1 fanfiction #canon divergent au #I'm Where The Spiders Go - 9-1-1 Fic

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hqbaby · 1 year ago

Text

twenty — wheels on the bus

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2.3k content. profanity, mentions of sex

The rickety bus makes its steady way back to campus, creaking beneath the weight of the people inside, their things, the silence that they share. Save for Kento occasionally giving the driver directions, no one says a thing, everyone averts their eyes, refuses to acknowledge one another.

You’re sitting in the first row, squished to the window by Utahime’s sleeping form. Through the bus’ mirror, you can see that the rest of your friends dispersed in the seats behind you, most of them trying to stay as far away from each other as possible.

Maki and Nobara are huddled somewhere in the middle, Maki awake and alert, Nobara dozing off. Satoru sits in between two couples, nervously glancing at Kimi sitting a row away. Sukuna is in the back, trying to look past the rows to catch a glimpse of you.

If anyone told you three days ago this is how things would end up, you wouldn’t have believed them. Who would?

“I’m gonna leave you here!” Sukuna calls out into your apartment. He stands at your door with his bag, tapping his foot impatiently and checking the time on his phone every few seconds or so. “Seriously, tiger! We’re gonna be late!”

You stumble out of your bedroom and down your hallway, dragging your bag behind you as you beam at your best friend. “I’m here!” you say brightly. “Let’s go!”

Sukuna takes your bag from you, despite your protests. “Just let me take your bag! The bus is gonna leave us behind!”

You giggle as you lock your door and rush after him. “Why are you so worried the bus is gonna leave us?” you say. “Is it because of that time in eleventh grade when you—”

“No, it’s not because of that,” he cuts you off, shooting you a nasty look for even suggesting that. “I just don’t like being late to things.”

You raise your brow at him. “Since when?”

You know Sukuna. You’ve known him since he was in high school and showing up to classes late, always turning his assignments in after the deadline, always materializing at plans you made with your friends thirty minutes after you were supposed to meet up. You know Sukuna, and you know that he is anything but punctual. You doubt the word even exists in his dictionary.

And yet here he is. Coming to pick you at your apartment an hour earlier than he said he would come. Telling you to move a little faster, pick up the pace. Doing everything in his power to make you stop doing unnecessary things like washing your mugs or folding your laundry—even going so far as to do those things for you so you can focus on getting your things ready.

“You’re acting really weird,” you tell him as you get in the passenger seat. When he shoots you a confused look, you laugh. “Don’t deny it. Do you just wanna ski that bad?”

He rolls his eyes as he starts the engine. He ignores you for a bit, driving ahead, thinking over his words very carefully. Eventually, he decides to just say, “I don’t want your friends to have a bad first impression of me.”

That makes you snort. “You know basically everyone going on this trip,” you remind him. “Aren’t you and Mahito friends? Actually, best buds last I heard. This is hardly a first impression, and I highly doubt it will be a bad one.”

“But it’s the first time they’re seeing me as your boyfriend,” he says, stressing the last words as that makes him sound less crazy. “I don’t care what they think about me, but I do care what they think about your boyfriend. There’s no way in hell I’m embarrassing you.”

You can’t help but coo at his words—teasingly, but still. Who knew Sukuna could be this sweet?

“‘Kuna, you big softie,” you say, a shit-eating grin on your face. He scowls at you and you chuckle, your hand reaching over to pat his shoulder. “You could never embarrass me. Besides, if we’re late, they’ll know it’s my fault. I’ve made all of them late at some point in their lives.”

He looks at you warily. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” you tell him. You raise one of your hands in promise. “I swear, I’ve made Kento late at least three times in the last year. He will not fault you if you end up late because of me.”

It takes him a minute, but Sukuna eventually seems to buy your words. “Okay,” he says. “But we’re not gonna be late.”

You giggle, pinching his cheek. “You’re so cute when you’re concerned about what everyone thinks about you.”

He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “Only for you.”

When you get to the bus, Kento is standing by the door, looking very concerned. He sees you coming over and gestures to you to move faster, frowning.

“I’ll deal with the bags, you go deal with that,” Sukuna says, taking your bag from you. He pecks you on the cheek, a gesture that sends your heart pounding. There’s just something about how casual, how natural it all seems that makes you appreciate it all the more.

“What’s up, Kento?” you ask as you approach the man. “Did you forget to pack your emergency underwear?”

He glares at you, tapping the clipboard that he’s holding on his hand. “We’re in crisis.”

You look around, at the mostly empty parking lot, at the sun shining brightly, the trees swaying gently. “I don’t see the crisis,” you tell him. “Mind pointing it out?”

He groans, burying his face in his hand at your antics. “Will you please just help me?”

You grin. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” you say. “What’s the crisis, Kento?”

“A few extra people showed up,” he says, showing you his clipboard with a floorplan of the place you’ve rented. “There are enough beds for them and everything, but what with all the little stipulations—Mahito can’t sleep in the same room as Aoi, you can’t be in the same room as Kimi, all that shit—I can’t figure out the sleeping arrangements.”

“Who said I can’t be in the same room as Kimi?”

Kento frowns. “Well, no one, but I assumed—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you tell him, smiling. It irks you a little to know that everyone thinks you’re not mature enough to be able to sleep in the same room as your ex’s girlfriend, but you know that they mean well. “Give me the floorplan. I’ll figure it out.”

He shoots you a look, unconvinced. “You will?”

“Yeah!” you say, reaching out to take the clipboard. When he doesn’t hand it over, you try and get it yourself. It takes a bit of force prying the thing from his hand, but he gives in eventually. “Come on, Kento. You gotta enjoy the trip too, you know.”

“You’ll figure it out?”

You nod, leading him onto the bus. “I’ll figure it out,” you say, pushing him ahead of you and placing him in his seat at the front. “Now, relax. Be a stupid college kid for once, yeah?”

Utahime, who’s sitting beside him, watches your exchange with amusement. “Trying to get the big guy to take a break?”

You nod at her, the two of you treating the twenty-one-year-old man between you like a toddler. “He’s gonna have a blast. Aren’t you, Ken?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Stop patronizing me.”

“Not patronizing, just giving you the break you deserve,” you tell him. You tap the clipboard on his shoulder. “I’ll pass this over to you when I’m done. Utahime, make sure he stops working.”

“I’ll try my best,” she tells you, laughing as you can basically see the steam pouring out of Kento’s ears. “You should go find your seat.”

You nod, ruffling Kento’s hair before you turn to the rest of the bus. You find Sukuna waving at you, pointing at your seat beside him, and you make your way down the aisle over to him.

As you walk, someone grabs your arm.

“Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here.”

The voice has your blood boiling.

“Naoya, what the fuck are you doing here?” you basically hiss, looking down at the man smirking up at you from his seat.

He shrugs and it takes everything in you to not punch him right then and there. “I love skiing,” he tells you. “Who am I to turn down a fun little trip?”

Suguru, sitting beside him, does you the pleasure of punching his housemate’s arm for you. “Stop being annoying,” he tells him, then he turns to you, apologetic. “He found out about it through Satoru.”

You soften a little for Suguru’s sake, but you’re still clearly on the defensive. “Oh,” you say. “And you came to babysit him?”

Suguru chortles, much to Naoya’s dismay. “Something like that,” he says. “I’ll try and keep him away from you.”

“Thanks,” you tell him. You glance back at Sukuna who’s watching this whole thing from a distance with a raised brow. “I should get going,” you tell Suguru. “Enjoy the trip.”

“We will!” Naoya responds for him as you snarl at him before heading over to your boyfriend.

“What was that all about?” Sukuna asks as he scoots over to the window seat. He has his eyes trained on Suguru and Naoya, the former now basically trying to suffocate the latter as Naoya continues to pester him.

“Just friends of Satoru,” you say, quieter than you intended.

Ever since you witnessed that confrontation between Satoru and Sukuna at the sign-up booth, you’ve steered clear of mentioning your ex to your best friend. You like to think that the two of you can talk about anything, from that one time Sukuna peed himself before a math final to the boy you were obsessed with in high school, but this seems to be a sore spot. One you’re not willing to unpack just yet.

“Oh, okay,” Sukuna says. He’s trying to appear unbothered, but you can see through his whole act. He places his hand on top of yours and squeezes it. “You’d tell me if they were bothering you, right?”

You smile at him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Definitely,” you tell him. “And Suguru’s fine honestly. He’s been very respectful, always has been. It’s Naoya who’s…”

“A bit of an ass?”

You chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.” Deciding to change the subject, you place Kento’s clipboard on your lap and sigh. “Help me figure out the sleeping arrangements.”

Sukuna leans over to see the floorplan. He hums. “I think we should take the bedroom all for ourselves,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t think I can go three days without fucking you.”

You feel your face heat up and you slap his thigh. “You’re such a horndog.”

“Can you blame me? My girlfriend’s gorgeous.” He presses his lips to the side of your neck. “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

“I think I’ve heard something to that effect,” you giggle as he kisses your skin. You try to push his head away, but your boyfriend is relentless. You whisper, “‘Kuna, we’re in public.”

“So?”

Laughing, you manage to finally push him off. When you see the pout on his face, you give him a quick kiss and pat his cheek. “If you really wanna make a good impression on everyone, you can’t fuck me on the bus.”

“Fine,” he huffs. “Totally fucking you at some point during the trip though.”

You kiss him one more time, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you say, ‘Kuna.”

When you lean back into your seat, you freeze at the two people standing in front of you.

“Oh, hi,” Kimi is the first to speak, offering you a polite smile.

You manage to smile back. “Hi,” you say. “Are you, uh, are you guys ready for the trip?”

Satoru has his eyes on Sukuna, his gaze is hard. He turns to you and smiles too, albeit a little tight. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we are.”

“Great,” you say, letting out an awkward laugh. You take Sukuna’s hand in yours. “I guess we’ll see you guys around.”

Kimi nods. “You sure will.”

As the two of them make their way to their seats in the back, you look over at your boyfriend, his cheery demeanor from earlier now reduced to a pensive look, one you’ve never really seen on him before.

You squeeze his hand, grabbing his attention. “Are you okay?”

His eyes dart over to you, wide, before he nods. “Yeah, tiger, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. You know better than to pry, but you have a feeling this is something you need to know. Need to ask. “Can you tell me why you and Satoru are so hostile with each other?”

He seems to be taken aback by that, but he tries not to let it faze him. “What do you mean?” he asks. “We’ve never liked each other.”

“Sure,” you say. “But you’ve been particularly weird recently. Did something happen?”

The words seem to be trapped in Sukuna’s mouth as he struggles to get the right things out. Eventually, he just settles for, “Nope. He’s probably just jealous that I have you now.”

You don’t believe him, but you say, “Okay… If you say so.”

You drop the conversation and decide to focus on fixing the sleeping arrangements instead. You have a feeling there’s more to this story that you know, and now you find yourself scared to find that out.

You glance over at your boyfriend with his head leaned against the window, at Naoya a few rows in front of you—never a good sign—and Satoru a few seats behind you, Kimi tucked under his arm.

This is gonna be a long three days.

notes. IT'S THE SKI TRIP!!!! ARE WE READY??? i don't think i am 🫠

#hqbaby.miu #hqbaby #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo #gojo x reader #sukuna #sukuna x reader

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

Note

hi love!! i’m not sure if you’re talking requests so completely ignore this if you’re not but, i’m in love with your grid kids series and i was wondering if you could do something with the grid kids that goes more into readers line of work?🫶🏼

Grid Kids: She Means Business

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: your career as a renowned sports psychologist means you often work with your husband and grid kids

Series Masterlist

Sebastian Vettel: Meet Cute

Red Bull Racing’s pit wall is a hive of activity during the practice session for the Monaco Grand Prix. Engineers, strategists, and everyone in between are glued to their screens, analyzing data and communicating with the drivers.

You’re there in an official capacity, hired by Red Bull Racing to conduct a series of workshops to help the team, particularly the drivers, cope with the mental pressures of racing. With a headset on, you’re mostly observing, making notes on communication dynamics, when suddenly a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

You look up, slightly startled, to see none other than Sebastian Vettel, the team’s star driver, smiling down at you. His mop of hair sweaty and slightly tousled from the helmet he just took off after finishing up with FP2, the impish twinkle in his eyes making you feel … something.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I was just ...” you stammer, suddenly feeling a bit out of your element.

Sebastian sits down next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’m here to see what the mysterious new hire is up to.”

You chuckle, “Well, if you must know, I’m observing team dynamics, communication patterns ... very thrilling stuff.”

He feigns a gasp, “So you’re spying on us?”

“In the most professional way possible,” you reply with a smirk.

Sebastian laughs, the sound genuine and contagious. “Well, I hope we’re giving you some good material.”

You lean in this time, matching his playful tone, “You? Always.”

There’s a brief pause, a moment of charged silence, before Sebastian grins, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You smile back, “You should.”

The two of you chat easily, talking about the intricacies of the sport and the importance of mental preparedness.

As the session winds down and Mark Webber also makes his way back into the garage, Sebastian looks over at you, “You know, for someone who’s here to observe, you’re quite the distraction.”

Your cheeks warm, “Is that so?”

He nods, mock serious, “Absolutely. It’s a problem. I think we might need a one-on-one session to discuss it further.”

You laugh, “I’ll have to check my schedule but I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Sebastian winks, “Looking forward to it,” and with that he’s off to debrief with his engineers.

As you remove your headset, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This job assignment just got a lot more interesting.

Max Verstappen: Unloading the Past

Ten years later, the Red Bull Racing hospitality suite is buzzing with activity: the clink of glasses, murmurs of conversation, and the distant roar of engines echoing from the track. But in a quiet corner, there’s a space that feels a world apart.

Soft, ambient lighting casts a serene glow, a few comfortable chairs are arranged in a circle, and on the coffee table lies an assortment of fidget tools, from stress balls to sensory mats. This is your corner, specially designed for individual sessions.

Max Verstappen hesitates at the entrance. His eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. It’s clear that beneath that façade of unshakable confidence lies vulnerability.

You rise, offering a comforting smile. “Hey, Max. Ready?”

He gives a tentative nod, following you in. “I’m not ... I’m not sure how to do this,” he admits, voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, guiding him to a chair. “There’s no right or wrong way. Just start wherever you feel comfortable.”

Taking a deep breath, Max begins, his words tumbling out, “It’s just ... sometimes, when I’m out there on the track, I feel like that kid again.” His voice cracks and he pauses, searching for the right words. “The kid who always felt he wasn’t good enough no matter how hard I tried.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue, “Tell me about that kid.”

As Max delves into memories of his childhood, stories of relentless training sessions, the weight of expectations, and the struggle to fit in, you listen. Every word, every pause, every shift in his tone paints a picture of a boy who was thrust into the world of racing at a young age, grappling with the colossal pressure to prove himself.

You gently prod, asking him to revisit specific incidents, encouraging him to express his feelings, and offering insights when necessary.

As the session progresses, Max’s demeanor changes. His initial hesitation gives way to openness, vulnerability transforms into strength, and slowly, the pieces start falling into place.

“You know,” you say softly, “It’s natural to carry the scars of our past with us but it’s important to remember they don’t define us.”

Max looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “But how do I move past it?”

You want so badly to reach out and hug him — this young man who you consider a son in all but blood — but hold yourself back. You’re both here for work and, right now, Max needs you as a professional and not a mom.

“By acknowledging it, understanding it, and then channeling it. Every time you get in the car, it’s an opportunity to rewrite that narrative. Not for anyone else but for yourself.”

Max takes a moment, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a weight visibly lifted off his shoulders.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Anytime, Max. Remember, you’re not alone in this journey. Oh, and remember, we’re all meeting at that little Italian place Charles recommended for dinner.”

There’s a lightness in Max’s voice that wasn’t there before, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles Leclerc: Bittersweet Memories

The setting sun casts a somber glow across the paddock at Suzuka Circuit. It’s a track rich with history, triumphs, and heartbreaks. For Charles Leclerc, it’s where he lost Jules Bianchi, his godfather, mentor, and friend.

You find Charles seated alone in a quiet part of the Ferrari motorhome, gazing out the window. The overflowing sadness in his eyes nearly makes you stop in your tracks.

“Hey,” you greet gently, not wanting to startle him. “Mind if I join you?”

He offers a small nod, his gaze still distant.

Sitting down next to him, you allow a comfortable silence to settle, giving him the space to open up when he’s ready. Moments pass before Charles finally speaks, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“Every time I come here,” he starts, “it feels like I’m reliving that day. The memories, the pain, it all just floods back.”

You nod, understandingly, “Grief has a way of doing that, especially when tied to such a tangible reminder.”

Charles looks down, fiddling with his bracelet. “It’s hard, you know? Racing on the same track where I lost him. Every corner, every turn, it’s like he’s there with me.”

Taking a deep breath, you offer, “Maybe that’s a way for you to connect with Jules. To honor his memory, to carry his spirit with you every lap you drive.”

Charles’ eyes shimmer with tears. “I want to make him proud, to show that everything he taught me wasn’t in vain. But sometimes, the weight of it all just becomes too much.”

You reach out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Grief isn’t linear. There will be days when it hits harder, especially in places like this. You just have to remember it’s not about racing against the pain but learning that it’s okay to race with it.”

He meets your gaze, searching for strength, “How do I do that?”

“By allowing yourself to feel, by acknowledging the pain, and by channeling it into your drive. Jules might not be here physically but he’s with you in spirit. And every time you get behind that wheel is another opportunity to show that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a glimmer of determination returning to his eyes.

You give him a comforting smile. “I’m glad I could help, even if it’s just a little. We’re all here for you every step of the way.”

Lance Stroll: Nepo Babies Have Feelings Too

Inside the Aston Martin team lounge, screens show replays of the latest race, commentators discussing various drivers’ performance. One topic that often comes up is Lance Stroll. The chatter revolves around his father’s ownership of the team and whether Lance truly earned his seat or if he’s just a product of nepotism.

You notice Lance sitting a bit apart from the rest, headphones on but his face is a giveaway. The furrowed brows, the downward curve of his lips —he’s clearly overheard the unsubtle whispers.

You make your way over, gesturing to ask if he’d like some company. He nods, removing his headphones.

“Those comments,” you begin gently, “they don’t define you.”

Lance sighs, his frustration palpable. “It’s just ... no matter what I do, how hard I work, how much I improve, it always comes back to the same thing. That I’m only here because of my father.”

You nod, understanding the weight of such judgments. “It’s tough, Lance. But remember, others’ opinions of you are just that — opinions. They aren’t the truth and they most definitely are not your truth.”

He looks up, eyes searching. “But how do I prove them wrong? How do I show that I deserve to be here?”

“It starts with belief,” you say, leaning forward for emphasis, “belief in yourself. You’ve trained, you’ve raced, you’ve faced challenges head-on, and you’ve earned your spot. Your journey in F1 isn’t just about your last name. It’s about every late-night on the simulator, every risk taken on the track, every lap you’ve driven.”

Lance nods slowly, taking in your words. “But the chatter, it’s just so deafening sometimes.”

You offer a comforting smile. “You can’t control what others say but you can control how you react. Every time you’re on that track, you have the power to redefine the narrative, to let your skills speak louder than any spiteful words.”

Motivation straightens his hunched shoulders, the weight of doubt lifting slightly. “So focus on the drive, not the noise?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “Your talent, your dedication, that’s what matters. Let the world see Lance Stroll, the driver, not just Lance Stroll, the son.”

He chuckles, “Easier said than done.”

You wink, “That’s why you have a stellar support system. Lean on us whenever the noise gets too loud.”

George Russell: Comparing Comparisons

It’s a cool afternoon at the Silverstone Circuit and the entire paddock is buzzing with excitement. There’s an added layer of intrigue to the British Grand Prix this season. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, will be racing alongside his much younger compatriot, George Russell, as teammates for the first time.

In the Mercedes team garage, George is meticulously going over his race data, replaying certain turns and maneuvers in his head. But an undertone of tension cuts through his concentration.

You walk over, picking up on his restlessness. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

He glances up, forcing a smile. “That obvious, huh? It’s just racing alongside Lewis … it’s a dream come true but also incredibly daunting.”

You nod, understanding the pressure of standing next to a giant in the sport. “It’s natural to feel that way. Lewis has carved a legacy in F1 and now you’re right beside him, sharing the same tracks in the same car.”

George sighs, “That’s the thing. Everywhere I turn, there’s a comparison. It’s not just about my performance anymore, it’s about how I measure up to him.”

You lean against the worktable, choosing your words carefully. “Here’s the thing, George. You can’t control comparisons or expectations but you can control your race. Every driver brings something unique to the track. Lewis has his legacy, yes, but you have your own journey and story still to build.”

George nods slowly, pondering over your words. “I want to be able to block all of that out. I’ve tried every single weekend so far. But it’s hard. How do I focus on my race and not the looming shadow beside me?”

“There’s no one right answer,” you sympathize. “Look, Lewis is an icon and racing alongside him is an opportunity to learn, to grow. But remember, you’ve earned your spot here. This is as much your race as it is his.”

He chuckles, “You always know exactly what to say.”

You smile, “Just a little wisdom from the sidelines. Trust your training, trust your instincts, and let George Russell shine.”

Lando Norris: Never Grow Up

It’s a warm and bright morning but the mood inside the McLaren motorhome doesn’t quite reflect the sunny atmosphere outside. Lando Norris sits in a corner, earbuds in, lost deep in thought. The usual playful energy that surrounds him is missing today.

You approach, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Room for one more?”

He looks up, offering a half-hearted smile. “Sure.”

You settle beside him, waiting for him to speak. After a brief pause, Lando finally breaks the silence. “Do you think I’m too childish?”

You’re slightly taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

Lando sighs, “I overheard some comments from a few crew members from another team. They said that no one takes me seriously because I’m always joking around, always laughing. They think that I’m not mature enough for this sport.”

You consider his words, understanding where he’s coming from. "Formula 1 is intense. It’s demanding and requires immense focus and dedication. But it’s also about personality, about bringing your unique touch to the grid.”

He nods but still seems unsure. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m not taken seriously because of how I act?”

You lean in, ensuring he listens to every word. “Lando, your driving speaks volumes. Every time you get behind the wheel, you showcase your skill and your tenacity. The playful side of you, the side that loves to laugh and bring joy, that’s a part of who you are. It doesn’t diminish your talent or your dedication.”

Lando seems to ponder your words, “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I have to constantly prove myself. Like there’s something wrong with being myself.”

You take his hand into both of yours, “Every driver feels that way at some point. But remember, the beauty of this sport is that it’s as much about character as it is about speed. Your playful nature, your genuine laughter, it brings a freshness to the paddock. Embrace it.”

He chuckles, the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. “So be me and let my racing do the talking?”

“Without a doubt,” you confirm. “Stay true to yourself. The world needs more genuine smiles and more authentic laughter. Then, on the track, just keep doing what you do best.”

Lando grins, “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

Mick Schumacher: What’s In a Name?

The aftermath of a race is evident inside the Haas garage. Engineers are engaged in post-race analysis, the car undergoing routine checks. A desolate Mick Schumacher sits among the organized chaos, his helmet still on, concealing his face.

Walking over, you notice the subtle tremors in his frame, the weight of something heavy weighing on his young shoulders. Gently, you tap on his helmet, signaling for him to lift it. When he does, the anguish in his eyes is palpable.

“You okay, Mick?” you ask softly.

He tries to answer but his voice breaks. Swallowing hard, he confesses, “I just ... I can’t do it. I can’t ever live up to the name.”

You know the gravity of his sentiment. Being Michael Schumacher’s son in Formula 1 is no easy feat. The legacy, the expectations, the constant comparisons that follow Mick everywhere — it’s overwhelming.

You sit down beside him, “I won’t pretend to understand the pressure you feel but remember this: You are not just your last name. You are Mick Schumacher, your own person with your own journey, your own challenges, and your own victories.”

“But everywhere I go, it’s always about him,” Mick interjects, frustration evident. “The great Michael Schumacher’s son. Can he do it? Will he be even a fraction as good? It’s suffocating.”

You nod, acknowledging his feelings. “Your father is a legend and it’s natural for people to draw parallels. But racing isn’t just about legacy, it's about passion, determination, and personal growth. The shape your path takes in this sport is yours alone.”

Mick wipes away a tear, his gaze distant. “But what if I never truly make it? What if I never even score a point much less a podium or a win? What if I’m always just the son of the legend, never a making a name for myself in my own right?”

You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Then you make peace with that and find joy in what you managed to achieve regardless. You are among twenty of the best drivers on the planet right now. Getting here is no easy feat. Not every path has to lead to the same destination. Maybe you’ll carve a different legacy, one that is uniquely yours.”

Mick seems to ponder over your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just ... I want to make him proud.”

You smile gently, “By being yourself, by giving every race your best shot, you already are. It’s not the titles or the championships that define us. It’s our heart and the impact we make on those around us. And trust me, your heart is in the right place. Your father would only ever want you to be happy, whatever that entails.”

With a deep breath, Mick nods, a content smile crossing his lips. “Thank you. I needed that.”

You give him an encouraging pat, “I’m always in your corner. Remember that it’s not the shadow that defines us but how we emerge from it.”

Mick stands up, ready to face another day, another race. The legacy of his last name will always be there but he’s slowly learning that his own identity holds value and strength too.

Toto Wolff & Christian Horner: Couples Therapy

The sun filters through the sheer curtains of the sophisticated office, casting dancing patterns on the wooden floor. A blend of vanilla and sandalwood wafts through the air, lending to an ambiance of calm. But this illusion is quickly shattered by two animated voices engaged in heated debate, echoing from the hallway. The door flings open to reveal Toto Wolff and Christian Horner, each determined to prove their point even before the session officially starts, and the cameras and sound equipment stationed around the room quickly zero in on them.

You sit in your chair, a hint of amusement in your eyes, as you address them. “Gentlemen, welcome! How about we start by taking our seats?”

Toto and Christian hesitantly sit on the couch, keeping as much distance from each other as possible.

“So,” you begin, trying to contain your laughter, “Drive to Survive mentioned you two might need some ... couples therapy?” You add air quotes for emphasis.

Christian immediately rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous! We’re competitors, not some bickering married couple.”

Toto chimes in, “Although he does nag like my grandmother.”

Christian retorts, “Oh please, Toto! The way you carry on, anyone would think you’re auditioning for a soap opera.”

You hold up a hand, “Alright, let’s take a deep breath. We’re here to find common ground.”

The two team principals continue their banter, airing their grievances, from stolen engineers to wind tunnels to secret agreements. You listen, scribbling notes, occasionally nodding or offering a “hmm” of understanding.

After what seems like an eternity, you interrupt their tirade. “Okay, I’ve come to a conclusion. You both are quite the pair. But instead of directing this ... energy at each other, how about a united front? Surely there’s something, or someone, you both dislike equally?”

Christian and Toto exchange glances, a mischievous glint appearing simultaneously. “The producers,” they chorus.

You swear that you can hear the men standing out of camera range behind you — the producers in question — audibly swallow.

You lean in, intrigued. “Go on.”

Toto grins, “They’ve been poking and prodding, trying to get a reaction out of us. It’s why they set this whole thing up in the first place. And while we do love the drama,” he eyes Christian, “maybe it’s time they get a taste of their own medicine.”

Christian nods in agreement, “A united front to give the producers a season they won’t forget.”

You clap your hands together, “Perfect! So what’s the plan?”

As the session concludes, Toto and Christian leave, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughter echoing down the hall.

You lean back in your chair, chuckling. “Well, that was certainly one for the books.”

You turn around to face the Drive to Survive crew already packing their equipment and producers looking shell shocked . You’ve never seen grown men look quite so pale. But they only have themselves to blame — the session was their idea in the first place.

Sometimes you really love your job.

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blingblong55 · 1 year ago

Text

Worth it- 141 & Laswell

pic credits: @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot (left)and @ave661 (middle)

Based on a request: Wait, wait, first of all hope you're doing well and make sure to drink a glass of water if you haven't already. Cozy? Yeah? Okay, Can I request something (you can choose whether it's a HCor not,etc etc) on how TF141 would react to meeting a teen boy around 15-16, who's like a genius in engineering, mathematics, and physics? Like the boy could legitimately build a rocket if he had the time, help and materials. Maybe the meet him because he got in trouble with the government for unknowingly making a weapon? Maybe he made it for a class assignment and it was stolen without his knowledge? Whatever you think makes sense here. Leaving space for you to enter your own creative thoughts, just the general idea of it. The boy is based on a character of mine from a book I'm writing, his name his Michael, but ofc you can switch that up however you wish. Have fun with this one Ignore if it doesn't sound fun to ya <3 ---- M!Reader, genius!reader, platonic!relationship? ----

A/N: drank enough water, thanks for the reminder <3

Y/N, the name of the unknown internet user that had been chased by many governments and caught by the one and only Task Force 1-4-1.

You created something so dangerous that no one believed Laswell when she told her bosses the age you had when you started all this. You created the one thing most geniuses working for the government didn't know existed outside of the numbers and graphs they had done for it. At first, the FBI had named you un-sub A. Now, they can finally put a name to the unknown face.

How were you caught? Well, it wasn't easy, let's start there. When all this mess began, you were no older than fifteen. You are practically a ticking bomb to the government so when they heard that someone was asking the right questions to chemists around your city, they began to search for you. Laswell at the time was on a small break from work but the journals you had left in your parent's home when you ran away one rainy day.

In the journals, Laswell found all she needed to have a task force assigned to find you. She called it Operation Mikey, the name was just to fill in the void of the one thing she couldn't find, you.

Your parents weren't much help in giving your name, hence why Mikey became a temporary replacement. With them high off any drug and you on the run with the rest of your journals, Price was tasked with finding you and making sure you were secured in their care.

For three months, you ran away. Moving to different cities and continuing your research of the chemical weapon you fabricated in your bedroom, the same one Laswell had locked in a laboratory somewhere in the capital of the country.

In month four, you found an abandoned building in the middle of the desert. That's where your laboratory, if you can call it that, began.

For months after that, you collected data and it wasn't until nine months later that Soap found you trading chemicals with some scientist that you were caught.

Once you were brought in, they had realised so much about you. You were way younger than what their profile had thought of, much more intelligent than they'd think a person your age was and so skilled in engineering, mathematics, and physics.

"Why didn't we find his information sooner," Laswell questions her bosses. "Kid was never even registered by his parents." The man on the phone answers. "How the hell did he even get this kind of education then?" She asks again but you had that answer.

"My parents just bought me books and hired a weird guy from the street to teach me anything," you respond and Price chuckles. "Bullshit, kid. Now tell us, how the hell did you get all of these journals?" He points to the evidence bags. Your research of months now being read by other scientists.

"I am the creator of them, not let me go," you protest against Ghost's grip on you. "No chance," Price barks. "What's your real name?" Laswell asks you. "Y/N," you answer knowing it was either this or get thrown in some federal prison.

"And you created this weapon? do you have any idea how dangerous it is to create something like this? How many people it would take to create a mathematical concept and then make it into a physical form?"

"It's not that hard, lady," you answer with an attitude. Were people this dumb?

It took hours, lots of bribing and one request from Soap and Gaz to give you food for you to open up. What? you are a teenager who needs enough food for growth, of course, you'll talk once they give you food. Talking and having to dumb it down took hours though. After all, how can you explain to hardheaded soldiers about probability theory, and why it mattered so much to your project that it took ten trials and two journals worth of failed work to get?

Laswell was more than impressed, no seriously, she was like a proud mother listening to you explain every page and even give notes in only a way that a teenage boy would to idiotic adults like them. She thought it was so adorable how a boy your age would throw nerdy jokes into the explanations and how she watched you be the only one to laugh at them.

Ghost would often smile when you'd give a snarky comment to Price. Don't get him started on the chuckles he let out when you threw a few old man jokes at Price or made comments on Soap's weird hairstyle. The comments towards Gaz were funny but also adorable how you tried to find more reasons to get him annoyed.

Price thought of his son who was about your age when you'd get excited over your most recent discovery for the weapon you had created. It was nice to know that behind all that matter in your head, you were still a kid. It was even nicer when you'd make the jokes no one understood but secretly, Price's nerdy self understood some jokes.

Gaz saw his younger brother in you, which is why even when you made jokes at his expense, he would let them pass. The way you looked at him when having to explain things was nice in some way but it was way funnier when you called Soap the smart one of all four for being able to understand the way bombs work better than anyone and then have Ghost shake his head and tell you, "that man is just a muppet, don't believe what we tell you about his work."

Soap was fascinated by you for sure. Just like Price, he understood some of the jokes, even the cheesy puns you made about certain elements. He liked you, it was something fresh from the people he usually deals with.

The team, for the past few days, grew to adore the nerdy man you are. Yeah, you teased and even called them out on wrong facts but it was new. It's good to have someone so intelligent and be so honest with them this time. What was funny is that you know so much about many topics few understand but you don't know much about real life outside of the nerdy realm you live in. It's a nice feeling when passing by Laswells office you find a framed picture of the day Ghost and the other men of the team taught you about hunting and even how to play baseball, something you sucked at in the beginning but have gotten better over time.

It's like having four funny, serious, and cool dads and an amazing mum whilst being taken care of at the base the team called home.

A/N: I hope this was somewhat okay and good luck on your book!

Tags: @liyanahelena @mangowafflesss @froggy-anon @jinxxangel13 @enarien @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @avidreadee123 @ikohniik @konigssultwithghost @luvecarson @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @marshiely @sleepyycatt

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kohakhearts · 11 months ago

Note

goh parentified child syndrome. go(h)

my time is here at last. thank you for enabling me <3 apologies for taking months to finish writing this giant post!

welcome to my dissertation on this fucking Dynamic <3

ok! first thing, let's establish our criteria for Parentified Child Syndrome. this is obviously not like, an actual diagnostic Thing, but there are a million and one articles out there for us to look through. so i did the tough work of scouring those to find some Symptoms we can use as anchor points here. a lot of this is split into "emotional" (parents seeking comfort from their children, rather than comforting them) vs. "material" (parents assigning their children responsibilities that are not age-appropriate (e.g. grocery shopping, paying bills, etc.)) needs, but for simplicity i'll just merge them together - because realistically, they often go hand-in-hand. so the primary symptoms we'll work with here will be:

disruptive childhood behaviours (particularly at school)

stress and anxiety

reluctance to participate in play/age-appropriate activities with their peers

difficulty acknowledging and accepting one's feelings

insecure attachment styles

need to feel "in control"

distrustful of others/self-reliant to a fault

absenteeism and poor performance in school

passive communication style

the other obvious prerequesite here is the family dynamic. so let's dissect that one a bit!

goh's family situation isn't actually like...100% clear. but i have analyzed every episode where his family is even mentioned like it's my full-time job and i have no reason to believe his grandmother actually lives with him. so in the scope of this essay, i am assuming that she lives nearby, and most likely has a key to the apartment, but does not live with them.

otherwise, we are given enough context to assume that camille and walker have been busy with work goh's entire life (though i'd choose to believe for my own sanity that in his infancy his mother at least wasn't working...though given the type of job she has, that's actually...kinda hard to say for sure). we can also assume that they've at least been self-employed for the majority of his life. it's clear that they are fairly well-established in the city/in their field by jn, and since goh is supposed to be 10 at this point, it makes sense to me that they've been building that company up pretty much his whole life.

in terms of the work they do, goh tells ash, my dad is a system engineer and my mom is a programmer. they run a company together. granted, we don't see very much of their actual workplace, but what we do see is completely void of other people. as in, camille and walker do all this work BY THEMSELVES.

nothing in the anime otherwise disputes this! if anything, goh's explanations of his parents' lifestyle just reinforces it. he also suggests that during periods of harsh weather and heavy system use, his parents are busier than usual. this implies that they are most busy during holidays. this is actually further implied by the flashback in jn015 where they explicitly say to him that they're sorry for having to work through the holiday. his reaction, being completely unengaged, not even really even acknowledging it, tells us that this is the norm.

however!! he also shows off a special device to horace in jn032 that he says his parents made specifically for him, to help him learn more about mew. this suggests that they must have some amount of free time to dedicate to him...but they show their love for him through material gifts related to their line of work (his computer set-up, too; he tells scorbunny that his parents set it all up for him).

otherwise, we see camille and walker privately share their concerns about goh (a clear awareness that he doesn't have many friends, concern about him being lonely because of them, etc.) but never actually confront goh with their concerns or appear to go out of their ways to do anything about it. i wrote a bit about this and the symbolism of having him catch a cubone of all pokemon in the episode we're introduced to his family here but the tl;dr is that camille and walker demonstrate care for goh to each other but not to him - presumably to compensate for their physical absence, we get the impression he's given a lot of freedom and little to no discipline.

which brings me to the first criterion:

disruptive childhood behaviours (with a side of absenteeism, which presumably contributes to poor performance in school)

goh's school life is obviously inconvienent to the plot progression, so for narrative purposes the writers have him just not go to school. in jn049 we get the explanation that goh had made a promise to their teacher to show up to school for tests...but the weird thing about this scene is that chloe's surprised by it:

since in jn001 and jn002 we see that chloe is goh's only point of contact amongst his schoolmates and that she hand delivers schoolwork to him at her dad's lab, the only way this exchange really makes sense to me is if it's a new arrangement. even the fact that goh makes a point of saying "hey, i followed through, go me" to their teacher here gives that vibe.

so, we can extrapolate from that that...prior to whenever this agreement was made, goh just didn't go to school because he didn't want to. but given how schools operate, we can pretty safely assume his parents are aware of this. and i have strong reason to believe that they have at least been on the receiving end of phone calls from teachers or administrators, because of these lines from jn015:

all things considered, this is a weird assumption to make, especially about your hyper-independent introverted child...unless there's a history of disruptive or unfriendly behaviour to inform that assumption. and based on goh's behaviour in jn001 at professor oak's pokemon camp, i don't think it's so out there to say the pattern probably was there.

goh is actually a super sweet kid towards his parents and has a clear admiration for them both. even in flashbacks, his whole thing is kind of like...he doesn't want to bother them. they fall asleep on family vacation and don't spend time with him? well, that's fine! he'll just find something else to do! in that same episode in the flashback sequence, they pick him up on the side of the road alone in the pouring rain and he doesn't say a word to them. even though he was angry and upset before.

so, yeah. i think it would make a lot of sense if he were well-behaved at home and not so much so at school. but camille and walker, even when they learn about things that happen, don't seem to probe or discipline him. whether because of any combination of giving him leeway out of guilt or of not wanting to encourage him to act out at home, we don't know. but the disconnect obviously exists.

which then contributes to

stress and anxiety, difficulty acknowleding and accepting one's feelings, and passive communication style

goh is socially awkward, yes, and clearly very anxious socially especially early on in jn, but a lot of that seems to come from an inability to express his wants and needs. i think jn003 has some of the most succinct examples of this - ash having to realize he's struggling and to reach down to him when they're climbing the tower in order for him to even accept that he can get (and needs) help getting up, and then later one when he stumbles over his words trying to ask ash to be his friend.

i think another good example is in jn007, after he gets knocked out at the flute cup. passive communication relies a lot on shifts in body language and in, well, passive statements. when ash approaches him to tell him to cheer up, goh doesn't actually really...respond to that. he does this

and then runs off. which he does fairly often, actually, even as late as jn135. it's emotional avoidance 101. literally just run away from the thing that's bothering you. something else we see in jn135 is him backing out of admitting he wants to go on a journey - because he is concerned about ash's reaction (though i think it's a little more complex than that, but i'll circle back to that).

and of course there's jn062, which i wrote a lot about in this post. but the whole thesis of the episode is that goh has learned through his relationships up to this point that it's okay to not understand your feelings but you still have to feel them. and it's actually a really beautiful character development moment for him, but also reinforces the fact that he still doesn't know how to grapple with his own emotions. after finally finding drizzile and explaining how he knew he would find it there, he starts to cry and doesn't know why. but even aside from feeling vulnerable, it's kind of a culmination of this stress he's been carrying with him throughout the whole episode...and the sense of responsibility he feels for driving drizzile away. which is a great segue into

insecure attachment styles and need to feel "in control"

if there's one thing i feel like people sleep on regarding goh's character, it's how much of a mother hen he is. he's obviously very thorough and thoughtful when it comes to looking after his pokemon - as in jn062 where he spends all that time chasing down drizzile after it runs away, even to the point of telling ash and chloe that they should stay behind because it's getting late but that he's going to keep looking - but he's the same way with ash.

off the top of my head, things like buying extra scones because he knew ash would want them, making ash wash his hands after eating ice cream, chastising him about punctuality, you know...very parental kind of things. he actually does it with horace too, when they first meet, by bringing a lunch for them both when he goes back to the forest to meet him again.

anyway, being a Mom Friend is cute and all, but it also REEKS of parentified child. taking on responsibilities that aren't yours to fulfill? yeah. that's a need to feel in control. it's what he's used to! it offers him security!

the other side of this is...chloe. goh's first friend, who he refuses to consider a friend, or let consider him a friend. but, like, she obviously IS his friend. and yet our introduction to them gives us this exchange

goh and chloe have a pretty tense relationship at the beginning of jn, wherein she is clearly trying to help him (by you know. getting his homework for him and shit) and he blows her off in a text message, which she complains is a repeating behaviour. chloe is obviously very loyal to him, even though he doesn't seem to repay the favour. again, there's a big disconnect here.

insecure attachments generally stem from anxiety over potential rejection and/or poor self-esteem cultivated in childhood based on parents’ emotional availability (or lack thereof) to their children. by keeping chloe an arm's distance away, goh keeps himself safe from the dangers of vulnerability, taught to him through childhood encounters with emotionally unavailable parents.

i'm not here to armchair diagnose (ok, who am i kidding, yeah i am), but i think goh's attachment style is anxious-avoidant. his clear avoidance of making friends, the multiple times we see him break off his friendship with ash only to minutes later be like "me and the bestie"...yeah, that's avoidance. but he does crave intimacy, arguably even more than he fears it.

hence why even though he knows ash would want him to journey on his own...he still convinces himself that actually telling ash that would be, as he calls it, a "betrayal of [their] friendship." my theory is that he's not concerned that ash will be upset - he's concerned that ash won't be upset enough. which is why when then ash turns it around on him and says he's going on a journey, goh gets upset and pushes him away. he does the exact same thing with horace when they're younger. just a complete 180 - he wronged me once, so he's the worst and i can't forgive him, ever.

the difference with chloe is that she actually takes care of him more than he takes care of her - which changes the dynamic from "i have to do everything to keep this person in my life, including suppressing my emotions for their sake" to "i cannot express to this person that i have needs and desires because they'll think i'm too much and they won't stick around if i do." which is primarily avoidant, but insecure attachment nonetheless.

this is extrapolation, but i think his relationship with chloe is so different because we are supposed to get the sense that they have a more familial dynamic. so, she's the one person he can't push away from him - but as he learned in his actual family dynamic, he also can't be too close to her. he doesn't want to be smothered; he doesn't want her to feel smothered by him. so they maintain a degree of separation that only begins to go away after her father begins literally housing and feeding him, thus integrating him and ash into their family in some honorary way.

which brings me to the last point, i guess, which is

reluctance to participate in age-appropriate activities with peers and self-reliant to a fault

these are, i think, the traits that jn is most blatantly attempting to better in goh throughout his arc. so i won't spend too long hashing it out, because i think these are things we all know he struggled with!

in flashbacks, we see him alone at school; during the first episode, at professor oak's camp, he is always physically distanced from the other kids and chloe even points out that he's basically doing professor oak's job at one point! he's not on the same level as the other kids and it's clear he doesn't want to be. when he meets horace, we see that it takes him some time to get comfortable enough with him to go explore the forest together and become friends.

he doesn't go to school, but that doesn't mean he isn't learning things - he becomes a very self-directed learner early on, from what he see. he's not just like...rotting in his room playing video games. he's studying and researching. the only times aside from with horace that we see him in a flashback doing something that isn't solitary is with pokemon - and even then, he's like...reciting their pokedex entries. his abra story at the end of jn is precipitated by him saying he was going through his dad's old pokedex (which is a whole other thing - this implies walker used to be a trainer, but neither of goh's parents seem to have pokemon...perhaps they're too busy with work to look after them? a theory for another time, i suppose, but it has undeniably being gnawing at my brain since that episode aired lol).

and of course, there's the fact that in jn062 he tells drizzile he was never comfortable with confiding in his parents or his grandmother...suggesting that he never confided in anyone, because we don't really get the sense from the whole "i don't NEED friends" exchange in jn001 that he considers chloe a reliable confidant, either.

the other place we see his flawed sense of self-reliance, aside from like...everywhere in the first 10 or so episodes, lol (something that is reflected pretty beautifully and symbolically in scorbunny's story, too!), is in project mew. he has to learn how to work in a team - and he clearly hates it. at this point he's found one person to rely on, but that already feels like too much. the raid battle with articuno is the most obvious example of this. he isn't good at being a leader, but he also isn't good at being a follower. because he's only ever been responsible for himself, and he doesn't trust anyone else to know how to direct him, but he also has no clue how to work within the parameters of a team.

i also want to say, as a final note, that i actually think this is all extremely intentional writing. obviously in the west we have a strong capitalism culture too, but the work culture in japan is very toxic (just google "japan work culture" and you can see right away how intense it is lol) and i'm not actually surprised at all that pokemon would make such a direct commentary on that - a lot of japanese kids could probably relate to goh and his emotionally absent, work-obsessed parents! they are clearly pretty well-off, but their dedication to work supercedes matters of home and family, because that's how it's supposed to be. as a result, goh admires them a lot for this dedication - but his arc is primarily about letting go of the "work" part of interacting with pokemon and learning how to have fun and make the most of his experiences. and i think that's a really lovely message for modern pokemon to be sending to kids :')

#answered #*meta #mine #i wrote most of this in may but i came back to finish it tonight shjdfghj hi #goh #pokemon #anipoke #tangentially i actually noticed something similar with the way hz has the kids do like...distance learning and stuff LOL #even sv in itself as like. a school-based adventure. the current culture influence is SO glaring...of course they're emphasizing school as #part of this fantasy world for kids to escape in. i think a lot of adults didn't Get It...but sv were developed during covid. so...yeah #pokemon has always done a very good job of making cultural commentary like this imo!

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academicfever · 5 months ago

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This is a good starting point but its not exhaustive by any means...

#Research 101: Part 1

## How to find a good research topic?

It’s best to familiarize yourself with a discipline or topic as broadly as possible by looking beyond academia

Tips:

Be enthusiastic, but not unrealistic. For example, you might be tempted to throw yourself into finding out to what extent an entire economy has become circular, but it may already be challenging and tricky enough to find out which building materials are being recycled in the construction sector, and in what ways.

Be open-minded but beware of cul-de-sacs. You should always find out first whether enough is known about a topic already, or you might find yourself wasting a lot of time on it.

Be creative but stay close to the assignment. This starts with the topic itself; if one learning objective of the assignment is to carry out a survey, it isn’t helpful to choose a topic for which you need to find respondents on the other side of the world. One place where you can look for inspiration is current events.

Although professors and lecturers tend to be extremely busy, they are often enthusiastic about motivated and smart students who are interested in their research field. You do need to approach them with focused questions, though, and not just general talk such as: ‘Do you know of a good topic for me?’ In many cases, a good starting point is the scholar themselves. Do a search on them in a search engine, take a look at their university web page, read recent publications,

In most university towns, you’ll come across organizations that hold regular lectures, debates, and thematic evenings, often in partnership with or organized by university lecturers and professors. If you’re interested in transdisciplinary research where academic knowledge and practical knowledge come together, this is certainly a useful place to start your search.

If you want to do interdisciplinary research, it is essential to understand and work with concepts and theories from different research fields, so that you are able to draw links between them (see Menken and Keestra (2016) on why theory is important for this). With an eye to your ‘interdisciplinary’ academic training, it is therefore a good idea to start your first steps in research with concepts and theories.

##How to do Lit Review:

Although texts in different academic disciplines can differ significantly in terms of structure, form, and length, almost all academic articles (research articles and literature reports) share a number of characteristics:

They are published in scholarly journals with expert editorial boards

These journals are peer-reviewed

These articles are written by authors who have no direct commercial or political interest in the topic on which they are writing

There are also non-academic research reports such as UN reports, data from statistics institutes, and government reports. Although these are not, strictly speaking, peer-reviewed, the reliability of these sources means that their contents can be assumed to be valid

You can usually include grey literature in your research bibliography, but if you’re not sure, you can ask your lecturer or supervisor whether the source you’ve found meets the requirements.

Google and Wikipedia are unreliable: the former due to its commercial interests, the latter because anyone, in principle, can adjust the information and few checks are made on the content.

disciplinary and interdisciplinary search machines with extensive search functions for specialized databases, such as the Web of Science, Pubmed, Science Direct, and Scopus

Search methods All of these search engines allow you to search for scholarly sources in different ways. You can search by topic, author, year of publication, and journal name. Some tips for searching for literature: 1. Use a combination of search terms that accurately describes your topic. 2. You should use mainly English search terms, given that English is the main language of communication in academia. 3. Try multiple search terms to unearth the sources you need. a. Ensure that you know a number of synonyms for your main topic b. Use the search engine’s thesaurus function (if available) to map out related concepts.

During your search, it is advisable to keep track of the keywords and search combinations you use. This will allow you to check for blind spots in your search strategy, and you can get feedback on improving the search combinations. Some search engines automatically keep a record of this.

Exploratory reading How do you make a selection from the enormous number of articles that are often available on a topic? Keep the following four questions in mind, and use them to guide your literature review: ■■ What is already known about my topic and in which discipline is the topic discussed? ■■ Which theories and concepts are used and discussed within the scope of my topic, and how are they defined? ■■ How is my topic researched and what different research methods are there? ■■ Which questions remain unanswered and what has yet to be researched?

$$ Speed reading:

Run through the titles, abstracts, and keywords of the articles at the top of your list and work out which ideas (concepts) keep coming back.

Next, use the abstract to figure out what these concepts mean, and also try to see whether they are connected and whether this differs for each study.

If you are unable to work out what the concepts mean, based on the context, don’t hesitate to use dictionaries or search engines.

Make a list of the concepts that occur most frequently in these texts and try to draw links between them.

A good way to do this is to use a concept map, which sets out the links between the concepts in a visual way.

All being well, by now you will have found a list of articles and used them to identify several concepts and theories. From these, try to select the theories and concepts that you want to explore further. Selecting at this stage will help you to frame and focus your research. The next step is to discover to what extent these articles deal with these concepts and theories in similar or different ways, and how combining these concepts and theories leads to different outcomes. In order to do this, you will need to read more thoroughly and make a detailed record of what you’ve learned.

next: part 2

part 3

part 4

last part

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cottonlemonade · 1 year ago

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Just Crazy Enough

word count: 2124 || avg. reading time: 9 mins.

pairing: Tendou x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, soft Tendou

warnings: a gamer‘s rage (cursing, suggestive language), some regular swearing too, otherwise none

synopsis: you can’t sleep and Tendou helps you out

You wake up with a start, gasping for air. Your heart is racing and it takes you a couple of moments to realize where you are.

Evident by the small pool of drool on the table you must have fallen asleep at your desk while working on the paper for your creative writing class. You try to rub away a kink in your neck and reach for your phone to scroll through social media to find a distraction.

Tendou grins at your last message and, pushing his books aside, grabs his laptop. He turns to look over at Wakatoshi sleeping soundly. Normally, not even a jet engine could wake his best friend once he was out, but the red haired boy still decides it would be for the best to move to the common room of the Shiratorizawa dorms. There he could talk to you in voice chat without having to worry about disturbing anyone.

“Hey you.”, you greet him happily, but he can tell you are tired.

He wishes he could have been there when you had woken up and held you until you felt safe enough to go back to sleep.

“Hey to you, too. What do you feel like?”

“Hmm, just regular, I’d say. Not in the mood for ranked.”

While you two are waiting for the game to start he sends another puppy picture and his heart leaps when he hears you fawning over it.

Tendou does his best to distract you as much as possible while you queue, asking about how uni is going and you in turn want to know everything about yesterday‘s training.

You and Tendou have been good friends for about a year and he has been in love with you for about 11 months and two weeks. He met you in his second year, while you were in your third, helping out at a tournament. Having been assigned to support the Shiratorizawa managers, you handed out water and towels. At first Tendou was sure you would, like everyone else, be scared of him, avoid him or something but to his great surprise you were kind and bright and even struck up a conversation with the team when they waited for a new match and had some down time. When he found out you liked the same video games and manga as him he didn’t even notice that the team had called him away to court until Ushiwaka materialized by his side and with that silent stare of his demanded him to follow.

During the game then Tendou’s eyes had begun to look for you whenever he scored a point. He found you fascinating and really very pretty. Not to mention, he was rather surprised to meet a girl who didn’t run for the hills when he looked her way.

After the tournament he was a bit hesitant at first, hanging back in the locker room, trying to figure out if asking for your number was a good idea.

It was only when he was already taking his seat on the bus back to school that he decided to just go for it and jumped back out to jog over to where you were waiting with a few friends for your ride.

You offered a genuine smile and typed your number into his phone, giving sharp looks to a girl who made some mumbled comment about why you were giving him your real number.

Ever since then you are in close contact, meet up for movies, food or just general hangouts and you even come to his games to cheer him on.

The server finally connects you two to a game and for a while you just play without any noteworthy incident unless one would count the near heart attack he experienced when you called him sweet.

In the sixth or so game however...

Could you stop blowing your boyfriend and heal the entire team???

Tendou does a double take when he sees the words appear in the team chat. They can only be targeted towards you. You and him are the only ones in a group plus you are the only straight up healer.

You scoff into your headset and must have heard how he starts to angrily type a reply, because you just say, “Don’t. Let me do it.”

But where would be the fun in that? <3

Tendou coughs when he reads your answer.

Fucking retards, what are you doing!?

Well, we are both a little distracted.

“I’m really sorry for this.”, you say a second later.

“What are you apologizing for?”, he laughs (taking a screenshot of the exchange).

For the rest of the game, you both ignore the ongoing rampage in the team chat, the constant stream of insults and completely out of line suggestions and threats.

He feels bad that you are being attacked like this but on the other hand, you have started to jokingly call him “babe“ and he is thoroughly enjoying the experience.

At the end - of course your team won - you get the title Player Of The Game for Lifesaver and suddenly the chat goes really quiet. Both of you break out into laughter and he types a “Well done, baby. Love you <3“ into the chat sending you into another fit of giggles.

Much to his surprise you don‘t drop the new nickname and while he doesn‘t know what to do about it at first, he quickly figures out that you don‘t object to him returning the favour. As the night goes on he becomes braver and tries to see how much “pretended” flirting he can get away with. About 2 hours later he goes to bed with your “Sweet dreams, my love.” still in his ears, grinning like an idiot.

Usually sleeping in on a weekend with no extra training is a must and given that he has crawled into bed at around 4 in the morning, he easily would have slept until late afternoon. But he feels so energized from last night's events that he wakes up as soon as Wakatoshi comes back from his morning jog.

He reaches for his phone and to his surprise sees that you are already online.

Still feeling elated and confident he types.

Satori: Good morning, gorgeous. Slept well? x

And immediately regrets it. He really hopes he hasn't taken it too far. Shit, what was he thinking!? He tosses the phone away like a hot potato and groans loudly into his pillow - Wakatoshi is so used to his antics that he doesn‘t even question it.

After what is probably the longest minute of his life his phone pings with a new message and, hugging his pillow tightly to his chest, he carefully leans over to squint at the screen.

You: Good morning, loverboy ☺️ how are you already up? It‘s Saturday! Eh, sleep is optional.

His shoulders drop a little at the implication that you haven‘t managed to fall asleep after he left you a few hours ago. But at the same time a wide grin spreads across his face when you don‘t dismiss his affections.

And suddenly he has a crazy idea.

Half an hour later he stands in front of your door, freshly showered, a bag slung over his shoulder, a plan on his mind that may be just crazy enough to work.

You look surprised when you open the door but smile brightly.

"What are you doing here?“ Yawn. “I'm really sorry, but I don't know if I'll be good company today.", you say meekly, the shadows under your eyes telling a vivid story about how long your night must have been.

"Just figured I could be a supportive boyfriend and help my girl sleep."

Too tired to question any of it, you step aside and let him into your tiny student apartment.

When he takes off his shoes and jacket, you suppress another yawn, rubbing your eyes and Tendou tries not to blush at how cute you are.

"Off you go!", he shoos you further into your home, towards your bed, "Go on."

"But-"

"No buts, let's go."

You stumble for a second then shuffle over to your bed, him right behind you.

Sleepily you climb between the sheets, looking at him through heavy eyes, yet another yawn on your lips.

"So you came here to command me to sleep?"

"Not exactly.", he grins mysteriously and an understanding of his plan dawns on your face.

"You are not getting into my bed with street clothes."

"I know.", he taps his bag with a superior look.

Tendou hops into your bathroom and emerges dressed in his sleep wear a few moments later (a loose shirt with a faded charizard roaring across the chest and sweatpants), striking a pose, which makes you chuckle. And then yawn again.

For a second he stands at the foot of your bed, waiting for you to object, to tell him, he has gone too far but to his immense relief you just push a few pillows around and brush a plushie out of the way, making a space for him.

Up until now it has all somewhat felt like a joke, but as he settles into your bed inches from your warm body, he realises what he has accomplished and the weight of it sinks into his stomach. He swallows.

Taking a quiet breath he hesitates, then wraps his arm around you from behind, pulling you against his chest. You shift for a second and he loosens his hold immediately in case you want to scoot away from him again, but you only make yourself comfortable and let out a deep breath. He tightens his hug again, loving how your soft shape fits so perfectly against him. Absurdly, he wonders if you‘ll even be able to sleep with just loud his heart is hammering.

"Thank you.", you mumble.

"Any time."

When you both wake up, the sun has already started to go down again, bathing your home in a golden glow.

"Please take this exactly the way that I am saying it.", your voice was low and a little squished, "It was really nice sleeping with you."

"Glad to hear it. Right back at ya.", Tendou smirks. He is lying on his back, with your head on his chest, your hands, so much smaller than his, folded on top of each other as a cushion. At some point during his sleepover you had entwined your legs with his.

Without thinking he takes a strand of your hair between his fingers and starts to play with it. You stretch luxuriously like a cat in the sun.

"Want to sleep some more?"

"Nah I'm good, but don't you have anything better to do on your day off?"

"Better than this? Fuck no."

You laugh, relaxing again.

A moment later you shiver and he pulls up the blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders.

"You are a very good boyfriend, you know that?"

"Thanks, I try."

You fall into comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the cicadas outside your window and cars whooshing past in the distance.

After a while you begin to fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

"Everything alright?", he asks.

"Yeah I'm just wondering… what this is?"

"A shirt." That earns him a playful knock on the chest and you sit up, taking your cozy warmth with you.

"You know what I mean.", you say with a furrowed brow. Tendou sits up as well, resting his back against your headboard.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.", he says earnestly.

"You didn't. I like what you did for me, but I just don't want to worry about what it means for the next two months so I am asking.", you shrug and Tendou gives you a small smile, which you return, but then look away.

He braces himself. "It means what you want it to mean. If you want to see it as a friend helping out a friend, then great. However…", he searches for the right words, "if you… would not be opposed to the idea of making this a reality … and let me be your actual boyfriend, then that.. would be even better."

You meet his eyes and try to look for any indication of a joke.

“You know, I really can‘t tell if you‘re kidding or not.“

“Why would I joke about something like that?“

“…“

“You have a point, but, well, I‘m not joking right now.“

“Huh. Alright.“

“Alright?“

“Yup.“

“Cool.“

“Rad.“

After a moment of staring at each other with straight faces, you both break out into laughter. Then Tendou pulls you into his arms and peppers your face with kisses.

art: (the little profile picture used in the texts) @BRTRmilk_ on Twitter

(the dog) by snatti on pixie.net

#tendou x chubby reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori #tendou fluff #haikyuu x chubby reader #tendou smau #hq tendou #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #tendo x reader #tendo x chubby reader #tendo fluff #haikyuu tendo #tendo satori #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x curvy reader

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downins · 5 months ago

Text

ᯓᡣ𐭩𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗋𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗃𝗈𝗋 𝗌/𝗈ᯓᡣ𐭩

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌: 𝗃𝗂𝗇𝗑, 𝗏𝗂, 𝖼𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗒𝗇

𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇!𝖺𝗎

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀(𝗌): 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂 𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗌

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────𝗃𝗂𝗇𝗑

✮ jinx absolutely adores you and would always drag you to start a new project or help with her little trinkets

✮ you guys have matching goggles and whenever she misses you, she uses yours and fiddles them in her hands while thinking of any new ideas

✮ when you fall asleep on the desk while working on your assignments, she doesn't wake you up and sleeps beside you instead

✮ since she's always babysitting isha, you two started putting away welding tools and placing sharp objects on higher shelves because isha's a curious kid and it'd be difficult to keep her away when you two are working

✮ if she's stuck on an equation or a question, she'd literally find a way to sit on your lap and listen to you explain the solution to her

✮ it usually ends in makeout sessions because she thinks there's something REALLY attractive about you being all patient and sounding smart

✮ she crafted matching rings for the both of you literally never takes it off, even when there's a high chance of her getting electrocuted while working with it

𝗏𝗂

✮ she's loves accompanying you in your workplace, doesn't matter if she has any idea what's going on or not

✮ she enjoys helping you by handing you tools before you could even ask, like she knows what you need then goes to get it right away

✮ at some point, she also starts gathering basic knowledge about engineering and would ask you if you two could try out an experiment she saw online. it almost blew up the whole college campus but it made her happy, so it's worth it

✮ she secretly takes videos of you when you're working, posts them on her story and most of the time she spams it with you, even takes pictures of your products then showing it off to everybody

✮ when vi notices that you look exhausted or burnt out, she would literally carry you and bring you to bed, making you take a break

✮ one thing that she always does is keep you safe whenever you're working, it could be something small and she'd still have an arm around you. ready to pull you away in case anything happens

✮ vi is your biggest supporter and cheerleader, she's always there cheering you on and encouraging you

𝖼𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗒𝗇

✮ based on league of legends game, caitlyn is actually stem smart so she would have an idea or two on the stuff that you're doing

✮ she would help you make a couple tweaks and fix the little mistakes that went unnoticed, it makes her happy to be able to lessen your burdens a little

✮ she lays on your shoulder while you're writing and drawing on your blueprints, just observing you silently and admiring your intelligence

✮ she would cut up fruits and bring them to you if she notices that you've not been eating on time due to your busy schedule. feeds you sometimes even when you tell her to just leave it at the side

✮ if you're the type to work while wearing headphones and airpods, she'd have a note somewhere on your wall with the words. "make sure it's on a suitable volume!!"

✮ speaking of notes, it's not just one note on your wall. at some point, you even created a special space for her to stick the reminders on the wall and surprisingly you actually listen to her even when she's not there

✮ if you got a bad grade on your tests or assignments, caitlyn wouldn't hesitate to console you and revise the materials all over again. she'd understand your frustration and will comfort you by saying that she's always proud of you

#arcane #arcaen x fem!reader #arcane modern!au #caitlyn kiramman #jinx #vi #caitlyn kiramman headcanons #jinx headcanons #vi headcanons #arcane headcanons

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deepspacedukat · 9 months ago

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The Lifeline - Part Two: The Armstrong

To be completely honest, I haven't exactly planned this fic out, so I have no idea how many chapters this will be. It'll be a surprise for everyone, myself included! 😇 And yep, i have a lot of asks and tagged posts to get around to, but I wanted to put this out first. Enjoy!

If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist, please let me know.

Part One is here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Vreenak (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: Future chapters will contain smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Spoilers for ST:VOY S1E7 "Eye of the Needle," references to Romulan politics, espionage, stalking, references to an interspecies relationship, pre-Romulan/Human relationship, interspecies romance, threats, angst, time travel bs, references to marriage/a mating bond, skeptical Vreenak, Romulan undercover as a Vulcan, mentions of a previous Vulcan/Human failed relationship.

~*~

After a few months aboard the USS Armstrong, we were finally going to see the Epsilon Pulsar Cluster up close! We took on new crew members at the Epsilon IX Station; four of which were engineers intended to ease the burden of repairs mid-mission, two were specially-qualified science officers, and one was simply a late addition.

It was the latter of the group that fascinated me. With keen, icy blue eyes, sharp facial features, and neatly-groomed hair, the new Vulcan Lieutenant had drawn my attention from the moment he materialized on the transporter pad in his science division blue uniform. The others were escorted to their stations and quarters by the Chief Engineer and the Science officer assigned to the Bridge, and I was assigned to Lieutenant Velek.

Tall and mildly intimidating, the stoic Vulcan stepped down from the transporter pad, and I offered him the traditional Vulcan ta'al in greeting as I introduced myself.

His eyes roamed the length of my body, seemingly sizing me up, but he did return my greeting after a pause. Undoubtedly, I was not who he expected to see when he beamed aboard.

"It is...agreeable to meet you, Lieutenant," he muttered after a moment, and assuming that was about all I was going to get out of him for the moment, I plastered on what I hoped was a welcoming smile.

"If you'll come with me, I'll show you to your quarters." Velek did so without protest. Giving him a short overview of our ship's upcoming mission to update Starfleet's data regarding the pulsar cluster, I tried to be as concise as possible. Though I kept my gaze firmly forward, I couldn't help but feel as though he was observing me.

Keying in the entry code for his quarters, I gave him a quick glance through the layout. Our ship was a little different than the standard science vessel in terms of accommodations. Starfleet meant for us to be a prototype for longer-term science missions into deep space, so there were a few more amenities than were standard.

If his expression was anything to go by - he'd lifted a single eyebrow all of twice - Velek was either impressed or turning his nose up in the most Vulcan way possible.

"If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to let me know. My quarters are actually just to the right of yours, so if the comms go down and you need a book or some tea or something, I won't be hard to find," I said clasping my hands behind my back as he turned to face me.

Velek's icy blue eyes gave me an appraising once over.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I will keep that in mind." Now that we were alone, I was struck by how deep and velvety his voice was.

Fuck. No way. I couldn't do this again. I was just asking to get hurt if I developed feelings for another Vulcan, so I simply wouldn't be interested in this one. Velek was a colleague, nothing more. That was all he'd ever be.

"I'll leave you in peace," I murmured with a polite smile. "Your first duty shift begins at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow morning, so take some time to rest or explore the ship, as you see fit. I'll see you in Science Lab Three."

He gave a polite nod, and I left his quarters. Taking a deep, steadying breath once I was back in the hallway, I forcibly shook my thoughts back into neutral territory. Velek was not for me.

Vreenak's first step aboard the Armstrong was to determine the Lieutenant's schedule - a task made easier by the proximity of her quarters to his. Next, he slipped inside and placed a few listening devices. Audio and visual in her living space, and audio-only in her bedroom.

He was careful to disturb nothing during his time in her space, but he couldn't stop himself from glancing through the few books she'd accumulated. A pair of poetry books, a copy of Surak's teachings, three assorted fictional texts, and what appeared to be a romance novel. Tucking the title away in the recesses of his brain for further research, he placed secondary sets of bugs in extremely innocuous places, pausing only when he leaned over the head of her bed.

A soft, sweet scent clung to fabric that Vreenak simply couldn't resist inhaling deep into his lungs. Something primal and dark stirred in his chest, and he just barely managed to suppress a small groan of hunger.

Horror washed over him when he realized what he'd done, and with a scowl, he left as quietly as he'd come. As he sat in his quarters testing the equipment one last time while he had the chance, he scoffed at his own behavior.

Fool of a man. If he didn't control himself, he'd end up with a Human wife whether he wanted one or not. And he most certainly did not.

Especially not one like her. She was too–

Somewhere in the midst of his thoughts, the sound of voices reached Vreenak's ears. She was back, and she had a guest. Accessing his new cameras, he watched as the Lieutenant and a Trill Ensign sat, kicking off their shoes and tucking their legs beneath them as they chatted. Raising the volume slightly, the Vice-Chairman listened in.

"–eyes like that? I mean, if someone like him looked in my direction, I'd be half-way to requesting Vulcan citizenship already," the Trill woman said with a gleeful smile. "Oh, come on. You have eyes in your head! The new guy's hot!"

The Lieutenant merely shrugged her shoulders.

"I mean...yeah, he's good-looking, but I got the feeling he's not easily impressed. He barely said two words to me. And he seems...irritable," she muttered, and her friend nudged her arm playfully.

"So he's just your type, then?" The Lieutenant looked up at her sharply, but the Trill just laughed. "You know I'm right. Every guy you've dated since the Academy has been some variation of a smart, handsome asshole. What makes Velek so different?"

Vreenak blinked. They were talking about him? The silence stretched between the women, and eventually the Ensign sighed, but less from frustration than concern.

"This is about Torek, isn't it?"

That was a new name. One that Vreenak instantly disliked, though he couldn't put his finger on the reason.

"Of course it is. When someone uses you like that, you don't forget it in a hurry," the Lieutenant wilted somewhat.

"I know, but this one's older," Vreenak bristled at that, "I bet he's got at least a modicum of tact when it comes to letting people down gently. And anyone would be more honest than Torek," the Trill said patting her friend's shoulder before moving to the replicator. "Now, I think ice cream is in order."

The rest of the evening's conversation was irrelevant, and once the Ensign headed back to her own quarters, Vreenak stretched and made to walk back to his own bedroom. Humans needed more rest than Romulans, so he fully expected that to be the end of her evening.

To his surprise, he glanced at the monitor once more, but instead of finding her heading toward her bed, he saw that she had curled up with a book - the romance novel he'd found on her shelf earlier.

After a long moment of debate, he switched his view to the camera situated behind her so he could note what page she was on.

How strange for her to be reading a romance, especially if what she'd said to her Trill friend was true. She'd been used by a Vulcan, yet she willingly sought romance? Did that not simply emphasize her loneliness to her? Was she addicted to the pain?

Vreenak's brow furrowed, and he pushed down memories of his own failed romantic endeavors. No, if he was in her position, he could never indulge in something like a romance novel. Elements, he didn't want to even in his current position.

Unfortunately, though, he would need to if he wanted a full understanding of her psychological state. He told himself it was all part of building a profile of the woman who'd claimed to be his wife.

Downloading the novel onto his personal terminal, he let his gaze linger on her for a time. She seemed so small and unassuming when she was all bunched up amongst the cushions.

But, he'd learned decades ago never to underestimate an opponent. The moment you did, that was usually when you got a knife in the back. He would not be such a fool. Not with her.

Thus, he opened the first page of the book file and began to read with a scoff, alternating his attention between her and the text of the drab little story with the childish pink hearts on the cover.

~*~

Taglist: @akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes

@emilie786 @groovyqueer @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @rookietrek

@slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

#deepspacedukat fic #vreenak x reader

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successblueprints · 9 months ago

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Discipline is one of those things we all know we need, but rarely talk about in a real, no-nonsense way. It’s not about perfection or having everything figured out—it’s about how we show up, especially when things get tough. In this piece, we're cutting through the noise and breaking down some practical, grounded strategies for building and maintaining discipline in everyday life. No fluff, just straightforward advice you can actually use. Think of it as baby steps toward a more disciplined life—small actions that add up over time. Whether it’s pushing through challenges, setting clear limits, or learning how to embrace failure, these insights will help you take control of your mindset and habits, one manageable step at a time. Let’s dive in.

1. Embracing Learning

The idea here is to go beyond just surface-level knowledge. Think about it like this: you don’t just study to pass a test—you study because the information could be crucial when you least expect it. It’s like being the mechanic who knows every part of an engine, not for show, but because one day that knowledge might be the key to solving a real problem.

How I’d use this:I’m not going to just cram facts. I’ll take time to understand the material deeply so it sticks, especially in subjects where real understanding matters long-term, like chemistry or biology.

2. Becoming the Character

Instead of looking up to characters or people who seem to have it all together, what if you just became that person? It’s like putting on a new mindset, the same way you’d wear a suit that makes you feel more confident. You act the part until it’s real.

How I’d use this:When I’m feeling unsure or unmotivated, I’ll flip the switch and act like I’m already the disciplined, focused version of myself. It’s about adopting the mentality, even if I don’t feel it yet.

3. Honest Conversations

We often dodge the truth about where we’re slipping. But nothing changes until you face it. The sooner you admit to yourself that you’ve been cutting corners, the sooner you can fix it. It’s like finally cleaning out a messy room—it’s tough to start, but afterward, everything flows better.

How I’d use this:Next time I catch myself skipping workouts or studying less than I know I should, I’ll stop and call myself out. No more pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.

4. Overcoming Adversity (Sisyphus Mentality)

Think of discipline like pushing a heavy boulder up a hill, knowing it might roll back down tomorrow. It’s not glamorous, but it’s a daily choice. You either keep pushing or let the boulder flatten you.

How I’d use this:When things get overwhelming, like with exams or back-to-back assignments, I’ll focus on just moving forward. One task at a time, knowing every little push counts.

5. Embracing the Furnace (Let’s Skip the Dungeon)

Instead of shying away from challenges, face them head-on. It’s like stepping into a furnace where you get refined, not burned. The more time you spend dealing with hard things, the stronger you get. Avoiding discomfort only holds you back from leveling up.

How I’d use this:When I’m avoiding something tough—whether it’s a hard concept in class or just dragging myself to the gym—I’ll remind myself that pushing through now makes everything easier later.

6. Friction and Greatness

Every day starts with friction, that resistance that keeps you in bed or makes you procrastinate. That resistance doesn’t just disappear. The trick is to recognize it’s always there, but every time you push past it, you get a little stronger.

How I’d use this:Next time I feel like avoiding a workout or putting off a difficult study session, I’ll push through the friction, knowing that every time I do, it gets a bit easier.

7. Embracing Failure

Failure isn’t the end—it’s part of the process. Think of it like learning to ride a bike. You’re going to fall, scrape your knees, and maybe even get frustrated, but that’s how you learn. Without those failures, you’ll never figure out how to balance.

How I’d use this:If I mess up a quiz or struggle with a new concept, I won’t dwell on it. Instead, I’ll treat it as feedback, figure out what went wrong, and try again.

8. Set Clear Limits

Knowing your limits isn’t about being lazy; it’s about being smart. If you try to run full speed every day, you’ll burn out. It’s like running a marathon—you need to pace yourself to make it to the end without collapsing halfway through.

How I’d use this:I’ll stop glorifying overwork. Instead, I’ll set manageable study sessions and take breaks when I need them so I can keep going strong in the long run.

9. Declare Your Limits

Once you know what you can handle, it’s important to communicate that to others. It’s like drawing a line in the sand, setting boundaries so you don’t overcommit and end up exhausted.

How I’d use this:When I feel overloaded, I’ll be honest about it and set boundaries with myself and others. No more saying yes to everything just to prove I can handle it.

10. Prevent Overexertion

Whether it’s at the gym or in your studies, overexertion doesn’t help anyone. Going too hard too fast is how you end up injured, either physically or mentally. The key is to build gradually and pace yourself.

How I’d use this:When I’m tempted to do a marathon study session, I’ll pull back and focus on balance. No need to kill myself over one day’s work—steady progress is what counts.

11. Find Passionate Work

If you’re not passionate about what you’re doing, discipline becomes a grind. But when you care about something, discipline becomes easier. It’s not about forcing yourself to grind—it’s about genuinely wanting to put in the effort.

How I’d use this:I’ll focus more on the parts of my studies I’m actually excited about. That way, I’m working hard because I want to, not because I have to.

12. Clear Goal Setting

Without clear goals, you’re just wandering around aimlessly. Goals act like a map, keeping you on track. The clearer and more specific your goals, the easier it is to know what you’re working toward.

How I’d use this:Instead of vague goals like “study chemistry,” I’ll break it down into something actionable like “review 3 chapters” or “complete 10 equations.” It keeps me focused.

13. Routine Development

Discipline becomes easier when it’s part of your routine. Think of it like brushing your teeth—you don’t debate whether or not to do it, you just do. Building a routine takes the guesswork out of discipline.

How I’d use this:I’ll create a daily study routine so it becomes automatic. Same time, same place every day—no negotiating with myself about when to start.

14. Environment Design

Your environment matters. If you’re surrounded by distractions, you’re setting yourself up to fail. It’s like trying to run through quicksand—you’re not going to get far.

How I’d use this:I’ll make my study space distraction-free by clearing clutter, silencing my phone, and making sure everything I need is within reach so I can focus better.

15. Regular Reflection

If you don’t stop to reflect, you’ll never know how far you’ve come or what needs adjusting. Reflection isn’t about patting yourself on the back—it’s about checking the map and making sure you’re still on the right path.

How I’d use this:Every week, I’ll take a few minutes to look back at what went well and where I need to make adjustments. It helps keep me on course.

16. Self-Reward

Discipline doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the process. Small rewards along the way help keep you going, making the grind more manageable. It’s like giving yourself little checkpoints to look forward to.

How I’d use this:I’ll give myself small rewards after hitting certain study milestones—whether it’s a break, a snack, or something I enjoy. It helps keep the momentum going without burning out.

#producitivty #100 days of productivity #productive #self development #self improvement #self care #self love #girlblogging #david goggins #study motivation #motivation #aesthetic #self help #health & fitness #healing #discipline #femininity #girl blogger #mental health

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burning-sol · 1 month ago

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"But if I don't use A.I then how will I complete my assignments?" There are.. Templates? You know, essay templates?? The PEEEL/TEEEL paragraph structure??? You can look up essay term definitions (e.g definitions for analyse, assess, examine, etc)? You are given a rubric that tells you exactly what you need to do to get a good grade on your assignment, sometimes down to how many sources and points you have to include? Teachers will give you research material and may even give hints about what's going to be on your tests?

If you ask, good teachers will give you, down to smallest details, what you need to do to pass your class. All you have to do is write, all you have to do is get a passing grade, it doesn't have to be amazing just passable. Five sentences each paragraph, proper citations (ask your teacher for the citation format if you're unsure), include everything the assignment asked you to.

I didn't do well in school because of ADHD and I was too anxious to ask my teachers for help, but it is very possible to get passing grades even if you're at a very low skill level or don't have a lot of time to work with. Most teachers don't actually like failing their students, they will give you extra help if you approach them about it. And you can also apply for extensions, maybe even multiple extensions, if you talk to your teacher or the head of their department (eg. the history department) <- you can also talk to the head of the department if your teacher isn't helping you.

If you don't learn the material, especially in higher education, you are potentially endangering the people you're going to be working with in the future. I do not want doctors or architects or engineers to ruin people's lives because they didn't want to do the bare minimum to learn the fundamentals of their field of work. It's not just about you!!

#📚 my posts #📌 thoughts

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gumballavocadoharry · 2 months ago

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You break it, I'll fix it!

Yn's thoughts seemed to drag on the more the teacher's lips moved 50 words a minute. Mr. Walcurst, didn't really seem to know how to entertain his students with his long lectures of mechanics and engineering in the same way he would demonstrate techniques with different machines he had brought in.

Yn's head was seated on top of her her crossed arms that were neatly settled on her desk; barricading her opened notebook that had only a few scribbled notes and sketches that she claimed helped with her memory in tests and assignments. "Yn?" Her head shot up to the piercing eyes of the bygone teacher. "Can you tell us what the answer to number four is?"

"Yn?"

Her head shot up, the sudden sound cutting through the droning monologue. Mr. Walcurst stood at the front of the lecture hall, his bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his eyes, sharp and unforgiving, fixed directly on her. He was a walking paradox – brilliant in his field, a master of the machine, yet utterly devoid of the ability to translate that passion into engaging instruction. Lectures were a marathon of technical jargon, delivered at a pace that left most students gasping for air, or, in Yn's case, using her arms as a makeshift pillow.

"Can you tell us what the answer to number four is?" His voice was flat, devoid of warmth, the kind of tone that could curdle milk.

Yn’s mind scrambled. Number four? The only numbers she’d processed in the last ten minutes were the ones marking her growing boredom. She glanced down at her notebook, the few scattered notes offering no salvation. A faint flush crept up her neck. "I… I'm sorry, Mr. Walcurst. I seem to have missed that part."

A collective ripple went through the class – a mix of pity and silent commiseration. Mr. Walcurst merely sighed, a theatrical sound of weary disappointment that felt disproportionately heavy. "Perhaps if you were paying attention, Ms. Yn, you wouldn't miss crucial information," he stated, the implication hanging heavy in the air. He turned away before she could stammer another apology, calling on someone else.

Yn sank back into her seat, mortification burning in her cheeks. It wasn't that she didn't want to learn. She did. Engineering was fascinating, a puzzle of physics and ingenuity. But Mr. Walcurst's method felt less like learning and more like enduring a verbal battering ram.

The rest of the lecture was a blur of technical terms and diagrams she couldn't follow. The only thing that solidified in her mind was the announcement of the next major assignment: designing and building a working pulley system capable of lifting a specific weight. It had to be physically demonstrated and submitted next week. A knot of dread formed in her stomach. Pulleys. Simple in concept, maybe, but the mechanics and structural integrity felt like a mountain she was ill-equipped to climb.

After class, Yn hurried out, the air cool on her flushed face. The university grounds were bustling, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the lecture hall. She needed coffee, and she needed to wrap her head around this pulley, and more importantly, around Mr. Walcurst's palpable disapproval.

Back in her cozy, meticulously organized apartment, the dread intensified. Textbooks lay open on her desk, diagrams of levers and ropes staring back at her like cryptic runes. She gathered materials – a few scraps of wood, some string, various potential wheels she’d repurposed from old toys and appliances. Hours bled into one another. Her apartment, usually a haven of calm, became a workshop of frustration.

Attempt one: The wheel wobbled precariously, the string slipping off. Attempt two: The frame buckled under the slightest tension. Attempt three: The whole contraption collapsed spectacularly, sending pieces scattering across the floor.

With each failure, Walcurst’s disappointed sigh echoed in her mind. She wasn't stupid; she was intelligent, methodical, and usually capable. But this… this felt insurmountable. Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. Why couldn't she grasp this? Why did it feel so endlessly complicated?

She slumped onto her couch, staring at the scattered remnants of her failed attempts. Her gaze fell upon her laptop, still open to the class forum. Scrolling through, she saw a few posts about the assignment, mostly complaints about the difficulty. Then, a name caught her eye: Harry.

She remembered the ease with which he seemed to grasp everything, the way his eyes lit up when talking about mechanics, even in the dry confines of Walcurst’s class. He was the class genius, effortlessly navigating the very concepts that were drowning her.

Asking for help went against every fiber of her independent, cautious nature. And asking him? The eccentric inventor who seemed to live on a different plane of existence. The idea felt awkward, maybe even embarrassing. What if he thought she was stupid? What if he was as dismissive as Walcurst, just in a different, perhaps kinder, way?

But the deadline loomed, a guillotine poised over her academic standing. Swallowing her pride, and the last reserves of her self-reliance on this issue, Yn pulled out her laptop. She found the class roster, located his name – Harry Styles– and his university email address.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What to write? "Help, I'm an idiot and can't make a pulley?" She finally settled on something simple, direct, and hopefully not too revealing of her utter helplessness.

Subject: Engineering 201 - Pulley Assignment

Hi Harry,

We're in Mr. Walcurst's engineering class together. I'm really struggling with the pulley system assignment. I've spent hours on it, but I can't seem to get it to work or fully understand the practical mechanics.

I was wondering, since you seem to have a good handle on this stuff, if you might possibly be willing to spare a little time to help me out? No worries at all if you're busy, I completely understand.

Thanks, Yn Ln

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Relief warred with anxiety. Now she just had to wait.

The reply came surprisingly fast, pinging into her inbox less than ten minutes later.

Subject: Re: Engineering 201 - Pulley Assignment

Hi Yn,

Absolutely! I'd be delighted to try and help. Pulley systems are quite elegant once you see how the forces distribute. Sometimes wrestling with the materials helps more than diagrams alone.

Are you free sometime tomorrow? I have a workshop setup at my place that might be easier to work in than an apartment desk. Lots of bits and bobs if we need them.

Let me know what time works for you!

Best, Harry

His response was just as she expected – warm, kind, and slightly… unique. "Bits and bobs." A workshop setup? It sounded less like a student's room and more like a real inventor's lair. Despite her nervousness, a spark of hope ignited.

Across the room, she saw him. Harry. The guy everyone privately (and sometimes not-so-privately) referred to as ‘the eccentric genius.’ He had a mane of dark brown hair that brushed his neck, often slightly disheveled, and striking green eyes that seemed to hold a perpetual flicker of curiosity. While others wrestled with equations, Harry would be sketching fantastical contraptions in his notebook or humming softly to himself, oblivious to the classroom tension.

He answered Mr. Walcurst’s most challenging questions with an almost casual insight, often offering alternative, elegant solutions that left the professor momentarily speechless before he’d gruffly acknowledge their validity. He felt utterly out of place in the rigid structure of the lecture hall, a free spirit bottled in a room of precise calculations. Yn had always found him… intriguing, yes, but also a little perplexing, like a complex equation she hadn't bothered to solve.

He wore mismatched clothes sometimes and had a habit of fiddling with strange gadgets in his hands. He rarely spoke unless directly addressed, and even then, his responses were often unexpected, bordering on brilliant yet delivered with an almost childlike enthusiasm that sometimes threw people off.

He was definitely eccentric, maybe even socially awkward, but Mr. Walcurst, for all his harshness, seemed to treat Harry with a degree of grudging respect when he did contribute, which was usually to offer a surprisingly insightful solution to a complex problem the rest of the class floundered with.

***********************************

Harry's 'place' turned out to be a small, slightly cluttered house with a surprisingly large toolshed in the backyard. This, she quickly realized, was the legendary 'workshop'. Stepping inside was like entering another dimension. Tools hung on every available surface, shelves overflowed with wires, gears, screws, and components she couldn't even name. A half-finished contraption involving springs and copper tubing sat on a workbench. The air smelled of metal, oil, and a faint, pleasant scent of sawdust. It was chaos, but a vibrant, organized chaos that spoke of constant creation.

He led her through a house that was indeed "lived-in" – stacks of books and papers covered surfaces, but everything felt intentional, like a mind in constant motion. The air was thick with the faint scent of coffee and something metallic she couldn't place.

The workshop was a revelation. It was a detached garage transformed into a vibrant, organized chaos. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, workbenches were covered in various projects in different stages of completion, and shelves overflowed with components, wires, and peculiar gadgets. It smelled of metal, wood, and something that reminded her faintly of burnt sugar. It was Harry’s world, a physical manifestation of the brilliant, free-spirited mind she’d only glimpsed in class.

"Wow," Yn breathed, genuinely impressed. "This is… amazing."

Harry himself was exactly as she remembered, only perhaps a little more vibrant in his own space. His green eyes lit up when he saw her. "Yn! Come in, come in! Mind the pile of solenoid here, almost broke my neck on it yesterday. So, the pulley!" He gestured excitedly towards a clear space on the main workbench. "Show me what you've tried, tell me about the issues."

Yn, feeling a little awkward but disarmed by his immediate warmth, laid out her dismantled attempts and explained her struggles. As she spoke, Harry didn't interrupt or judge. He listened intently, nodding, his brow furrowed in thought. He picked up a piece of her failed structure, examining it with a thoughtful hum.

"Ah, I see," he said gently. "The stress point here… you've got a shearing force on the axle; it needs more lateral support. And for the wheel material, cardboard will compress too much under load. You need something rigid, something that won't deform."

He didn't make her feel stupid. He simply pointed out technical details, explaining the physics behind them in a way that was clear, concise, and somehow, genuinely interesting. As they started working together, picking out materials from his vast collection – sturdy wood, a smooth metal rod for the axle, a solid plastic wheel – Yn began to relax.

Harry worked with a quiet, focused intensity, but his movements were gentle and precise. He patiently guided her hands, showing her how to measure, how to cut, how to join pieces securely. He explained the principles of mechanical advantage not like a dry textbook, but like revealing a fascinating secret about how the world worked.

"It's easy to get caught up in the equations and forget the simple physics. Think of it like this…"

He didn’t just tell her. He showed her. He used a sturdy beam in the workshop ceiling and a length of rope. He created a single fixed pulley, demonstrating how it only changed direction. Then he added a movable pulley, explaining the concept of sharing the load, the ropes supporting the weight. His explanations were clear, interspersed with quirky analogies that suddenly made perfect sense. He spoke of forces "holding hands" and mechanical advantage as "getting the ropes to do the heavy lifting for you."

As they worked, side-by-side at the workbench, Harry was incredibly patient. When Yn fumbled with a knot, he gently guided her hands, his touch brief and warm. When she looked confused, he’d pause, rephrase, or draw a quick, simple sketch on a scrap of wood with a pencil. He celebrated her small victories – a knot tied correctly, a wheel spinning freely on its axle – with genuine enthusiasm.

"See? You've got it!" he’d say, his smile infectious. "Just needed a little hands-on wrestling match."

Yn, initially tense and embarrassed by her lack of understanding, found herself relaxing. Harry’s kindness was disarming. His genius wasn’t intimidating; it was generous. He wasn’t just helping her pass an assignment; he was sharing his passion, inviting her into his world of mechanical wonders.

As the pulley system began to take shape under their combined efforts, Yn started seeing Harry in a new light. Beyond the kind eyes and gentle hands, she noticed the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the almost artistic way he handled the tools, the subtle enthusiasm that radiated from him when a concept clicked for her. He was more than just the 'weird genius' from class; he was warm, understanding, and incredibly sweet. The afternoon sun filtered through the dusty workshop windows, illuminating the motes dancing in the air around them, creating an almost magical atmosphere.

They talked as they worked. He asked about her interests outside of engineering, listened attentively to her answers, and shared stories about his own projects, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He talked about his dream of inventing things that made life easier, his optimistic belief in the power of ingenuity. Yn found herself laughing easily, drawn in by his free-spirited nature and genuine warmth.

With Harry's guidance, piece by piece, the pulley system came together. They tested it, lifting a small weight. It worked perfectly, the wheels turning smoothly, the rope running freely, reducing the effort required exactly as the calculations predicted.

"We did it!" Harry exclaimed, sounding as pleased as if it were his own project. He looked at Yn, his green eyes full of warmth and pride for her effort. "You figured it out."

Looking at him in that moment, flushed with the success of their creation and the unexpected joy of his company, Yn felt a different kind of mechanism click into place within her. It wasn't just gratitude she felt. It was admiration for his mind, affection for his gentle nature, and a undeniable pull, a sweet, burgeoning romantic feeling that had blossomed in the sawdust-filled air of his workshop. The 'weird' guy had transformed into something entirely wonderful.

Harry’s smile lingered, his gaze holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability, a hint of unspoken feeling that mirrored her own sudden revelation. He seemed just as affected by the shared experience as she was. But then, almost imperceptibly, a familiar caution seemed to cloud his expression, and he gently released her gaze, turning to begin tidying up a few tools.

"So," he said, his voice returning to its easy gentleness, though perhaps with a faint tremor, "you should be all set for Walcurst now."

"Yes," Yn managed, her voice a little breathless. "Harry, thank you. Honestly, I don't know what I would have done."

"Anytime, Yn," he said, meeting her eyes again, his smile soft. "Seriously. Don't hesitate to ask if you ever get stuck again. It's easier to build things together."

Walking home that evening, the finished pulley system felt incredibly light in her bag compared to the complex, heavy emotions swirling inside her. She had gone to Harry’s house seeking help with a technical problem and had left having discovered a connection she hadn’t anticipated. She was undeniably, surprisingly, falling for the eccentric genius.

The next day in class, presenting her working pulley system to Mr. Walcurst felt anticlimactic after the profound shift in her personal world. Mr. Walcurst examined her work thoroughly, testing the mechanism with the weight. He checked her calculations, tugged on the rope.

"Satisfactory, Ms. Ln" he finally stated, his tone neutral, offering no praise but no further criticism either. "Meets the specified requirements."

A quiet wave of relief washed over Yn. She had passed. Thanks to Harry.

She glanced across the room. Harry was sketching quietly in his notebook, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as Mr. Walcurst dismissed her. When her eyes met his, his smile widened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of their shared victory and the secret connection forged in his workshop.

They continued to see each other in class, the sterile air of Walcurst's lecture hall now humming with an unspoken awareness between them. Harry remained his kind, gentle, eccentric self, occasionally offering Yn a subtle smile across the room or a quiet word about the lecture after class. Yn, usually cautious and reserved, found herself gravitating towards him, lingering after class, asking him questions about the material she now understood, just to have an excuse to talk.

The romantic feelings she had developed for Harry pulsed beneath the surface of her interactions with him. She saw the subtle signs of his reciprocal interest – the way his eyes lingered on her, the slight blush that sometimes dusted his cheeks when she paid him a compliment, the genuine pleasure he took in her company. Yet, neither of them acted on it. Yn, mature and cautious, was hesitant to potentially complicate their academic lives or risk the warmth of their newfound friendship.

The rest of Mr. Walcurst's lectures still felt like a challenge, but now, Yn had something new to look forward to. Glancing back at Harry, she realized that the path of engineering had just become infinitely more interesting, illuminated by the quiet brilliance and unexpected warmth of the 'weird' guy with the kind green eyes.

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alittlebitofloveliness · 1 year ago

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Outsiders Prompt Fic 4- I'm tired of this

This one is for @crow222 who wanted prompt 9 for Darry Curtis

**************

Darry was starting to get annoyed.

The reno itself was going well. They’d made more progress than he thought possible after only three days of work, especially considering this was the gang converting the Matthews’ tiny garage into a room for Two’s grandmother instead of his regular work crew on a job. As it was, Soda was doing the trim while Johnny worked behind him punching nails so they could start puttying later this afternoon. Steve and Pony were working in tandem building window boxes and framing, getting along better than Darry thought possible. They were a well oiled machine, Steve calling out measurements to Pony who then marked and cut the boards, before holding them while Steve nailed them in place. He was almost afraid to talk to either of them for fear of breaking their tenuous peace.

He himself was working on assembling the cabinets Mrs.Matthews had bought at a rummage sale in the nice part of town a few weeks ago. The plan for her mother to move into their house had come after lots of discussion, but the trust was the old lady’s health was failing and Mrs. Matthews couldn’t afford to put her in a home, not when her nursing shifts barely covered rent and food for herself, Two-bit, and Susie. When she’d explained this to him, wringing her hands and saying she could barely afford the materials let alone a contracting team, Darry had rallied the gang and agreed to build it for her. Mrs. Matthews had always been good to them, had often looked after them when they were sick and couldn’t afford to go to a real hospital, and she’d been one of his mother’s best friends.

She’d been real good to them too, for all she couldn’t afford to pay them. She and Susie had made dinner every night the past three days- no small feat for a group of hungry, hard working teenage boys.

And all the while, while he sanded, while Johnny hammered, while Soda glued, and Pony measured, and Steve sawed, while Mrs. Matthew’s and Susie cooked, Two-bit lollygagged.

While Steve and Soda had been painting the walls, Two had cracked a beer and heckled them. When Pony and Johnny were putting in the floor he’d haphazardly hammered on the section he’d been assigned, leaving the younger two to pick up the slack. When he’d been sanding the doorways, Two had been nowhere to be found.

Even Dally, who’d only been around until noon on monday since he was working the rodeo the rest of the week, had done more to help than Two-bit had, and Darry was starting to get sick of it.

They were none of them strangers to hard work. He, Pony, and Soda had been raised helping Dad with his carpentry business, and Steve’s old man had taught him engines practically since he could walk. Johnny had worked odd jobs since he was six, since feeding himself was a burden he often had no choice to take on. Besides, living in the east side meant that if things broke you either needed to work to figure out how to fix them yourself or work even longer hours to hire someone to do it for you if you couldn’t. Keeping a house was no joke either- Darry had never realized how hard staying on top of cooking and groceries and laundry and cleaning was until he was left to handle it by himself. It was a lot to organize and a lot to keep track of.

So yeah, they all worked hard. Which is why it was all the more aggravating that Two-bit refused to.

He’s always been lazy- this wasn’t news. Even when he was in second grade and Two-bit in first, the guy had been loudmouthed and too unbothered to do any of his worksheets. It had driven Darry crazy back then. It still drove him crazy now.

Currently Two-bit was lounging around, leaning against the wall and jabbering to Soda without even once offering to help.

“I’m tired of this,” he stormed over, sure he looked a storm and not caring in the slightest, “Keith Matthews you better start working properly right this instance!”

Two-bit raised an eyebrow. “Geez Dar, chill out, I’m just takin’ a break.”

“You’ve had three whole days of breaks!” He thundered, “For shame Two-bit, your fifteen year old sister’s been workin’ harder than you! My own kid brothers and your other friends are workin’ to build this place, for free, for your grandma, the least you can do is help out!”

He turned on his heel and stomped away, sure than if he stayed a second longer he’d start swinging.

Going back to the cabinets he pretended not to hear the shocked silence followed by careful joking, the tension only dissipating once Susie brought them lemonade, and Johnny started teasing Ponyboy about how she wouldn’t quit checking him out as soon as she was back inside.

The next time Darry looks over, Two-bit is helping Soda with the framing. He doesn’t stop working for the rest of the day.

#the outsiders #darry curtis #two bit mathews #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle #johnny cade #dally winston #the outsiders prompts

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