#and I'm not going to go looking for it at this point in time

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

Do you have any tips on doing accurate research for people without access to formal education

Sure! This can't be one size fits all for every field, but I can give some starting points for history.

If you're reading a book, here's what to consider:

1. Are there footnotes or endnotes? In academia this is our way of being transparent with each other about where you got information. If a book doesn't have them, they're more interested in telling a good story than being accountable to their peers. That's a red flag.

2. Don't trust claims that seem very specific but don't have a source. Broad claims can be the author's analysis. But specific things "so and so said this" "there was a rumor that (x)" should be coming from somewhere and it is the author's job to tell you where.

3. Look out for choppy quoting. Even if someone has a source, they may not be using it well. If someone is paraphrasing a lot and only uses bits and pieces of the text while also using a lot of ellipses, you will want to try to find the whole text to make sure it's being quoted fairly.

4. Look at the publication date. Knowledge changes with time and old books tend to be outdated. You don't have to stick to the academic rule of thumb of "25 years is the threshold for new scholarship" but do be aware that if something is over 50 years old, many many people have likely revisited and revised what it's saying. Not that new books can't also be bad and incorrect, but they tend to be working with better tools generally.

5. Look up the author. I cannot stress this one enough. The author's background and political convictions can matter a lot to how they interpret things. For example, one of the biographies people tend to pick up about my dissertation topic is from the late 1920s by a man who later applied to join the NSDAP. That fact really can't be separated from his interpretations no matter how hard people try.

6. Stop reading if someone is making a lot of moral or personal judgements on a historical figure. I'm talking about the "Elizabeth I was a frigid hag and men found her ugly"-esque takes, not things like calling historical atrocities morally bad. Does it feel like bitchy gossip? That sort of thing is unprofessional, uninformative, and means someone has an axe to grind. Spite can be motivation for research, but axe grinding shouldn't show up clearly in published work.

These are things to keep in mind to make sure you're getting better information. Others are free to add on for their field or if there's something I forgot.

One very important thing to add: professors and academics like people emailing them about their research. You can do that! You can ask for copies of pay walled articles. You just have to go through the mortifying ordeal of expressing interest in an email.

[fanficgirl429]

Super Solider Stamina

Pairing: fem!reader x Bucky Barnes

Prompt: Y/N reveals too much information about her and Bucky's sex life to Yelena and Ava and Bucky get's revenge

Warnings: Mentions of sex, 18+ only, minors do not engage

-----

Y/N was lounging upside-down on the Avengers Tower couch, legs hanging over the backrest, hair brushing against the floor, and a knowing smirk plastered across her face. In front of her, Yelena sat cross-legged with a tub of ice cream in her lap, while Ava flipped through a magazine she clearly wasn’t reading.

"You two are so tense," Y/N declared, pointing a spoon at them. “You both need to go out and get laid. Seriously.”

Yelena didn’t look up. “And we’re starting here, why?”

“Because this is an intervention,” Y/N said, straightening dramatically. “You’re both walking nerve bundles. I swear I can hear Ava’s spine grinding. And Yelena, you flinched when the toaster popped this morning.”

“It was loud,” Yelena snapped.

“Exactly my point. What you need isn’t therapy, or more combat training. What you need is a hot, completely forgettable one-night stand with someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t afraid to ruin your life for one night.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “And this is coming from the woman who’s dating America’s Broodiest Man.”

“Exactly!” Y/N beamed. “Bucky was broody. Now? He’s relaxed. Smiles more. Sleeps better. He even jokes.”

Yelena looked suspicious. “What did you do to him?”

Y/N leaned in with a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Oh no,” Ava said immediately. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

“I’m just saying,” Y/N went on, not afraid to share any details about her sex life, “there’s something exhilarating about being pinned down by a supersoldier.”

Yelena gagged. “Please stop.”

"I’m dead serious. One night with him, and I finally understood what super soldier stamina really means. He doesn’t stop. Not until your legs are shaking, your voice is wrecked, and your body forgets what rest feels like. Three orgasms? Minimum. Coherent thought? Not happening for at least twenty-four hours. He’s relentless, in the best, most devastating way possible."

Ava blinked. “Three?”

Y/N nodded. ""And that’s before he even takes the shirt off. Once it’s gone and you see all that hard muscle and barely restrained control, it’s over. He pins you with that look—hungry, possessive—and suddenly your back’s against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s fucking you like he has something to prove. His stamina is unreal—relentless thrusts that leave you shaking, his mouth everywhere, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re crying his name and can’t remember your own."

Yelena dropped her spoon. “That’s too much visual. Too much detail. I'm still a child in some countries.”

Y/N was on a roll now, unbothered. “One time? He…used the vibranium arm as leverage, braced me against the glass, and said—”

The elevator doors slid open with a gentle ding.

The man of the hour, Bucky Barnes stepped in, toweling off his hair, dressed in joggers and a dark henley, walking toward the kitchen but stopping when he heard the word “leverage.”

He paused.

Three sets of eyes locked onto him.

“...What did I just walk into?” he asked cautiously.

Y/N lit up. “Hey, babe! We were just talking about you.”

Yelena threw the pillow at her. “She’s telling us war crimes.”

Ava was smirking at Bucky, revealing she knew way too much about him. “Y/N said that you have amazing stamina and that you’re vibranium arm--”

Bucky turned bright red. “I—what? Wait. Y/N!”

Y/N shrugged innocently. “What? I’m helping! They’re stressed. They need to relax. I’m offering inspiration.”

“I did not consent to being used as Exhibit A in your sex-ed TED Talk!” Bucky barked, now clearly panicking.

“Too late,” Yelena muttered. “You’re a whole case study now.”

“I’m leaving,” Bucky muttered, already walking backward toward the elevator. “You’re all insane.”

“Love you!” Y/N called after him. 

Bucky paused, pointing at her. “You’re getting payback.”

“I hope so,” she smirked.

The elevator doors shut behind him.

Ava slowly turned to Y/N. “So... back to this leverage thing…”

Yelena held up her hand. “No. We’re going to a bar. We’re finding someone hot. And I’m doing whatever they say—as long as it doesn’t involve windows, or vibranium.”

Y/N pumped her fist. “That’s the spirit.”

---

The team was mid-briefing in the tower’s war room, the kind with the 3D holograms, the giant table, and an overwhelming amount of caffeine. Y/N sat between Yelena and Ava, twirling a pen like she wasn't already bored out of her mind.

Walker was talking and clicking through intel slides. Bob was silently judging everyone.

And Bucky?

Bucky was biding his time.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded casually, watching Y/N with a small, unreadable smirk on his face. She hadn’t noticed yet. But Yelena did. 

Something was coming.

Walker cleared his throat. “So our next op involves infiltration through a three-story compound—minimal cover, tight corridors. We’re thinking two-person teams. Standard breach and clear—”

Bucky casually raised a hand. “Can I make a team suggestion?”

Walker looked up. “What’re you thinking?”

Bucky smiled. “I should probably pair up with Y/N. She’s good at close-quarters work.”

Y/N arched a brow. “I’m flattered, babe.”

Bucky kept going. “And she’s excellent under pressure. Real flexible. Knows how to adapt to… tight spaces.”

Yelena immediately started choking on her water.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Bucky innocently said. “Just giving the team some context for why I think we work well together. Like that time in Berlin—what was it you said? ‘You handle the top, I’ll take the bottom’?”

Ava’s mouth dropped open.

Walker blinked slowly. “I’m…gonna pretend that was tactical.”

Bucky smiled. “Oh, it was very… hands-on.”

Y/N’s face was flaming. “James Buchanan Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Oh no,” he said, leaning back. “You’re the one who decided to give my resume out like free samples at Costco. This is me… networking.”

Bob tilted his head, intrigued. “This is more entertaining than the actual mission.”

Ava tried not to laugh and failed. “You two need couple’s therapy or a reality show. Maybe both.”

Yelena was wheezing. “I told her payback was coming.”

Bucky turned to Y/N with a shit-eating grin. “You really should warn them about how loud you are during recon missions. Could compromise the whole operation.”

Y/N kicked him under the table so hard that Ava’s water bottle rattled.

“Oops,” she said sweetly. “Tactical reflex.”

Walker stared down at his notes. “I’m begging you. Keep the flirting PG until after we clear the building.”

“I can’t make promises,” Y/N muttered, glaring at her boyfriend, who looked way too pleased with himself. 

“Good,” Bucky said, cracking his knuckles. “I like when you’re angry. Makes the mission more… physical.”

Yelena stood up. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this. I need bleach. Or a priest.”

Ava followed, eyes wide. “We were not ready for this level of revenge.”

Y/N slumped back in her chair, groaning. “I liked you better when you were emotionally repressed.”

Bucky leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You’re gonna like me even better tonight.”

Her pen snapped in half.

Walker, already regretting his life choices, said, “Next time, I’m assigning you to separate continents.”

[cheriladycl01]

And … by Uber, I mean texting my boyfriend Franco - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Plot: In which you always seem to use your boyfriend as a convenient Uber and the media start to pick up on it!

You were being interviewed by the media while you were stood in the paddock waiting for your boyfriend to come out of his motorhome.

“Ah there’s Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve never spoken to her before but rumours around the paddock say she’s just as funny as her partner and she’s very sweet. Let’s go haggle her” Martin says into the camera that’s following him through his Grid Walk

“Y/N! Y/N hi hello, Martin Brundle from Sky Sports! Can we chat?” He asks you, your head whipping round at the sound of your name.

“Oh hi! How are you today?” You smile kindly as you reach out to shake his hand.

“I’m good, I’m good! Glad I’ve bumped into you!” He smiles and you nod.

"So Y/N how have you found the paddock!" Martin asks, moving the microphone a little closer to you.

“It’s really welcoming! Everyone here has been so kind to me, and I’ve made tons of new friends with Lily last year when Franco was in Williams and Kika this year! But I’ve also spoken to Oscar’s Lily, Alexandra and a few of the other girls and their all really sweet, it’s nice to have people other than Franco” you explain and he nods a smile on his face.

“Ah that’s brilliant, that’s something we love here. All about family and keeping those close connections right?” He asks and you again nod.

“Mmmm, yes I’ve become very close to Kika! We’re going shopping together after qualifying tomorrow!” You exclaim happily, you’d become incredibly close to Kika. You pretty much hung out with her all the time now.

Originally, you’d been very shy when Franco underwent his first year in F1. He was the hotshot new rookie who came in to replace Logan and he ended up being phenomenal. Which led to him getting pretty popular VERY quickly. Which frightened you as it meant you’d be more in the limelight.

You’d remained towards the back, silently cheering him on whenever you were able to attend a race and kept off camera.

However now that he’d gotten a seat in Alpine, he was begging for you to appear so … in his words he didn’t seem like ‘a lonely flirty man whose desperate for attention’ you’d of course joked back and said take out the lonely and that’s a pretty accurate description of him.

“So we’re happy you’ve settled into paddock life so quickly, but let’s move onto the racing questions?” Martin asks and you nod your head. You actually knew a pretty decent amount about your boyfriend’s sport and once he introduced you to it and his world you became increasingly interested in not just the sport but the engineering behind it.

"So obviously you were here last year when Franco stepped in for Williams, how was that knowing that those last few races for him, could be his last time ever in formula one?" Martin asks and your smile remains despite the question.

"Franco and i have dated for a while now and been friends for even longer. So i've always known he'd make it. Last year was stepping stones and i think everyone could see how promising he was with the way he was pulling points from that Williams and now that he's taken on this role in Alpine i can see him being a stellar driver for years to come!" you explain Martin seeming happy with your answer.

"Well that will mean we get to see much more of you which im sure everyone in the paddock will be incredibly happy about!"

"Yeah, I wasn't into racing at all before i met Franco at school and thats when he asked me to go to one of his races in the lower catergorys. I swore i was going to be so bored but the thrill was insane, looking out for Franco on track became my new fravrioute thing... and it still is!" you grin and Martin laughs, the imagine of a younger you cheering on for Franco now planted in his mind.

"Anyway I'm so sorry Martin but i have to go I gotta go get my Uber. And by Uber ... I mean my boyfriend Franco" you joke and he looks at you in mock shock.

"You don't drive?" he asks and you look down a little embarrased.

"I do, but im not the best. Franco's terrified whenever I'm behind the wheel. He actually refuses me to drive now!" you admit shyly and Martin just laughs.

"And Franco, he doesn't try and teach you?" he asks in shock and you nod.

"He's tried but i genuinely think I'm unteachable. I have no clue how i passed my test, so a passenger princess i will remain" you sing the last note making a crown motion over your head.

"Ah and here he is now Franco Colapinto the Uber!" Martin says before you boyfriend comes up to the both of you.

"Are you okay?" he asks you concerned knowing you get a little camera shy and don't really like being incredibly public.

"Mmmmm yeah" you smile kissing the side of his face before taking a hold of his hand.

“I’m an uber?” He asks with a laugh raising an eyebrow at the interviewer.

“According to Y/N you’re her personal taxi driver” Martin intervenes.

“Oh! Yes! You didn’t know? My day job is a chauffeur for this lovely lady” he says pulling you in for a hug, laughing at you.

“Ah well it was lovely talking to you both, but I think times up as you guys have some Alpine members running to come get you! I think maybe you’re needed Franco. Lovely to see you both!” Martin says before continuing on his grid walk.

“An uber seriously?” He asks holding you at arms length as he looks over you.

“WHAT! Come on I was having fun!” You laugh hitting his shoulder before he wraps and arm around you, walking to meet his team that have been looking for him.

“You’re a menace!”

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[invoncible]

Mark was pissed when you got a date for the first time. MDNI. mark grayson & f! reader

Being friends since childhood, he grew up as your gatekeeper—no one could play with you on the playground turned into no one could ask you out to the school dance turned into no one could date you, period. His excuse? No one was good enough for you. He was your best friend, after all.

Mark already buys you stuff (as friends), takes you out to eat (cuz he was a good friend), and listens whenever you want to yap (he was just a nice guy!). And in his humble opinion, he was tall. His mom always says he's handsome. And he was ripped! Why would you need anyone else if he hit all the boxes?

That was all a cover up for the fact that he wanted you. He's loved you since he can remember, of course he envisions the rest of his life by your side. This was his way of keeping you to himself until he had the balls to jeopardize your friendship for the chance at something more. But, of course…

"The one time I'm not around and everyone shoots their shot with you?" Mark groaned into your pillow.

"Put some clothes on." You threw a shirt his way, feeling uneasy that he was just laying there in his hero suit. "Anyone can walk in here."

He rolled his eyes, snatching the shirt from the air as you tossed it. He slipped it over his suit while getting off the bed. He walked closer, stubbornly hovering behind you as you flitted around the room getting ready for your big date.

"Mark!" you laughed, pushing him away with your arm. "Can you back up?"

He ignored you, playfully dropping his weight onto you despite his ominous tone. "I'm serious, Y/n. Are you seriously going out alone with him? At night? In his car? Alone?"

"The whole point of a date is that I'm not alone." You rolled your eyes, grabbing your chosen dress for the night and heading into the bathroom. Mark stood in the doorway, a retort on his tongue. You cut him off, looking at him with exasperation. "What, are you gonna follow me into the bathroom, too?"

He scowled, grabbing the door and slamming it shut himself. His annoyance only grew when he heard your amused giggle on the other side.

He knew he had responsibilities as Invincible. He loves everything about being a hero.... except the fact that he's spending so much time away from his loved ones. It was worse that you were a pretty girl in university—there were all sorts of bad characters that would try their luck with you. He wouldn't even be there to protect you.

He clasped his hands behind his neck, pacing in circles as if this was a life or death matter (he's dramatic).

He peeked over his elbow when he heard the bathroom door crack open.

"Okay, option one." You stepped out in a cute little black dress. Too little for his liking, but whatever. "What d'you think?"

"It's alright." He wanted to fall to his knees in front of you and worship you, peel that stupid dress off slow enough to get at you for putting it on in the first place for someone that wasn't him.

You frowned. "Alright? I need gorgeous."

You had that down, he wanted to say, even without the dumb dress.

You retreated to the bathroom, slipping into your second option and revealing it. Mark wished he'd gone with the first one because this one was worse because it was so much better. Where the fuck were you getting these dresses?

He twisted his face in disgust as you gave a little spin. "No."

You faced him, brows creasing and lips in a pout. His heart squeezed at the sight. He didn't want to be so mean. You were so pretty; he could stare at you all day regardless of what you had on, but in this moment he couldn't help it.

"No?" You sighed, sneaking glances at yourself in the mirror.

Go back to the first one go back to the first one—

"Well, it'll have to do."

Fuck.

You had the audacity to stand in front of him with your back turned. "Zip me up?"

He inhaled, muttering under his breath as he grabbed the zipper from where it sat half-way and tugged it up... maybe rougher than warranted.

"Mark—!" you squeaked as you stumbled forward under his forceful hands.

"I'm telling you, this isn't a good idea." Mark grumbled, purposely taking a while to drag the zipper on its track just to feel your skin, dragging his fingers up the expanse of your back.

"Be gentle—"

"All guys want the same thing." He snapped, sharply zipping it the full way and immediately walking away.

"Why'd you even come over if you're just gonna bitch?" You adjusted the hem of your dress, glaring at him over your shoulder. "You're so angry for no reason."

"There is a reason!" He exclaimed, a hand on his hip as if prepping to lecture you. "You're going out with someone you met on a dating app at fuckin' 9 in the night looking really good. What if you get kidnapped? Or if he has bad intentions? What if he's driving you somewhere you don't wanna go?"

With each concern your frown deepened. He had to steel himself against your adorable sulking, turning away as he continued.

"What if he wants to kiss you, or touch you, or—or sleep with you?!" Mark's voice lowered as if the notion of anyone fucking you was unimaginable. "Have you even had sex yet?"

You looked at him weirdly and he thought he fucked up when you turned from him.

"No. But that's kind of the point for this date." You shot back, touching up your makeup in the mirror.

His jaw dropped, gaping at you. "No." The thought alone made his skin crawl.

You laughed. "You're so funny! When did you become so responsible? We always talked about having fun in university."

"Not that kind of fun."

You shrugged. "Whatever. And don't think I missed that 'I look good.'" You smiled smugly, poking his chest triumphantly and his face flushed, his train of thought stuttering.

"As far as I'm concerned, we're both trying to get some and you're upset I beat you to it." You giggled and he wanted to wipe that patronizing smile off your face.

"...You wouldn't know what to do." He muttered, going for a low blow. He was feeling petty. Nothing he said or did was discouraging you, but he knew you better than you knew yourself. A little provocation was all he needed.

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Yes, I would."

He grinned slowly. He knew you like the back of his hand. "No, you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would."

"Mmm. Don't think so." He mirrored your stance, stepping closer and looking down at you from the slope his nose.

"Cuz you're so experienced?"

"Right."

"Experienced with who, exactly?"

His smirk faltered for a split second, covering it up by running his hand over his face and turning it back on you. “Jealous?"

"You’re the one acting jealous." You rolled your eyes. "Why don't you tell me all your secrets? Since you know so much. I'll use them with my date."

Mark's smile was devoid of emotion. He just stared. He stared for a long, long time. He squinted at you like you just said something unthinkable—in a way, you did.

If he wasn't pissed before, he was now.

"How about I show you?"

[]

Mark was a nice guy. Nice enough to remember that you were a hands-on learner. That's why he had your legs spread, dress bunched up at your hips, taking his sweet sweet time pumping his fingers in and out of you. His eyes flickered to your face when he intentionally curled them.

His pupils blew wide when he watched your head drop back against the bed, his breath hitching when a feathery whine joining the soft squelch of his fingers buried in your soaked heat.

"Yeah," he laughed lowly, his face hot. "who's bitching now?"

"Shut up," you hissed from beneath him, but it was hard to take anything serious when you were putty in his hands.

"I'm never shutting up about this." He promised, all else fading into the background when he glanced down and saw your slick coating his hand, staining the sleeves of his suit. "Wow."

"Shut up." you gasped, heat snaking up you neck. Wow?

"Fine." Mark mumbled, blush burning at his cheeks. He pulled his fingers from you, pushing your knees apart when you tried to close them. He was impatient, but his chest shook with each heartbeat; his nervous energy was overwhelming his senses, second only to the primal desire to please you.

You squeaked when he yanked you higher up the bed, propping you up against the pillows before lying on his stomach. You snapped your legs shut, much to Mark's disappointment.

"What?" he breathed, eyebrows furrowed. "Did I—"

"No, it's just... this is so embarrassing." You mumbled, curling into yourself. Mark ran his calloused hands up and down your skin.

"What is?" Mark used his strength to pry your legs open again, giving you puppy eyes from his spot between your thighs. "You're so beautiful."

"Mark..." Where was this coming from? You had so many questions, but your mushy brain translated them to, "...we're friends."

"Not anymore," He pouted, ducking to nuzzle into the fat of your inner thigh. "I don't want to be friends anymore."

You blinked down at him, chest rising and falling with each breath as your brain tried to catch up with your body. The Mark you’d known was long gone. In his place was someone who looked at you like you hung the stars, and suddenly everything between you felt terrifyingly real.

"I wanna be the one to take you out instead," he continued, rubbing slow circles into your thighs. "I want to be the one to pick you up from class and walk you to lectures. Go on dates, sleep over, you know. Everything. I want all of it."

You stared, wide-eyed. He smiled, but it was lopsided and vulnerable.

"I’ve loved you forever," he admitted, brushing his nose against your leg. "I didn’t know how to say it without ruining what we had. I wasn't bitching for no reason."

"I know that now." You smiled.

"Ditch your date."

"Oh, I already planned on it."

Mark didn't want to be friends anymore. You didn't either. The rest of the night was spent making up for lost time.

something lazy. sorry for my absence guys :)

[crisuhaa]

all in the name of a glance . . ! ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚

.・゜゜・ amphoreus men x gn!reader . . !

sypnosis things amphoreus men—(anaxagoras, mydeimos, phainon) do to gain your sweet attention!

warnings;; slight ooc chars(??), them being a little stupid (TT), slightly dense reader :3 semi pre-established relationships <3

౨ৎ— anaxagoras . . !

Anaxagoras had always been a direct person, he thrived on being straightforward and catching his students off guard.

So, why—why? Does that not apply with you? Why does he hesitate on making a move to have you talking again?

“ehem..” he coughed out, holding his papers whilst he sat in his desk—with you sitting on the couch across the room doing who knows what.

“cough.. eurghh.. EHEM..” he gargled out, a concerning noise actually—looking up from his papers to look at you, you must've noticed by now, right? Right..?

“oh for the love of cerces..” he grumbled out in frustration, the Titan of Reasons name leaving his lips, now that got your attention.

“naxa? you okay?” they *finally* looked up at him, letting go of the random object they were fiddling with.

He deadpanned, letting go of the papers he was grading “are you serious? Like actually?”

“what?.” they tilted their head, confused as to what went into his head THIS time. “after all my attempts of..”

“attempts of?.” they blinked, standing up to walk to his desk. “attempts of drifting your.. gaze towards me.. Cerces is what gains your attention?” he grumbled out, earning a soft chuckle from you.

“ah? You wanted my attention didn't you?” they laughed once more, cupping his cheeks. “mhh.. I'm paying attention now, naxa.”

“good, see it that you do all the time.”

౨ৎ — mydeimos . . !

Mydei wasn't one to ask of anything involving you doing something—not when he could do it himself while you just sit there all relaxed for him.

Cleaning? He's doing it for you to the point where the house is sparkling. Running errands? He already got your schedule down to a T just to do your errands. Cooking? He's already ready to wake you up with breakfast.

In summary, he'd never ask anything of you—never, even if he wanted one thing. Your attention, of course. But how does he ask for it? Well.

“one, two.. three, four.” he mumbled, doing push ups on the floor, right in front of you while you read your book.

He slightly grumbled, in the middle aged women he talked to (for advice), they say a way to a loved ones heart was strenght.

What better way to show strenght than to do as many push ups as he could to prove himself to you? Was it a good idea? Probably not!

“twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five..” he continued, pushing his body upward and downward in inhumane speed, pushing his body to its limits.

“three hundred and fifty two, three hundred and fifty three, three hundred and—” he collapsed on the floor, out of exhaustion. Yet it STILL didn't get your attention, what more do you want?!

Instead, he gave up, standing up to sit next to you—hair messy with sweat sticking onto him. “finally done, de?” they smiled, looking at him.

“done with what?.” he blinked, looking a little more than happy to have your attention, finally. “your exercise, I've been wanting to hang out with you.”

They say a way to a loved ones heart is by strength, but his loved one only wanted his attention, much like he did with them.

౨ৎ — phainon . . !

Phainon adored healers, not just any healer—his (self-proclaimed) healer that he met through Hyacine.

The moment Hyacine introduced them since she was too busy to heal him at the moment—he was WHIPPED.

Who knew Amphoreus had someone this adorable? He didn't, and he should've! And now that he does know, what does he do?

Operation make-pretty-nurse-fall-for-phainon plan is on the go! And how does he plan on doing it? Simple! Get hurt as many times as possible!

“(name)..” he whined out, walking to their office like a kicked puppy “phainon? again?” they let out a soft sigh, gesturing to the seat for him.

“being a hero isn't easy, huh? haha..” he smiled, showing his barely scraped arm

“it's not that bad, you could've done this yourself.” they hummed, taking out the needed supplies—oblivious to the betrayal on his face

“and risk getting an Infection? I'm wounded!” he huffed, looking at them with soft eyes. “mhh.. Yeah, yeah. Stay still.”

And so he did, he kept silent, staring at them whilst they work on his wound—they're so close, right where he adored it.

“if I didn't know any better, I would've thought you're doing this on purpose to have my attention.” they laughed softly, meeting his eyes—expecting him to chuckle and look away.

But he didn't, instead he looked at them dead in the eye with a serious tone “and if I was, is it working?” he mumbled out.

“just a little.” they smiled in amusement, finishing up the bandage and pulling away. “are you?”

He smiled softly, standing up to face them once more—“I am.”

Safe to say operation make-pretty-nurse-fall-for-phainon was a huge success.

authors note;; i think ts was OKAY. I think,?? TT BUTTTT it's clear I love amphoreus men but I'll make ones of the women as well!! :33

౨ৎ — crisuhaa works . . !

[fireinmoonshot]

once in a blue moon | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: When you come down with a cold, Bob doesn't hesitate to look after you – even if he has no idea what he's doing. Warnings: Reader is sick, mentions of a cold and a fever, mentions of painkillers and Bob's previous drug use. Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who sent in this request. I love this idea so much and I had so much fun planning it out and writing it. I haven't written for Bob in about a week so I have missed writing for him so much. I'm definitely going to try and write for him more often and I'll be working on more of the requests I have already in my inbox! 💗

“I think,” Alexei starts, eyeing you from across the room as you sniff for the hundredth time in a minute, “that being an Avenger should make you immune to colds.”

Yelena, sitting beside you – though far enough away that she considers herself safe from you infecting her, frowns at her father. “It’s not like us being given the title of New Avengers suddenly makes us some new breed of human.”

“I never said that, but now that you mention it–”

“Yeah, we heard what you said,” Walker huffs, cutting Alexei off before he begins on some kind of tangent that none of you want to listen to.

Bob appears in the doorway of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks around at everyone, completely lost in the conversation. “Who has a cold?”

He watches as everyone in the room – Alexei, Yelena, Ava and John – point at you. Bucky has been spending time at his own apartment, citing the fact that he’s sick of how loud it always is at the Watch Tower. Bob can understand that. He spends half his time locked away in his own room for a bit of peace and quiet. 

“Okay, I do not have a cold,” you sigh, shaking your head. “It’s just a stuffy nose. I get like this every winter. Doesn’t everyone? I’m fine, so will you all stop treating me like I’m sick?”

You push yourself up from the couch, deciding to excuse yourself from the room and go and find a box of tissues. Your sniffing is starting to annoy you, just like it’s clearly annoying everyone else in the room too.

Bob frowns as he watches you stand up, go to take a step and then stumble. He recognises it for what it is instantly – you’re dizzy. You’d stood up a little too quickly, eager to get away from everyone nagging you, and whatever sickness was plaguing you decided to fight back, making your head spin.

He’s across the room in the blink of an eye, reaching for you just as you start to fall. You were heading right for the glass coffee table and he’s never been more glad to have use of super-speed – in moderation, of course. His powers still aren’t entirely under his control.

You grip onto his arm for a little bit of extra stability as you realise you’re not falling – thanks to Bob. You’re sure that the surprise is evident on your face as you look up at him, the room still slightly spinning around you. 

“That was impressive, Bobby,” Walker says, looking at Bob with his eyebrows raised.

“Thanks Walker,” Bob mutters, tightening his grip on your waist. “I think you need some rest,” he continues, speaking softly to you. “Let me help you to your room?”

It’s a question rather than a statement – Bob wouldn’t want to do anything against your will, even if you are clearly sick and dizzy. He knows you can be stubborn at times but it doesn’t stop the worry from seeping inside of him. He’s never seen you like this before. You’re always strong, never weak. He knows that you’re not feeling like yourself when you nod back at him, accepting his help.

He wastes no time in starting to walk with you towards your bedroom, taking it slowly so you don’t get dizzy again. You can feel the eyes of everyone else on you both as you leave. You can already hear the interrogation you’ll get from Yelena and Ava once you’re better, as if you have anything to tell them.

Bob is always sweet with you, but you’re polar opposites. You’re much more stubborn than him, you can be much louder than him, you probably get on his nerves more often than not. But for some reason, you rather like the idea of him taking care of you.

Once you reach your bedroom, he pushes the door open. He takes two steps inside, an arm still around your waist, before he frowns. “What the hell?” He murmurs. “Why is it so cold in here? Do you not have the heating on?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on,” you admit, squeezing your eyes shut and tightening your grip on the back of Bob’s shirt as a fresh wave of dizziness falls over you. “There are so many buttons in this place and none of them are labelled.

Bob sighs and looks down at you. You’re so insanely smart and yet you couldn’t figure out how to turn the heating on? And you’d never asked for help – even in the dead of winter when the Watch Tower was freezing? 

“You could’ve asked me,” he hums, voice so quiet that you almost can’t hear him. “I’ll show you once you’re better. But next time, just ask. Please.”

You smile a little at that. It’s one of the things that you like the most about Bob – his caring nature, despite everything he’s been through in life. It’s the kind of thing that draws you and everyone else towards him.

“I’d like that.”

He gives you a small smile and a nod before continuing. “Okay, change of plan, then,” he decides. “It’ll take too long for your room to warm up. You’re can stay in mine.”

Bob doesn’t give you a chance to try and convince him otherwise. He turns around instantly, bringing you with him as you leave your bedroom. His room isn’t too far away from yours, just a few doors up the hallway. You’re glad to still be holding onto him as you walk towards it. Your head is still spinning, vision a little blurry, and the fact that you couldn’t feel how cold your bedroom apparently was tells you that you think you might be coming down with a fever.

“It’s just in here,” Bob mutters as he pushes open the door to his own bedroom. He smiles as he feels how warm the room is, glad he’d left his heating on when he’d left it this morning. He kicks the door shut behind him and walks with you over to the bed, sitting you down on it and pulling the covers back. If he’d known this was going to happen, he would’ve at least washed the sheets for you. He hopes you won’t mind.

He carefully helps you lay down, adjusting the pillow behind your head, and does his best to try and tuck you in. He’s never been particularly good when it comes to things like this. As a child, he’d never learnt those things from his parents. He tries his best to comfort people when they need it, but he never considers himself very good at it.

It’s once you’re laying in his bed, tucked in, that he realises he doesn’t know what to do next. “Uh… I don’t really know what to do to help you now,” he admits sheepishly. He’d gotten you here and tucked you in, but other than that he was drawing a blank.

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I’m good at taking care of myself.” You reach up a hand and place it onto your forehead, trying to see if your suspicion of having a fever is correct. You’re not surprised when you remove your hand and find it a little wet from sweat. “I think I’m coming down with a fever though… I guess I really am sick.”

Bob’s eyes widen. A fever? He has no idea how to treat a fever. He reaches for his bedside table, opens the drawer and pulls out his phone. He has one but he doesn’t like to use it very often. He finds that being on it, especially on social media and reading about the incident he’d created a while back, doesn’t often help when it comes to dealing with the side of him that had created the Void. He sits down on the edge of his bed and unlocks it.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching him as he types something.

“I’m doing a Google,” he explains.

How to help someone that has a cold, his Google search says.

You watch him as he alternates between scrolling and typing, assuming he’s making some kind of list on his phone of how to help you. You’re smiling without even realising it, thinking about how sweet he is to be doing all of this for you without you even having to ask him to. He’s doing it all just because he wants to.

“What did you come up with, Doctor Reynolds?” You ask after a few minutes.

He looks up from his phone, a small smile on his lips at the nickname. “Google says that warm liquids, like soup or warm water with lemon, are good for you. It also says that putting a wet cloth on your forehead could help the fever. There were a few websites that mentioned painkillers, too… might have to enlist the help of the others for those. I don’t think that they’ll let me near them… for good reason, I guess.” His track record when it comes to drugs is not very good. 

“Did you make a list? How many websites did you check?” 

Bob looks down at his phone again. “Uh, all twelve on the first page.” He turns his phone around to show you the list he’s written on the notes app. It’s full to the brim of things that he’s found to try and help you get over your cold.

The simple fact that he’d gone to such an effort to find a way to take care of you when he didn’t know how makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside – and you’re certain it’s not because of the fever that you feel this way. 

“You know that you don’t have to, right, Bob?” You mutter. “I can look after myself.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should have to,” he shrugs. 

You reach a hand out of the blankets and rest it on his knee – the only part of him that you can reach without stretching your arm too far. “Aren’t you meant to be training with John and Ava today, though?”

Bob nods, but he’s unbothered. He’s not going to leave you when you’re sick just to go and do some training. Training is something he can do whenever, but helping you when you don’t feel well only happens once in a blue moon. He’s not going to waste time by leaving you to fend for yourself, especially when you have a fever. Deep down, he knows that this is the right thing for him to be doing today. If he left you to go and train, he knows that he’d just spend the entire time being guilty and irritable.

He reaches out a hand and places it on your forehead, wincing a little as he feels how warm you are. “Training can wait,” he says, removing his hand. “I’m going to go and ask Yelena if she can order some soup for you online and I’ll get you a wet cloth for your forehead. I’ll try and see if I can manage to get them to get me some painkillers for you, too.” 

“You won’t be gone too long, will you?” You say, unable to stop the words before they come from your mouth. Apparently it’s not only your body that’s being weak and betraying you today, but your mind as well. 

Bob can’t help the small smile that comes to his face. “Not long,” he promises. “You should try and get some sleep while I’m gone. All of the websites on Google said that sleep and rest are the most important things above anything else.”

You’re glad that Bob hasn’t lingered too much on your slip up. You’re even more glad that no one else was around to hear it – it was definitely the kind of thing that would end up with you being teased by every other member of the team if they’d overheard it.

“I’ll try and sleep,” you tell him, meaning every word. 

“Good,” Bob hums, placing his hand on top of yours, still resting on his knee, and giving it a squeeze. He may not be the best doctor, or any kind of doctor at all, but until you’re better, looking after you comes before anything else. After all, being able to sit by your side like this and have you willingly let him take care of you isn’t something he’s going to take for granted. He’s sure that soon enough, you will be back to your usual stubborn, loud self. But even then, he doesn’t plan to stray too far from your side.

[ghouljams]

I'm fully smitten with Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Call me trite, but I love some good old high school sweethearts. But I also think that getting married that young would definitely raise a few eyebrows.

You know that feeling you get when you see people your age start to do grown up things, like getting engaged or buying a house? I imagine that's what your acquaintances at uni feel like when they find out you're married.

People know that you have someone, because every now and then there will be a mention of "my Simon". So you have A Simon, whatever that means.

Eventually it always comes up in conversation. Someone will ask if you have plans with your boyfriend for the summer, to which you respond "oh, he's not my boyfriend." This revelation causes the person you're speaking with to think they've fully stepped in it. Had the two of you broken up recently? Or were you just in some sort of long-term situationship? Their train of thought gets swiftly interrupted by you going "he's my husband."

While they silently question how the fuck someone in their early twenties has a fucking husband, you happily chat on about your summer plans.

It's not like you planned on getting married young. It's just that your Simon has a terribly dangerous job and a terribly big heart, and he won't leave a man behind. He'd looked so guilty telling you how he'd run into a fire fight to drag a man to safety, apologized, he knew he promised you not to do anything dangerous and-

Well... How could you not marry a man like that?

It does raise some eyebrows though. You try not to advertise your marriage. You don't have a ring, neither you nor Simon had the money for one. You don't have a house, again, money. You don't have kids, though you do think about them often. Really the only thing you have are the stories that you and Simon have made together. Walks in the park that had you pulling him out of the pond. Movie theaters that kicked you out for crying too loudly (and for Simon arguing with the usher). Nights at the pub that ended in great heaving laughter. You're sure you paint a pretty picture of your relationship.

Your Simon. You don't have anything else to call him, he is yours. More than just a husband, he's your best friend, and besides it still feels so strange to say that. ("My God we're like child brides," you'd told him as you were signing the papers. "Worse," he'd joked, "we're military wives.")

You make it through two years of university, and multiple deployments before any of your uni friends find out you're married, and it happens in the worst way.

Your Simon goes missing in action somewhere in Mexico.

You get a call as you're walking out of lecture, and when your friend asks what's wrong (following your complete breakdown into tears in the middle of the sidewalk) you tell them that your husband is MIA. They can't tell you where, why, or how, but they do tell you to prepare for the worst.

Weeks with no news. Barely eating, barely eating, only doing your work because there has to be somewhere for Simon to come home to if they ever find him. Two months pass in a sick haze of lectures and part-time work.

Another call, while you're working this time. You barely apologize to your boss before rushing out, a hastily scribbled hospital name clutched on notebook paper between your fingers. You don't even notice the distance, time barely passes from point A to point B. One moment you're at work, the next you're standing beside a hospital bed.

He looks rough, nose broken, eyes ringed in purple, gauze covering half his chest, leg broken, angry red scars raised on any uncovered skin, but it's your Simon. The brown of his eyes is as soft as it's ever been, and his cracked lips still smile when he sees you. He's alive, and this- this is far from the worst thing you could have prepared for.

And you're so young suddenly, crying like a child at nearly losing your best friend, big wracking sobs that nearly crumple you because your heart is still here with you. It's Simon that lays a big hand on your head and comforts you.

"Told ya I'd come back," He reminds you, "Jus'took a minute."

He doesn't give you any details until he's out of the hospital. Not until you're both cuddled up in the just slightly too small bed that fills your bedroom in your definitely too small flat. The duvet is heavy and Simon still can't rest on his side, but you cuddle close, listening to him walk you through Mexico with a heavy heart. Classified. He keeps repeating it, like that will make it easier for you to digest. The secrecy of it when he tells you about dragging Washington to safety. It makes your stomach squirm. 'He shouldn't have done that' you think guiltily, 'he should've saved himself.'

You don't feel as guilty when Simon meets Washington again and tells you, "'e did somethin' odd, not sittin' right wi' me."

Makes you feel better screaming and shouting when you spot Simon's brother in arms tailing you on campus, when he grabs you and you kick him in the balls just like Simon showed you. The cops find a gun on him, he spews vitriol, spouts manifestos. Brainwashed, they tell Simon.

It's hard to keep a marriage under wraps when the city paper writes a story about you. "Terrorism in Manchester" is front-page news, after all.

[livsbuffy]

the long-term impact of buffy’s relationship with angel on her perception of love and her self-worth deserved to be explored more. the show touches on it a few times, but it didn't get nearly enough focus, considering how formative this first romantic experience was.

from the beginning, their relationship is doomed by the narrative : the soul curse, the slayer vs. vampire dynamic, angel's constant disappearing acts, etc. when angel loses his soul, he immediately expresses hatred for buffy. angelus doesn't feel an ounce of love for the girl. whatever angel felt never transferred to his uninhibited counterpart, angelus.

ANGELUS : She made me feel like a human being. That's not the kind of thing you just forgive. (Innocence, 2x14).

from the age of sixteen, buffy starts associating intimacy (emotional and physical) with punishment and hurt. her love is poison. it's the root of evil (angel losing his soul after their first time) and it hurts the people she loves (giles losing jenny). love becomes laced with guilt.

BUFFY (to Giles) : I'm sorry I couldn't kill him for you... for [Jenny]... when I had the chance. (Passion, 2x17)

angel taints buffy's sense of self. he makes her doubt herself. he never stops bringing up her age and immaturity (shocker, high school girl isn't an adult!!!!). it's a recurring theme in their relationship, one the show gives up on for some reason, but it was very much present in the beginning.

ANGEL : You're sixteen years old. I'm two hundred and forty-one. BUFFY: I've done the math. ANGEL : You don't know what you're doing, you don't know what you want... (Reptile Boy, 2x05)

this imbalance is a constant, but both shows gloss it over or try to reverse it. there’s a scene in angel’s spin-off where buffy finds faith with him and asks that she face legal consequences (a reasonable demand for someone who just stole her body). but buffy is painted as the irrational party by the writing. worse, when angel grabs buffy’s arm to stop her from going after a fleeing faith and she fights back, he justifies hitting her, completely disregarding her trauma and focusing on her physicality to distract the viewer from his emotional manipulation.

BUFFY :  You hit me. ANGEL :  Not to go all schoolyard on you, but you hit me first. In case you've forgotten, you're a little bit stronger than I am. (Sanctuary, 1x19)

the show insists on buffy’s strength, but ignores the emotional and situational imbalance. angel is older, more experienced, and constantly undermines her feelings. the narrative minimizes his mind-games by deflecting. angel twists buffy's need for justice into revenge. he takes her justified pain and shapes it into something vile, gaslighting buffy and invalidating her feelings.

ANGEL :  Buffy, this wasn't about you!  This was about saving somebody's soul.  (...) ANGEL :  You came because of Faith.  You were looking for vengeance. (Sanctuary, 1x19)

angel plays tricks on buffy's mind during her most formative years. every time he dismisses her pain and struggles, it confirms her insecurities and feeds the voice in her head telling her she's the problem.

there are moments where buffy actively tries to change herself, be someone she's not just to please angel. she tries to lose herself in a performance for the older guy. one notable instance is her halloween costume choice : a woman from angel’s era, prettier from buffy's point of view, a woman that he would have been attracted to back then. ironically, buffy actually does lose herself because the costume is cursed.

BUFFY (to Angel) : I just wanted to be a real girl for once. The kind of fancy girl you liked when you were my age. (Halloween, 2x06)

not only does her love for angel cause tragedy and evil, it also makes her feel small, not worthy, not enough. it touches her self-esteem. this is apparent when angel mocks buffy after their first time, tapping right into her teenage insecurities :

ANGELUS : You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night. BUFFY : What are you saying? ANGELUS : Let's not make an issue out of it, okay? In fact, let's not talk about it at all. It happened. BUFFY : I don't understand. Was it me? Was I not good? (Innocence, 2x14)

he is later painted as the older guy who changed after sex. the show veers off-course in season 3 and completely disregards this aspect of their relationship in order to paint them as a tragic romance instead of sticking with the original subtext : teenage buffy, the "kiddo", being groomed and blaming herself.

BUFFY : Do you remember that guy Angel? JOYCE : Angel, the, um... the college boy who was tutoring you in history? BUFFY : (...) We're sort of dating, were dating. Going through a serious off-again phase right now. JOYCE : Don't tell me. He's changed. He's not the same guy you fell for? (Passion, 2x17)

you can see the impact later with parker. buffy thinks something is wrong with her. her instinct when parker decides that she was just a one-night stand is to put the blame on herself and question her worth, reminiscent of her conversation with angel after their first time :

BUFFY : Parker did I do something wrong? PARKER : Something wrong? No, of course not. It was fun. (...) PARKER : I'm sorry if you missed something. I thought things were pretty clear. BUFFY : I'm sorry if I miss. I'm sorry. PARKER : Look, I really have to go now. BUFFY : Parker wait. I did this all wrong.

angel was the first love that turned evil because of her touch. he was the first love that didn’t stay. so in buffy’s mind, it rings “this is all my fault” alarm bells. she’s not worth staying for. people leaving is her responsibility. it's always the slayer's responsibility.

then she settles for riley despite the lack of love or passion, to regain the normalcy that was shattered by angel. her relationship with riley only happens because of the damage angel caused.

BUFFY : I think [Riley] cares about me but I just feel like something's missing.  WILLOW : He's not making you miserable? BUFFY : Exactly. Riley seems so solid. Like he wouldn't cause me heartache.  (...) WILLOW : The pain is not a friend. BUFFY : (...) Part of me believes that real love and passion have to go hand in hand with pain and fighting. I wonder where I get that from. (Something Blue, 4x09)

she stays with him even though she’s clearly not fulfilled (running away to slay vampires in the middle of the night instead of staying with him). but even then, riley leaves. being in a relationship with the slayer hurt him in some way (well, his ego). buffy was caught in yet another relationship where she had to change herself, this time because she was too intimidating for regular human riley.

all the men in buffy’s romantic and sexual life made her feel like she tainted them in some way. they were worse off with her. angel loses his soul. she wasn’t good enough for parker. she was too slayer-y for riley. she voices this insecurity to angel in the series finale :

BUFFY : I always feared there was something wrong with me, you know, because I couldn’t make it work. (Chosen, 7x22)

this all starts with angel and bleeds into every single one of her relationships because he shaped her worldview at such a young age. angel being completely unable to love her without a soul also made it impossible for her to accept spike's love, at first. because if spike could love her, then why couldn't angel?

BUFFY : And the joke is... [Spike] loved me. I mean, in his own sick, soulless way, he really did care for me. But I didn't want to be loved. (Conversations With Dead People, 7x07)

accepting spike's unconditional love for her, with or without a soul, would mean confronting the reality of her relationship with angel. it was a superficial love that never transcended soul, conscience or morality. it wasn't deeply ingrained in the deepest parts of him (angel and angelus). strip angel of his inhibitions and he only has loathing for her. strip spike of his soul, and the love stays. twisted, perverted, selfish, but there. real and strong enough to make him want to be better on his own, no curse needed.

for spike, the humanity he gained from loving buffy was a gift he was grateful for, because he's always longed for humanity and never fully severed the link with it.

SPIKE : I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man. (The Gift, 5x22)

he tries to be better for her, as much as his lack of conscience allows. from the start, buffy planted the seeds of his soul quest. it wasn't a spur of the moment thing. it was a process. when willow's spell backfires in Tabula Rasa (6x08), spike, stripped of his memories, already thinks he has a soul. even then, he instinctively gravitates towards buffy and tries to do good. his bond with buffy doesn't depend on souls or memories.

buffy being better and stronger than him—because of her soul, her true goodness, her slayer power—never scared him or drove him away. it intrigued him. it pushed him to stay. spike keeps coming back to buffy. it's all about buffy.

DRUSILLA : You're all covered with her. I look at you, all I see is the Slayer. (Fool For Love, 5x07)

at first, spike tries to drag buffy down with him, to keep her in the darkness, where he belongs. he isolates her further from her friends after her resurrection. by then, corrupting her is the only way for him to have her.

SPIKE : That's not your world. You belong in the shadows... with me. (Dead Things, 6x13)

but spike ends up having an epiphany thanks to love. the only way is to rise to her level. he's beneath her and he accepts it.

SPIKE : We were never together. Not really. She'd never lower herself that far. (Seeing Red, 6x19)

this is the culmination of years and years of performing goodness to please her, failing, trying again, that lead to one conclusion : he needs the missing piece. it's love that leads him to this. he got his soul back to be her equal. buffy is intricately tied to spike's growing identity. she's part of him. buffy changed him on a fundamental level, in a way that was never seen before. she made him go against his vampire nature.

SPIKE : You know, everything used to be so clear. Slayer. Vampire. Vampire kills Slayer, sucks her dry, picks his teeth with her bones. It's always been that way. I've tasted the life of two Slayers. But with Buffy... It isn't supposed to be this way! (Seeing Red, 6x19)

love has become transformative.

and even after his ensoulment, he still kneels in front of buffy. he voluntarily puts himself beneath her, to profess his love for her just the way she is. spike loves all of her, the failures, the cracks, the shortcomings. he loves her for trying and failing and being imperfectly good.

SPIKE : I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a woman. You’re the one, Buffy. (Touched, 7x20).

spike elevates buffy on her journey towards loving herself. he tells her what neither of the men who came before him ever did : she is better, she is enough, she doesn't have to change. he honors her.

caring for spike means loving the darkest parts of her. caring for spike means finally accepting that her love can be a power of good, that her relationship with angel doesn't define how she loves. through spike, buffy frees herself of the self-inflicted guilt in her failed relationships.

the last scene is extremely symbolic. spike gives buffy her fire back.

their clasped hands burn. fire symbolizes purification. when spike burns, it's the ultimate step of his redemption. purification of the soul. when buffy's hand burns with his, it signifies the change in how she views love. it's cleansed. it's pure. it's life-changing. it heals. she takes spike's burning hand because she's not scared of love anymore. because she accepts it, fully, in all its beauty and complexity.

angel was the problem. parker was the problem. riley was the problem. there is nothing wrong with her.

spike loved. spike stayed. spike changed. spike burned for her. spike became light because of her.

her love is light.

[kinky-cas]

Jack should have tattled about the empty deal because the huge blowout fight Dean and Cas would have had about it would have been SO fun to watch for me personally.

Jack lets something slip (accidentally? on purpose? idk) when they're all in the library and Dean slowly turns to look at Cas.

"And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me—us about this?"

*Cas, jaw tensed* "I wasn't."

(at this point, Sam grabs Jack by the arm and starts backing out of the room)

"You weren't. Of course you weren't. Because secrets and deals always end so well for us."

"We have more important things to worry about right now, Dean. This isn't exactly pressing."

"A deal that could get you taken by an ancient eldritch force at any time isn't pressing?! "

*bitchy sigh* "At any time is a flagrant exaggeration. I wasn't exactly concerned about triggering it accidentally, or soon. It's hardly any of your business, anyways."

"None of my business? None of my business that you made a deal with some eldritch entity that has a personal grudge against you. A deal for your life, Cas!"

"I have full confidence in my ability to manage it, as I have been managing it, and the terms aren't impacting anyone else."

"Oh, because you think you keeping yourself miserable all the time is just a you problem, huh?"

"Definitionally, yes, it is a "me problem", Dean."

"Right, because you don't think the rest of us are at all impacted by knowing that if you're happy it'll literally kill you?"

"Well if things had gone as planned you wouldn't have had to know, would you?"

"Not knowing is worse! And besides, Jack still knew! You were going to let him carry that by himself? Did you ever consider what that kind of knowledge can do to a kid? What it would have done to him when the Empty did eventually take you? Because it sure doesn't seem like you had any plan to get out of the deal eventually!"

"Don't you dare make your issues with this about Jack. I won't apologize to you for saving his life, and frankly I don't understand why we're discussing this. The deal is already made, and I am not going to risk Jack's life by interfering with it now. I've been perfectly fine so far. This discussion is pointless."

"Pointless. Pointless? A discussion about the deal that's apparently just waiting to kill you is pointless?"

"I don't see what arguing about this will accomplish. It was my choice to offer my life in exchange for Jack's, and my "happiness" is certainly a more than worthwhile trade for his life and safety. Are you implying otherwise?"

"That is not what I meant and you know it. Of course I'm glad we have Jack back, that's not my point!"

"Then pray, tell, Dean, what is your point? Because as far as I can see it, the only purpose this discussion is serving is as totally unnecessary additional insurance against the Empty showing up right now."

"And what's that supposed to mean??"

*audible eyeroll* "I don't know, Dean, clearly I'm thrilled to be arguing with you right now—"

(this goes on for another 20 minutes, and ends with neither of them talking to each other for at least 3 days. and then we get to see dean being paranoid about cas being happy and guilty about cas NOT feeling happy all at once, and tying himself up into knots about it.)

[astars-things]

5 moments of British vs Australian 

Lando Norris x Australian!reader 

I'm not from Australia, so sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings. If you are hurt by this story, please send me a dm and I will change it 🫶

1. Language barrier 

You pushed open the door to Lando's streaming room, barefoot, mildly annoyed, and definitely not thinking about his thousands of Twitch viewers. "Babe, where are my thongs?" you asked 

Lando looked up from his monitor, slightly startled, headset still clamped over his ears. He glanced at the chat before smiling. "One, I'm streaming, so come say hi properly," he says into his mic with a grin. 

"And two, wouldn't they be in your drawer?" You squinted at him, confused. "No, those are my G-strings. I'm talking about my shoes." He choked on his drink. "Wait, what? Thongs are underwear!"

You roll your eyes, grabbing one of his hats off the wall and tossing it at him. "You Brits are so dramatic. I was looking for my shoes, not trying to start an OnlyFans. And also, you have had two Australian teammates. I thought by now you would understand" He starts laughing so hard he leans back in his chair, clutching his stomach, his audience in absolute chaos over the whole exchange.

You flip him off as you walk away, He's still grinning hours later.

2. The two Aussie and Lando 

Lando loved to bring you to races, having you there to cheer him on was his favorite part except for when you would team up with Oscar, You'd known him before Lando, grew up two suburbs apart, and your shared love of Aussie slang made paddock weekends feel like home. Lando, however? He looked like a lost puppy. 

Anytime Lando was near the two of you he would almost have a brain sprain trying to figure out what you both were talking about 

Lando sat next to you on his phone scrolling through instagram not really paying attention until he heard "oh god, I went to the servo in Monaco and they sell the Big M choccy milk I almost cried" You said excited that you found your Australian chocolate milk, 

"No way! They've got Big M?" Oscar grinned before continuing on "Are you trying to get on the piss during summer break?" Oscar questioned 

"Hold up what?!" Lando questioned you and Oscar both blink at him. Lando throws up a hand. "Servo? Choccy milk? Get on the piss? do you Australian just have your own language or some shit?  You and Oscar starting laughing watching as Lando tried figuring it all out. "Servo is gas station. Choccy milk is,well, chocolate milk. And 'on the piss' means drinking." You explained 

Oscar adds, "Mate, if you're gonna keep dating her, you've gotta learn the lingo." Lando groans dramatically. "At this point, I need subtitles." You kiss his cheek and whisper, "Don't worry, love. We'll get you a dictionary." 

3. The Australian Translator 

Lando thought it would a good idea for you to join him in todays stream "Alright, chat" Lando says clapping his hands together "We've got Y/n here, and she is from Australia so I'm going to give her some words and she is going to Australian translate them" the chat went crazy some sending in words and some saying 'aussie take over' 

"okay y/n first word is Afternoon" "Oh thats easy arvo" you shoot back immediately. You grinned looking at all the Australians in the chat, you looked at the time on your phone before turning it over "To all the Australian watching this that is dedication" Lando looked at you confused "It would be around midnight for most of them" You add placing a kiss to Landos cheek 

"You next word is u turn" Chat had been spamming this into the chat "Oh chuck a u-ey" you say casually "can you please use that in a sentence babe" Lando asked "Shit you missed the turn mate just chuck a u-ey" You sat there looking at Lando confused as he was nearly on the floor dying with laughter 

4. Fairy bread 

Lando had invited you to a Quadrant video shoot where they were playing a eating game, you sat off to the side on a beanbag watching them eat some weird foods from around the world, because thats content? "hey babe" Lando called over his shoulder between bites, "what's fairy bread?"

You blinked. "Wait, what?" He held up a plate with a single slice of white bread on it, still wrapped in cling film with an Australian Flag on it. "The fact that fairy bread is on the weird food category, I think all Australians watching this video would be offended" you let out a gasp Lando gave a sheepish grin, and Max perked up from across the table. "Fairy what now?"

"Oh my god," you muttered, already getting up from the beanbag, "I have to fix this." You made your way over to the table like you were on a mission, pushing past empty plates and half-eaten bites of whatever the hell the last dish was. You grabbed a fresh loaf of white bread, a tub of butter, and a container of rainbow sprinkles like a seasoned pro.

 Once you finished cutting it up into triangles because it tastes better that way, you handed the bits of bread with butter and sprinkles on it to everyone and stepping back to watching there reactions 

"Holy shit" Max let out mid chew "Jon is going to hate me" Lando said taking another bite Lando looked like he was in heaven, you knew he would be asking you to make this all the time for him now. 

5.  The spider 

"Babe help" Lando yelled from the bedroom his voice sharp with panic. You rolled your eyes, still half-asleep as you stirred your coffee. "What now?" you called back, already preparing yourself for something ridiculous, maybe he lost his hoodie again, or his PlayStation controller was 'missing' under the bed.

"Spider!" he shouted like it was code red. You blinked. "A what?" 

"A huge one! It’s on the wall, watching me like it’s about to lunge!" You padded toward the bedroom with your coffee in hand, raising a brow. "Alright, let me see this demon." 

Lando was standing on the bed, pointing like he was on the front lines of war. "Right there! Above the dresser! It's massive!"  You peeked over and, yep, decent size. Not quite the horror-movie huntsman he was imagining, but definitely a good ol’ Aussie household spider.

"Oh hell no," you said immediately, taking a step back. "I’m not dealing with that."

Lando’s jaw dropped. "You’re Australian! This is supposed to be your thing! Isn’t it, like, in your DNA to karate chop spiders?"  You sipped your coffee casually. "Bub, we don’t all come out of the womb with a spider-slaying license." 

"But you’ve got, like, drop bears and snakes and crocodiles, how is this the thing that freaks you out?" Lando asked his eyes not leaving the spider  "Because," you pointed at the spider dramatically, "that thing has too many eyes and too many legs, and I refuse to engage."

Lando groaned. "This is betrayal. I was relying on your Aussie instincts." You placed your coffee down and shrugged. "You wanted to live the Aussie life, right? This is it. Shared trauma and a spider staring into your soul while you pretend it’s not there." 

He threw a pillow at you. "This is not what I signed up for." 

Laughing, you grabbed your phone. "Alright, alright. I’ll call my mom. She knows how to handle these bastards."  "You’re going to call your mom?!" Lando said in disbelief  "I’m not dying before Christmas, Lando." You sighed with you phone pressed against your ear 

please reblog, like and comment 🫶

[written-in-knife]

Love love love you Floyd jump ring fic- the leech boys deserve more love 🧜‍♂️

Would you be able to do a pre relationship of similar epic misunderstandings with Jade, maybe with Yuu not understanding merculture and/or Jade GREATLY misunderstanding human courting culture in his attempts to learn about land culture, I die thinking about how merpeople might misinterpret sayings like “the way to the heart is through the stomach” or “gotta get that ring” when enthusiastically trying to court

Rocks and Flowers

Jade Leech x gn!reader, pre-relationship

they/them pronouns, fluff, miscommunications/misunderstandings, a single use of my dear, poorly translated french damn you Rook

Word Count: 3616

I'M HERE I'M ALIVE. I'm getting ~*Diagnosed*~ finally. Lots of appointments this past week im so tired lmaoo Also I'm changing out all the character banners, so lemme know what yall think as stuff comes out

Jade had a baseline knowledge of land culture, of course. Before they came to land to go to Night Raven, he, Floyd, and Azul had all gone to land camp. It taught them how to avoid social faux pas with the people they'd meet on land, various human traditions, even how to walk. What it did not teach them was just how many turns of phrases the common language had. Some made sense, some even overlapped, but some were... notably harder to understand. And why were so many of them about ways to kill animals? He never bothered to ask questions, he knew they were just phrases that land dwellers often used to get their point across, and most of the time the meaning could be derived through context clues. Most of the time.

When Jade realized his own attraction towards you, he was hesitant to act on it. Land camp had explained a few things about human courting, but mostly in the context of how to avoid making acquaintances feel uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. He spent a lot of time trying to look things up online-- a mistake-- and in books, trying to figure out how humans even started their courting rituals let alone what the entire process entailed. He wasn't about to go around asking, knowing anyone who would be willing to give him an answer in the first place would also be the most likely to give him false information. So he was stuck looking through various books trying to find answers for you.

And he had no idea you were doing the same for him.

It was easy to fall for Jade once you got past the subtle menacing aura that was always surrounding him, and you fell hard. You didn't fully realize it yourself until you found that you'd listened to him talk about the mushrooms he'd found on his hike to fill out his most recent terrarium for two hours. You learned more about mushrooms in those two hours than most people would want to know in their entire lives, and you were excited to hear more. When you got back to your room that night, you started researching merfolk romance online-- A MISTAKE-- trying to make sure you wouldn't do anything to insult him. The only people you could ask about the topic were Azul and Floyd. Azul would almost certainly make you sign away something in return for the information, and Floyd... yeah, no. That's a nonstarter. So you ended up in the library, sneaking back to your dorm with books about merfolk courting rituals, both ancient and modern, praying no one would catch you on the way back.

Jade had read through the few informational manuals he could find on human courting-- one written by a merperson decades ago, and another that seemed to be angled towards preteen girls and had some truly terrible advice-- and had to move on to... more unconventional methods. Which lead to him reading romance novels in a far corner of the library. There were a surprising amount of them, many with musclebound men with long hair and a petite woman in his arms on the front. Jade opted for the other plentiful options that wouldn't blow his cover immediately. He was engrossed in his book, one hand propping his head up on the table and the other flipping pages, fingers lightly drumming on the cover as he read. It wasn't a terrible read, but it seemed wholly unrealistic. How would owning a dog get you a romantic partner? He was too deep into the book to notice someone lurking, barely keeping his composure as someone gasped loudly beside him.

"Monsieur Prémédité!" Not many people could sneak up on Jade, but Rook was definitely one of them. "I was not aware of your exquisite taste in literature! Comme c'est merveilleux!"

"This is actually quite far from my usual choice, I'm afraid." Jade corrected as Rook beamed down at him. He carefully flipped the book closed, back cover up, as two others approached from behind him. "Are you familiar with this one?"

"Oui! I find it most interesting how the dog is a pivotal part in the budding romance!"

Of course he does.

Vil leaned forward to skim through the description on the back, confusion growing on his expression at each word. "If this is so out of the norm for you, why are you reading it?" He asked.

"For research purposes." He admits, flashing the Pomefiore students a sharp smile.

"Un étudiant en l'amour?" Rook gasped excitedly as he quickly sat down across the table, lacing his fingers under his chin in intense interest as Vil rolled his eyes and straightened back up. "Monsieur Prémédité, je n'aurais jamais deviné! For what are you researching? Please, tell me everything!"

"Now you've done it..." Epel muttered from behind Vil, sounding exhausted.

Jade hesitated for a moment. The Pomefiore students would certainly be the ones to ask when it came to these sorts of things. They at least would be the least likely to lie to him about the particular subject. "I'm researching human courting rituals. There is little in the way of instructional manuals in our library, so I have turned to these." He gestured to the book in front of him before turning back to Rook, who practically had stars in his eyes. "Unfortunately, there isn't much to be gained from these, as it turns out."

"Are you trying to find information so you can court someone?" Epel asked, looking mildly concerned before Vil swatted him lightly upside the head with a mutter of "too blunt."

"Land boot camp never covered the topic, and I must admit, I've been dreadfully curious ever since I first heard the story of the mermaid princess." It was as easy for Jade to lie through his teeth as it was to breathe, piling on the pitiful tone and expression to try to play at least one of them for a sucker. "The stories never went into detail on how the land prince courted her, I thought I would find more information here, but alas..."

It was unsurprising that Rook took the bait, hand resting on his chest as he nodded along sympathetically. Vil rolled his eyes again and Epel muttered something about courting rituals to himself, neither nearly as invested in the lie.

"On land, courting must be bold!" Rook began without prompting as he stood from his chair, Vil only just keeping him from propping a foot dramatically on the table by grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "Loud proclamations of love! Flowers! Doves! Music!"

"And some people don't enjoy that at all." Vil sighed, shooing Rook down from his soapbox. "You just have to play to your audience. But it does often involve flowers."

"My Meemaw says the quickest way to anybody's heart is through their stomach." Epel chimed in, getting a quick glare from Vil at the accent slip.

"Your grandmother is correct on that front."

Jade stared for a moment at the phrase. Another he didn't recognize and wasn't exactly provided context clues for. The way to win your affections lies... in your stomach?

"The most common way to begin a human courtship is by bringing flowers, admitting your intentions, and inviting them out with you on a date." Vil explained further, Rook quietly waxing poetic about each point next to him. "Which is why it's more commonly referred to as dating, rather than courting."

"I see... This has been enlightening, I thank you all for your input." Jade nodded to them.

"Do let us know how it goes, Jade." Vil gave him a knowing smirk as he spoke.

Jade flashed back his own sharp smile, narrowing his eyes just slightly at the housewarden. "I've no idea what you mean, Vil."

Meanwhile, you'd found some fairly decent information on merfolk courting rituals, turns out their methods were significantly better documented than humans' were. Unfortunately for you, however, a lot of the courting rituals varied between the different species of merfolk and there wasn't a lot of overlap as far as you could tell. The biggest overlap you could find had to do with small gifts; pebbling, as some species of merfolk called it. It seemed to be finding something cool or pretty on the ocean floor and bringing it to the person you were courting, which sounded easy enough. You were already a fan of picking up cool rocks, it wouldn't be any trouble to just bring them to Jade instead of putting them on your windowsill.

Another common overlap you found was the importance of jewelry across all species of merfolk, but it seemed to be... maybe a little too important for just trying to date him. From what you could tell, giving a merperson jewelry was their closest equivalent to proposing, or maybe a promise ring? You weren't entirely sure, but it seemed like too much. Specifically to eel merfolk, the book you found talked a significant amount about a dance that you couldn't quite understand. It was definitely an underwater activity, as far as you could tell, but maybe dancing in general would be good enough on land? The way the book talked about it made it seem like it was common enough knowledge that no one would even bother writing down the details. You were too engrossed in the notes you were taking-- yes, you were taking notes on this-- to notice the floorboards on the other side of your door creaking.

"Hey Yuu, I got yer--" You scrambled to cover up your notes, the book, to be nonchalant about it as Epel walked into your room, holding your potionology notebook in his hands. He looked surprised at your panic as you blocked your desk with your body, definitely not looking completely suspicious. "--notes. What, uh... Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing. Studying." You spat out, not moving from the uncomfortable position you found yourself in. "Thank you for bringing those back, you can leave them on the armchair."

"Or... I could just hand 'em to ya." He smirked, inching towards you and watching as you leaned backwards over your desk to keep hiding the evidence.

"Or you could just hand them to me!" You agreed in a tone too upbeat to be believable, snatching the notebook out of his hand as soon as he was close enough. "Thank you, Epel, but I really have to study so I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, sure..." He nodded slowly, just managing to peek past one of your arms, smirk growing devious. "Ya writin' an essay 'bout merfolk courtin' rituals?"

"OUT. GET OUT." You shouted as your face began to burn, leaping up from your awkward position to shove him out the door while he cackled.

"Aw, c'mon, I ain't gonna tell nobody!" He protested. "In fact, I got some interesting information myself in the library today--!"

"DON'T CARE, GET OUT. TELL NO ONE." You shoved him out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.

Out in the hall, Epel simply shrugged, smirking to himself as he walked away. "They'll figure it out eventually." It was nice to be the one in the know.

You were mortified but at least you were fairly sure he wouldn't run to tell anyone about it, you don't think you'd ever be able to live it down if Ace caught wind of this. You twisted the lock on the door into place before going back to your desk to continue your research, face still burning red as you flipped everything back to where it had been.

Vil had given Jade a decent jumping off point, but he found himself going back to the phrase Epel had used. The way to the heart is through the stomach. Of course that had to be a way to win your affection, but through your stomach? He hadn't read anything about the abdomen being involved in any courtship rituals, at least not the initial stages. Perhaps he had missed something? Maybe it was something lesser known that older generations did? It couldn't possibly be as simple as food, could it? The common language turns of phrases were never so simple, even the ones he understood. He turned the phrase over in his head for a few days, too busy analyzing it as he walked into his Ancient Magic class to catch who had put a rock on his desk. Why was there a rock on his desk? He stopped to stare at it for a second before glancing around at his fellow sophomores, none of whom seemed to be taking even a passing interest in his confusion. It had definitely been placed with purpose, squarely in front of his chair so there was no way of him missing it or mistaking it as being for someone else. He picked it up as he sat down, turning it over to examine in his hand as Floyd flopped down in the seat next to him.

"I don't suppose you saw who left this, did you?" Jade asked, presenting the rock for Floyd to see.

"Nah, couldn't give a shit less." Floyd grumbled, barely glancing at the rock before draping himself forward over the desk.

Jade hummed lightly, glancing around one more time before depositing the rock in his bag. He could maybe make use of it for a terrarium, if nothing else. He didn't think much of it the first time, but as the week went on, there continued to be rocks on his desks. Not ever in the same class either, so he could confirm that it was not an accident the first time. They were just small rocks that could fit in the palm of his hand, some of them having interesting patterns or colorations, some having interesting shapes, but they were still rocks. He kept the nicest few to put in his terrariums, the rest were left in his bag to bring with him on his next trip to the mountain.

By the end of the week, you were out of your coolest rocks that you were willing to give away. You were almost certain you were doing this wrong, leaving them for him to find instead of just handing them to him, but you were so afraid that maybe pebbling didn't apply to eel merfolk, or that the rocks weren't good enough. You didn't find them outside in the grass or still in the classrooms, so you considered that a win at least. And Epel was the only one smirking at you whenever Jade walked into the cafeteria or down the hall, so he hadn't told anyone what he'd seen. Another win!

You planned to spend your weekend figuring out how to go about dancing with Jade. The books weren't clear enough on what the dance entailed besides that it was done with tail fins while underwater, but it was very clear that it was done while courting. You were on the couch in the Ramshackle lounge on Saturday evening, rereading the courting book for any sort of clues you'd missed when there was a knock on the door. You quickly shoved the book between the couch cushions, making sure it was completely hidden as you got up and headed for the door, immediately glad you'd hidden the book as you opened the door to Jade standing on the front porch. He was dressed in the outfit he usually wore to go up the mountain, mud still on his boots from his hike and gloves dangling out of his pockets.

"Hello, Yuu." He said pleasantly, looking over your obviously startled demeanor. "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, not at all." You waved him off quickly, trying desperately not to somehow give yourself away. "Just, uh... reading. What's up?"

You froze as he stepped forward, into your personal space, and placed a hand on your stomach, just above your navel. Even through your shirt, his hand was cool, sending a shiver up your spine. You stared wide eyed as he smiled down at you before reaching into his bag and pulling out a bundle of small flowers, presenting them to you. They were a little squashed from being in his bag, and it looked like he had picked them off the mountain himself. You felt the heat rising on your cheeks as you took them from him, the fact he’d taken the time to gather them himself was flattering by itself.

“I was given advice on how to go about this, and was told to just be straightforward with my intentions.” He began plainly. “I’ve found myself drawn to you recently, and would like to begin courting you. I was told it was called “dating” and that I should invite you out with me, if you’re interested?”

You could feel how hot your face was getting as he spoke, not believing your luck. Maybe you wouldn’t have to figure out that dance? Maybe you still should? Would it be rude not to? He, on the other hand, was getting nervous in the drawn out silence that your internal reeling was creating, worried he’d done something wrong. He wouldn’t show it on his face, of course, but he was getting uncomfortable.

“Oh, uh, yeah!” You spat out quickly, chuckling nervously as you realized just how long you’d let that moment drag out. “Definitely. When? And where?”

He paused for a few confused blinks, smile slipping as you watched a light dusting of pink grow on his cheeks. If he weren’t so close, you might’ve not even noticed. “I was... unaware that was something I had to plan ahead of time.” He admitted slowly, internally cursing himself for not asking more details when he had the chance.

“That’s alright!” You were quick to assure him, fiddling with the little bouquet he’d given you. “We can figure that out together, if you want?”

His smile returned at the offer, warmer this time, fonder. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Great!”

There was another pause as you looked down at the small blooms in your hands, then at his hand, which was still rested on your belly. You glanced up at his face, then his hand, then his face again.

“Hey Jade?”

“Hm?”

“What... What is this?” You tried your best not to sound like you disapproved as you glanced down at his hand again. What if it was something the books didn’t cover? Other than the dance-- and the inadvisable internet searches-- there was no mention of physical contact. There was dancing, there was biting which was less for courting and more for established couples, but not... this.

He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned, the blush on his cheeks growing slightly. “Ah. That wasn’t correct then?”

“I don’t know? What was it?”

He groaned slightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “Epel had said a phrase that I didn’t quite understand, about the stomach being the key to affections. Even Vil agreed that it was correct, I thought it must be a common courting method.”

You muttered the words to yourself, trying to piece the phrase together, biting your lip hard to keep from laughing when you realized what he was talking about. “The way to someone’s heart is through their stomach?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I’m not familiar with many common language phrases.”

“Food. The way to someone’s heart is good food.”

It really was that simple. Damn it. He let out an awkward chuckle, trying to hide his embarrassed expression from you by rubbing at his eyes. “I suppose I should’ve just looked it up, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!” You laughed, wanting to reassure him. This was going way too well for him to back out due to embarrassment now! “It’s hard to find information on what’s allegedly common knowledge! I mean, I can’t figure out that courting dance for the life of me--!”

You slapped your hand over your mouth as you realized what you were saying, watching as Jade slowly looked up at you in confusion. You wanted to cringe all the way back up to your room as you watched him mouth the word “dance,” gears turning in his head as he looked you over, before a smile grew on his face. You broke eye contact as you realized he’d clicked everything into place.

“Yuu, have you been pebbling me?” He asked, tone equal parts teasing and astonished.

Well, this was going too well for either of you to back out due to embarrassment now, you supposed. You lowered your hand, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk. “That depends, has it been working?”

He laughed, hiding it behind his fist as his eyes scrunched closed, and your heart absolutely fluttered. You really did fall hard. And so did he. He was flattered that you’d also done research on courting, relieved that you hadn’t gotten it quite right either, glad it hadn’t deterred either of you.

“It would’ve worked better if I’d know it was you, my dear.” He responded through his laughter, giving you a look of pure adoration. “Typically, you hand the items to people, not leave things for them to find themselves.”

“I wasn’t sure I was doing it right!” You defended lightheartedly.

“Well then,” he started as he held a hand out for you to take, which you did, of course, “how does dinner sound? Since food is the way to the heart.” He pulled you a little closer, tone dropping a bit as his smile grew. “Then, perhaps, I can teach you that dance.”

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[goorgeousz]

hotch has feelings for you and decides to deal with it (going to a psychiatrist)

drabble

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader

content/tw: none i think?

a/n: a drabble no one asked for… yet, here i am. idek what is this… anyways… THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS 😭❤️ i’m soooo happy sending much love to each and every one of you MWAH MWAH MWAH

dividers by @uzmacchiato

masterlist

“What brings you here today, Mr. Hotchner?” the psychiatrist asks, adjusting her large glasses up on her nose.

Hotch shifts on his seat, a frown forming on his features. The first thing that comes to his mind at that question is you. Your laugh, your glistening eyes, your smart mouth, your legs…

“I’m having a… problem. And I need it fixed.” his mouth barely moved. The psychiatrist stifled a sigh. He’s that kind of patient. Those who want instant solutions to many-decades old problems without giving a hint of what it’s about. Every professional’s personal favorite.

“Okay, then.” she hoped she sounded more excited than she felt “Why don’t we start with symptoms?” he nodded – yes, he could do that – “Are you having trouble breathing?”

“Sometimes.” she nodded, writing it down. It was a start, since there was nothing on his physical exams – which he brought on a fold, all labeled and laminated.

“How is your sleep schedule?”

“Not ideal.”

“Is this a regular thing or do you think your… problem… is causing that?”

“Both.”

The woman nodded, pressing her lips together and scribbling harder on her paper. Aaron fought the urge to ask what she was writing.

“How are your eating habits?”

“Fine. I’m eating less. I'm getting nauseous often.”

“Really?” she leans in, trying to hold onto every piece of information. He scratched the back of his head, not enjoying the attention.

“Yes. It’s affecting my work.”

“Why do you feel that?” she tilts her head to her side, and it takes all of his strength not to snap at her.

“Because it is. I’m getting slower. She’s frequently on my way.”

“She?”

“My coworker. She’s the problem.”

The woman nodded, trying not to sound too relieved to finally get some advance.

“So you’re having problems with a coworker.”

“That’s what I said, yes.” he muttered, trying once again not to be rude.

“Do you feel threatened by her?”

“No.”

“Does she disrespect you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you feel angry at her?”

“I’m stressed.”

“Do you feel like getting violent towards her?”

“No, what do you think…” 

She raises a hand, interrupting him “Mr. Hotchner, I’m just trying to understand the root of the problem. I’m not her to judge you, I just need to get you diagnosed.”

He nodded, sighing loudly.

“So, you feel stressed, you don’t feel angry or violent. Can you specify the problem you’re having with her?”

“I’m having work-inappropriate problems.” he manages, his voice barely hearable.

“Mhm.” the psychiatrist hums “And she’s your subordinate?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think about being inappropriate with her?”

He keeps silent, looking everywhere but the woman before him “Yes.”

“Do you feel like using your position as her superior to get her to perform those inappropriate scenarios?”

Hotch frowns “Absolutely not. Everything we ever did was completely consensual.”

“Oh.” her eyes widened at that “So you have a relationship with your coworker. Are you having relationship problems?” “No. We’re not in a relationship, and I’m having problems.”

“You’re having problems with not being in a relationship with her?”

“No. We can’t have a relationship, that’s inappropriate.”

“So what happened between you…”

“It never happened in a work scenario.”

“It happened more than once?”

“Many times. Never in front of other people, especially at work.”

“So you have a casual relationship with her, and no one in your work knows.”

“Again, not a relationship,” he pointed out.

“Understood. So back to those problems you’re having. Trouble sleeping and eating, sometimes breathing. Do you get any other physical symptoms?”

“Sometimes trembling, heart palpitations and occasionally gastrointestinal distress.”

“And tell me, Mr. Hotchner, do any situations trigger those symptoms?”

His mind instantly flooded with images of you.

“She does.”

“She makes you feel like that? She’s causing all of those problems?”

“Exactly.”

The psychiatrist started to smile, her posture more easy going now, which didn’t sit right with Hotch.

“Do you feel stressed when she’s not around?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And nauseous when thinking about or seeing her interacting with any other men?”

“Yes.”

“Does the trouble sleeping have anything to do with you thinking about her?”

“Yes, doctor. That’s exactly what I said.” he sounded incredibly impatient.

She laughed, the sound making him want to stand up and walk out without looking back.

“Something funny?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner. Can we talk more about those feelings?”

“Doctor, with all due respect.” he started, buttoning up his suit as if he was ready to stand. “I’m not here to talk about my feelings. I’m currently under a lot of stress, which is leading to a mental disorientation and it’s causing me physical symptoms. And I came here because I need something to help me.”

“I’m afraid no medicine will help you with that, Mr. Hotchner.” and before his already blushed face could explode like a cartoon scene, the professional explained with a large smile and glistening eyes “You’re in love with her.”

[ollyissleepy]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, underage smoking, forced vomitting, drugging (kind of?), mentions of dying (like once) a/n: I know I am like days late but I started taking new medicine and the last few days were rough. Do I like this part? No. Am I capable of making something better? Also no. Anyway please enjoy and so sorry for the delay based on this idea I had

m.list • part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

I would like to dedicate this part for @/robinvomit and all the other writers who were falsefully accused of using ai for their writing. I'm so sorry it happened to you and please remember that you are loved <3

(Name) makes another lap around his room, trying to come up with an excuse to not eat with the entire family. All of them, including Alfred, haven't bothered him to join the family dinners since the one where there wasn't space for him at the table.

He knew he wouldn't have the heart to tell Alfred no, not after seeing him so excited about the teenager participating in dinner with the entire family. Pretending to be sick is off the table; he didn't want to risk getting more attention from the family while being made to stay in bed.

"Brother, the dinner is ready. Let's go." Damian knocked on his door before creaking it open.

There was no point in trying to run, as the youngest Wayne would probably catch him before (name) could get far enough.

The two of them walk down to the dining room in silence. Damian looks pleased about being the one to bring his older brother to his first dinner with the entire family. (Name), on the other hand, looked like a prisoner walking to his execution. Although a part of him wishes he was said prisoner.

Walking inside, the teenager notices that he has two choices on where he could sit: between Damian and Bruce or Damian and Dick.

(Name) sits down closer to Bruce, knowing his 'father' won't be interested in talking to him. The boy would also rather have the man stare at him than listen to Dick run his mouth the entire dinner.

The teenager ignores the look Bruce sends his way as he sits down on the chair. His eyes are focused on the table in front of him, not interested in being included in any small talk.

The meal itself goes rather smoothly, ignoring the burning sensation Bruce's stare left on the side of (name)'s face.

(Name), however, didn't dare to look up for the duration of it. A part of him was scared of what the man's expression could be. Was he mad that the teenager was sitting at the table? Or was it the fact that he's sitting right next to Bruce? Did he want Damian to sit next to him?

The teenager dashed out of the room the second Alfred started to gather empty plates. He ignored everyone's, including Duke's, shouts for him to stay a little longer.

The next day, after (name) had finished his breakfast and just returned to his room, when Bruce knocks on the door. The man opens it slightly, poking his head through it.

"Good morning, (name). Would you join me for breakfast?" Bruce asked, stepping inside the room.

"No, I already ate," the boy declined, trying to get himself comfortable on the bed.

With his arm behind his head, (name) watched Bruce closely. The way the man was clearly thinking of something to say, to drag the interaction on for longer. He knew that nothing came to his 'father's' mind when Bruce just nodded and left the room without another word. 

(Name) didn't have much time to dwell on the situation for the rest of the day, as most of it was occupied by Timothy. Something about how he, as a Wayne, needs to know more about technology.

By dinner time, the teenager forgets about the whole situation entirely. This meal, he had more chairs he could choose from, as the only people who were eating were the ones living in the manor full-time.

(Name) makes sure to choose a chair next to Duke, even though the teenager was acting a little off these days. He decides to ignore the way Duke seemed to be just as persistent in spending time with him as the rest of the family. For now that is.

Everyone at the table is silent, the only noise being the clicking of the utensils against the plates. The teenager doesn't get to enjoy the meal for long, though, before Bruce breaks the silence.

"So, (name), are you enjoying your stay at the manor?" Bruce asked, stabbing the food on his plate.

"I'd enjoy it more if I didn't have to eat with all of you," (name) murmured, tossing the food around.

"(Name)—" Alfred was about to scold the teenager for speaking for his father like that.

"It's alright, Alfred. Maybe we should spend some time together, bond with each other," Bruce suggested, using his hand to let the butler know he got this. "Maybe then you would enjoy a meal with me."

(Name) doesn't say anything, hoping for the subject to be dropped. He keeps on playing with his food, the idea of spending one-on-one time with his father making the boy lose his appetite.

"I believe it's a great idea, Father." Damian agrees, glancing over to where (name) and Duke were sitting. "I would like to join as well." Bruce smiled.

"If he's going, I want to take Duke with me," (name) tried to bargain. With the teenager as company, he might've been able to survive the outing.

"No. I believe you should bond with your blood family," Damian argued, not wanting Duke to take up his brother's attention. Again.

"Damian's right, (name), besides you spent a lot of time with Duke already; it's not fair for us," Bruce insisted, the fork stopped midway to his mouth.

(Name) sighed, glancing over to Duke. The teenager next to him looked just as displeased by Bruce's reaction as he did. The teenager makes a call to not argue with his 'father'. He hoped that by dropping this subject, the two of them would simply forget about it.

By the next day, (name) had forgotten about the 'plans' Bruce and Damian made entirely. The teenager was heading towards the library to read yet another book when his 'father' found him. 

"Great! It looks like you're ready to go." Bruce's voice came from behind him.

(Name) turned around, his head tilted slightly. He couldn't possibly mean…

"Brother, don't tell me you forgot." Damian pops out from behind Bruce. "We're supposed to spend the day together."

The teenager groaned. Of course they didn't forget.

Before he knew it, (name) found himself in a mall with his father and brother. This mall was different from the one he and Duke frequently visited. Everything about the mall he's inside screamed, 'I have so much money I make the pope look poor'.

With each store they go into and each uncomfortable piece of clothing he's forced to try on, (name) grows more and more tired. The constant music playing in the background and the too-bright light along with the suffocating smell of all of the other customers around them were giving him a headache. By the time they leave a third store, the teenager starts thinking of a plan to cut the outing short.

As the three of them walk towards another too-stuck-up store, (name) spots a bathroom. It sparked an idea on how to cut the outing short. (Name), on cue, wrapped his arms around his stomach, hunching over slightly.

"I don't feel too good. I'll stop by the bathroom," (name) pointed towards the bathroom, trying to look as pitiful as possible. "I'll be right back, I promise."

(Name) doesn't give his father and brother a chance to say anything, already walking towards the bathrooms. Once he's inside, the teenager locks himself in one of the stalls, in case one of them followed him.

He knew he made the right call when the bathroom door opened and he heard footsteps walking from one stall to another.

"(Name)? Father has asked me to check on you." Damian's voice echoed through the empty bathroom.

The teenager turns himself towards the toilet, trying to think of something that could make the youngest Wayne believe he was actually sick. His eyes land on the toilet, and before he really thinks through it, (Name) sinks two of his fingers deep inside his mouth. He touches the back of his throat, and that was enough for the stomach fluids to leave a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

He lounges himself towards the toilet, throwing up the remains of his last meal inside of it. His hands grip the toilet tightly as the convulses shake him repeatedly. He barely manages to register the knocks on the door and the worried voice that belonged to Damian, promising to grab their father.

(Name) takes a shaky breath after his stomach is empty. He stands up, leaning against the stall. Staring down the toilet at what was once the food in his stomach, the teenager wonders what went wrong in his life that he had to do shit like that. A swear escapes his lips as he's flushing the vomit.

The teenager leaves the stall after a few more deep breaths. As he's splashing his face with cold water, both Bruce and Damian rush inside. His father pats his back, apologising for noticing (name) not feeling great sooner. His brother stands to the side, his arms crossed, mumbling about how he should be more observant of his older brother.

During the ride back to the manor, (name) tries his hardest not to blow his cover. His head is pressed against the window, his eyes closed slightly. He doesn't talk, just shakes his head 'yes' and 'no' when asked questions. 

Back in the manor, (name) is ordered to lie down by Alfred as he prepares something light for the boy to eat before taking any medicine.

The teenager fully expects to be brought back to his room when he's stopped by Bruce.

"You should lie down in my study so I can keep my eye on you while I work." His father puts a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the room despite all of (name)'s protests.

(Name) stood in the middle of the room and watched as Bruce set up a sofa for him to lie on. His father laid out a few pillows and unfolded a blanket. Then, Bruce asked the boy to lie down as he tucked him in. When Alfred came over with soup, the man insisted on feeding it to him. After that, without any warning, he made (name) swallow a weird-tasting medicine. It didn't take long for the substance to start working, and before he could ask any of the men in the room to be moved to his own bedroom, he had fallen asleep.

And that's how (name)'s next few days went by. Every day, after eating some light breakfast, Bruce fed him a spoonful of the medicine. Each time the teenager tried to protest, he held (name)'s face still, forcing the medicine down this throat. After that, the boy would sleep for the majority of the day on the sofa in Bruce's study, only waking up for meals. 'Everything for his child,' Bruce told the butler at one point.

With the medicine from the previous night wearing off, (name) eats his breakfast. Both Alfred and Bruce watch him closely, making sure the boy finishes his food.

"Master Bruce, I believe more medicine won't be necessary," Alfred declared, scanning over (name)'s face. "He looks quite healthy; I believe the sickness has passed."

"Are you certain?" His 'father' makes sure, glancing over at the butler. Alfred nods his head. "If you say so."

"It would be good for him to spend some time with his siblings, Master," the butler said, earning only a sigh from Bruce.

(Name) was relieved to find out he no longer had to take the weird medicine and was once again in some control of who he was spending his time with.

Instead of going to any of his siblings, however, he hid himself in the library under a few blankets. He needed some time away from all of the members of the family.

Coming down for dinner, he was displeased to learn that the manor is once again full of people. All of them were somewhat happy that the boy was now feeling much better, though some of them complained that (name) didn't seek them out to hang out. 

At some point during the meal, Dick suggests for all of them to have a movie night to 'make up for the lost time'. And much to (name)'s dismay, everyone, including Duke, agrees with the idea.

There go (name)'s plans for a peaceful night in his room, by himself.

The teenager chooses a seat at the end of one of the couches, dragging Duke to sit next to him. Ignoring everyone else in the room. He curls up on the couch, his head resting slightly on top of his brother's shoulder. (Name) hears a snicker somewhere to his side followed by silent scolding from Dick about how they should leave him alone. 'He's probably tired from being sick, Damian; let him rest,' the eldest scolded the boy.

The next day it became apparent that spending an evening watching movies in the same room as the teenager wasn't enough for Stephanie, who dragged (name) to something she referred to as 'girls day'. The girl did that despite his protests about how the teenager didn't want to interfere with their day.

By the end of the day of face masks, silly movies and snacks, (name) managed to fully relax and start enjoying spending time with the three women. Walking into the dining room, he no longer felt like he was walking into a death sentence. 

Sitting down, (name) knows his happiness won't last much longer, especially after noticing Damian staring at him oddly. The teenager doesn't address it, brushing it off as the jealousy problem the younger boy seemed to have.

(Name) waits for the butler to give out food before starting to eat it. He doesn't look up, knowing that the youngest Wayne glances at him from time to time.

"(Name), why do you have a calendar in your room? And what does that date you circled in mean?" Damian questioned, staring directly at (name). The food on his plate was barely touched.

"It's so I can count down to my birthday," the teenager explained, looking directly into the younger boy's eyes. "I promised Alfred that I'll stop running away and wait till I'm eighteen to leave."

"Well, now that the situation has changed, you probably don't need it," Bruce intruded, the rest of the family agreeing with him.

"I do need it; I'm still leaving the moment I turn eighteen." (Name) tried to keep his cool, no longer looking at any of the people at the table. He plays with his food, hoping for someone to change the subject.

"I'll make sure to plant a tracker on your phone to make sure you won't be able to go that far," Tim joked, earning a laugh from everyone at the table.

(Name) didn't feel like laughing. To the teenager, it wasn't a laughing matter. There were some parts of him that wanted to ask, 'What did he mean by that?' the phone in his pocket suddenly felt heavy. A different part of him didn't want to know. Ignorance is bliss, especially in situations like this.

That night, staying in his room, (name) snuck out to the gardens. He walked to the back, where his favourite spot, an overgrown pond, was located. There he met Jason, whose company the teenager didn't really mind. Although, he didn't really seek it out. The two of them don't exchange any words that night, just smoking in each other's presence.

The subject of (name)'s birthday wasn't brought up for another week. The teenager forgot all about it, including the joke about a tracker in his phone.

With each coming day, his freedom is closer and closer. (Name) makes sure not to show how happy he truly was about leaving the place. The teenager didn't want anyone to stop him.

The boy spent his days slowly preparing for his departure from the manor, exchanging his old clothes in the backpack with the ones bought during one of my trips to the mall with Duke. He also stashes away a pretty big sum of money he took from his 'father'. 

(Name) spends yet another night smoking with Jason. The two of them smoke their cigarettes in silence for a while, watching the fireflies fly around.

"Heard your birthday is soon," Jason spoke up, putting out his cigarette. "Do you want anything for it?"

"Yeah, some peace and quiet." (Name) rolled his eyes, taking a last puff of his.

"I don't think it's possible; B already started planning a big party just for you." Jason watched (name)'s movement stop at his words. "You'll get used to it." Jason nudges the boy with his elbow.

"Not planning to," (name) mumbled, throwing the rest of the cigarette in the jar they claimed as their ashtray.

Jason watched as the teenager walked back to the manor with a smirk. He remembered telling Bruce that (name) might not be happy with his idea for the boys' birthday.

Sitting down at the table the next morning, (name) found himself wishing to eat the meal with just the butler one more time. Watching the family members take their places at the table one by one, the teenager wonders what went wrong in his life to find himself in such a position. Surrounded by vigilantes, people who made Gotham just a little bit safer, feeling trapped, suffocated by their obsession.

The boy missed his old life. It might've been unbearable sometimes, but at the very least, (name) was free.

Freedom. The words now left a sour taste in his mouth. During moments like this, smushed between Duke and Damian arguing who will spend time with him today, he wondered if he would ever be truly free again.

The breakfast started as usual. A small talk between the family, which the boy tried to tune out, was followed by the sounds of utensils. All was well, until Bruce used his fork to clink against his glass, grabbing everyone's attention.

"(Name), I have decided on your birthday celebration," Bruce announced, his lips twitching as a few family members showed their approval.

"The only celebration we'll be having is me leaving this haunted place." (Name) propped his chin against his hand, staring back at Bruce.

"You are not leaving. I've decided on a party with all of the important people in Gotham," Bruce stated, his voice showing no signs of emotion. "You need to be properly introduced."

"We're not doing that," the boy argued, clenching his fists.

"Yes, we are. My word is final." Bruce finally looked away from the teenager, picking up food with his fork.

"Your word is final?! You can take your word and shove it up your ass, Bruce." (Name) stands up so quickly, the chair behind him falls to the ground.

Before anyone can really process what just happened, (name) is standing right in front of Bruce with his fist inches away from the man's face.

"I will leave!" (Name) shouted.

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me!" Bruce stood up, trying to intimidate the boy. "I'm trying my best."

"I never asked you for shit," the teenager spat, mentally ready to fight the man if he had to. "I don't want you or any of your fucked-up family!"

"(Name), calm down—" Bruce reached over, trying to grab the boy by his shoulders.

"I'm done being calm." (Name) moved, making sure the man's hands don't come near him. "Every day I wish that it was you that died instead of Mom."

"Don't talk like that to Dad," Dick scolded the boy.

"He's not my dad. He would never be my dad." (Name) yelled towards the eldest of the siblings. Then, he turned back towards Bruce, venom coating his words as he spoke: "Just an arsehole that happened to fuck my mom."

A noise cuts though the dining room, followed by the burning on (name)'s left cheek. The teenager's head fell to the side due to the impact. For a moment, nobody moves, trying to process if their father really just slapped (name) in the face. 

Bruce takes a step towards the boy, trying to apologise for what he just did. He's not given the chance to, as the teenager bolts out of the room.

(Name) hears multiple voices call out his name, some running right behind him. He doesn't dare to look back, focused on creating as much of the distance as possible. Running into his room, the boy shuts his door in Dick's face, locking it.

Dick, along with a few other siblings, kept knocking on his door, begging for (name) to open it. He doesn't listen, waiting for them to leave.

The siblings only stop knocking after Alfred suggested that the teenager might need some time to cool off and asked them to leave (name) alone.

The teenager spends the rest of the day in his room, the silence of it only interrupted by the knocking from one of the siblings. Sometime during his time in the room, (name) makes a decision to leave the manor tonight no matter what. Even if that meant dying.

Hours later, when the sun had been replaced by the moon, (name) heard Alfred's voice from behind his door. The man was asking the boy to let him inside.

(Name) stands up with a sigh, pushing the bag back under his bed. He unlocks the door, opening it slightly to make sure there wasn't anyone accompanying the butler.

"Don't worry, (name), the family had to leave early for patrol. There was an emergency in Arkham," Alfred explained, walking into the room. "I brought you some dinner; you must be hungry."

The boy sits back down, eating the food silently. Alfred watches him for a moment, wondering what to do.

"I know nothing I say would make that situation better. Master Bruce shouldn't have hit you," the butler started, sitting next to the teenager. "And the emotions you must still feel are valid, even if I think you could express them better."

"I just want you to be happy, (name)." He continued, placing his hand on (name)'s shoulder. "Even if that means you'll be away from me, from us."

The teenager sends a forced smile towards the butler. He knew that there was no way he could stay in the manor. Even if leaving the butler made his heart break a little.

When Alfred finally leaves, hugging the boy as if he knew this might be the last time they saw each other, the teenager doesn't waste any time. (Name) grabs the sheets, tying them together to create a robe. He tied the robe to his door, throwing it out the window. The teenager put on his bag, glancing towards his bedroom door one last time.

With a heavy heart, the boy swings both of his legs out the window. Getting out of his room turned out to be the hardest part, not only due to the height but also because the sheets gave his legs little to no support. The rest of the trip was rather easy, as (name) used the same path he had used the previous times he snuck out of the manor. He walked away a good distance before stopping.

(Name) looked back at the manor. He needed to get away from here. Away from Gotham and the Waynes.

m.list • part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

taglist: @amber-content @bellethesleepypotato @leeiasure @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @tenthmilo @eyeless-kun @holyfishbailiffpeanut @cuntiesweet @jsprien213 @marsmabe @cssammyyarts @ilovecoffe0 @phoenixgurl030 @esposadomd @alittlelostmoonchild @stargirl404 @xnutz0 @s4raahi @reeyy0-2@ironsaladwitch @chemicalwindexbottle@ityourguy @im-so-goddamn-tired@dirtydiavolo@etern1tyxxx @whognuthis @verypersonadazzel

[grotesquevi]

cw # 18+ mdni, jock!vi x ballerina!reader, gay situationship, yearning, public sex, babyagnst, spit, fingering, oral sex, based on a nonnie ask, long headcannons? dont know what the hell this is. wc: 3k

jock!vi who's giving you hell of a rough time lately after she admitted the fact she's not ready for anything serious, making you cut any tie that linked you back to her cause a heartbreak is nothing but a pain in the ass. tossing yourself to an exhausting routine you've been following religiously.

jock!vi who spends the first two weeks — or is it a month? keeping herself busy, cause she cannot afford being sentimental, admit that she needs you back, that she's actually scared of feeling anything else more than this anger that dictates her movements, something that will get her away from her comfort life.

"practice is closed to public," she deserves the coldness in your voice, the way your gaze is so quick to find hers through the mirrors and look away, still in that fucking uniform she loves—. "you can't be here."

ballerina!reader who's always wrapped in pink. pink uniform. pink nails. pink ribbon holding your hair there in a bun as vi once again find herself looking after her boxing practice. matches so damn good with her own hair it's almost a joke to remember how devastating you are in her eyes.

how did she get there anyway? when did her mind played tricks on her long enough to make her change the path to her bike all the way up to the ballet studio? like she already belonged there after all the times sneaking out the weight room to see you practice. she made fun of you at first, but now? fuck, it's so hot when you mention some movement's name in remarkable italian, making her big hands hold your waist when you're spinning in one leg and vi's mesmerized by the grace of it, the delicacy, how you seem to be everything she's lacking.

"no, don't go" the pink haired begs as she notices how you were already gathering your stuff, tossing your shoes to the gym bag still in your pointe shoes "don't go. i need to talk to you... please."

her mind drift away as she speaks, can't help it cause see you again is much like breathing a deadly flower. you're so quick to settle back in her system, ready to live under her skin if asked. you're sweaty, heavy breathing cause hell, you always push yourself harder than the rest, you always stay there an hour of two cause you can't stand disappointment, being less than you force yourself to be even when vi's repeating again how good you are every single time she's there looking, on a sleek suit (and a huge bruise in the right eye) making everybody stand up when you're up on the stage, nervous as ever when you pick up her bouquet of flowers in the end, holding it tightly against your chest.

"five minutes. you just have five minutes and i’ll leave. got better things to do."

fine, whatever. she can actually do it in fucking three.

jock!vi who thinks she's not going to be that pathetic for the first fifty seconds until her tongue takes over and she's spitting truth after truth without any filter at all: maybe she's tired, maybe practice leaves her dry and unable to think for herself, maybe you're the one who has that crazy spell over her, wrapped around your finger even when she tried so hard to avoid it.

"i miss you so much," the words came out of her mouth since her brain can fuck off right now, her own body making decisions on its own — "i'm so tired of pushing you away, of trying to turn off my feelings for you cause i like to pretend i don't really understand them. and i'm so fucking sorry for it."

"no more bullshit, promise to me" you state, and vi can see the tension still lingering on your shoulders, making you stiff and constantly stressed. "if you make me mad i will dump you-"

jock!vi who takes your words as an invitation when she's pulling on that little transparent skirt wrapped around your waist she don't understand at all, one that covers nothing, but its enough to get you closer, to make you shut up, give you time even, to pull away if you wanted to.

and her kisses are messy like everything she does, cause vi has no control over her necessity over you, on how it makes her hands shake almost of the withdrawal of medication, her mouth's all over — invading like a battle of the middle age, your knight who’s taking until you're out of breath and she can see how swollen your lips are, how your gloss rest now in her skin too.

"don't get any weird ideas, vi. not here."

"yes, whatever you say. now come here you fucking tease," she tries to be funny for a damn second, tries to be cool even when her tone is fileld with desperation, tossing her boxing gloves and her own gym bag to the floor. "won't do nothing weird, just need a few kisses."

her arms wrap around you like you're something sacred, a victim of her good intentions overshadowed by a layer of bad behavior, can't think of consequences or anything else more than how good you fit against her, how you keep her warm, complete.

"i can't stop thinking about you," vi's breathing against your neck before pressing soft kisses against the side of it, gentle bites cause she lacks of force now that she's sore and tired after practice, letting her own desires speak for their own, her mouth betraying her own brain — "i can't stop thinking about this, about us and what we have."

"and what do we have huh? i'm not really aware."

"i dunno. you tell me."

ballerina!reader who stumbles over her own words, nervous as ever cause vi's too close, too cocky, too confident for her own good. her teeth pull on the skin of your neck, and you're openly whining about your next presentation being close to the weekend and how you cannot be suffering from her hungry hickies.

"behave," you almost beg her, but it's too late for that already when she's nodding at your words and you know how it works: when she's giving you the reason but she's not capable of stopping herself from taking what she wants, when you cant remove yourself from her either since you have poorer self control as well. that would've explain why she's all over you still, why her hands are so quickly to grab your ass in response, roughly squeezing both cheeks only to get you closer to her.

"i am behaving," vi replies convinced she has it under control—. "you'd be in much more trouble if i weren't behaving."

"vi-"

"please, don't you think i've suffered enough already? that i've missed you long enough?" it's almost a plea, ready to beg if you wanted so. "there's no one around but you and me- don't make me beg, practice's over, this is my time and you're taking it away from me..."

how can you ever deny her special needs?

jock!vi who's touch get more and more demanding by the seconds, almost forgetting where she is still, like the mirrors don't replicate the image of her groping on all the right places, touching and enjoying the curves of your body, the smell you've been reeking after been jumping around, twirling and dancing your guts out.

"it’s the damn uniform" the boxer admits, almost ashamed of having to admit her lack of jurisdiction— "the fucking uniform-- s'making me think a lot."

“i can't change it, pretty sure its mandatory.”

"i'm not complaining. the designers here- really onto something. makes me think pretty nasty stuff when i see you," its a new confession when she's making sure to coax as close as possible, until there’s no more space and she’s all you can breathe. "stuff that would make you remember me we're in public and not in my dorm room in that voice of yours when you're mad" — "pulling a restraining order on me."

jock!vi who has trouble in not messing with you: how is she supposed to not pull the soft ribbon holding your hair only to watch it fall against your shoulders? you're furrowing your brows together but you cannot be mad at her when she's stealing a new kiss in response, not like this anyway.

"don't give me that look, it was already falling. sides i'm keeping it" doesn't matter how sweaty you are, how you scrunch your nose when her fingers get under the tight grip of your leotard that got vi mentally thanking on how summer makes you not wear those sheer pantyhoses you use in winter, cause your underwear's thin enough to be good as damn nothing and it gives vi enough access to touch — "i missed you. shit- i missed you so much."

tightening the grip in your waist, she's cornering you against the wooden ballet barre, almost making you see the tattoos on her back since she's wearing this damn tank top and hell; the mirror gives access to every detail, every muscle: if she's doing that on purpose? her success is imminent.

jock!vi who's turned on by the adrenaline rush, who's muscles burn after a rough session of training, after eternal minutes of running under the sun. vocal already cause fuck: this is medicine for the soul.

"gonna fuck you here so everyone knows who you belong to" she states, making your head spin, "if someone comes in, well they better be thanking me for keeping their star dancer in peak cardio shape. you're damn welcome too."

"interesting. are you always this horny after practice?"

ballerina!reader who contrary to all beliefs, it's actually very bad at remembering why it's a bad idea all sudden, when the cold mirror makes you shiver at the unexpected contact, the perfect excuse on why you’re experiencing goosebumps everywhere the jock's touching.

"ten minutes," vi promises already fond of the mirrors, of both of your figures mixing up in the image that repeated all over again in a room with such a rich space, so much that made it felt crowded even when there’s only two people there. "i promise, just ten minutes. no one has to even know."

"if i don't cum in ten minutes, we are finishing this in my room."

"the showers."

"i said. my damn room, needy mess."

"well. ten minutes it's actually a lot in situations like this. generous even."

jock!vi who's dropping to her knees seconds after, not as sign submission but devotion, of the love that flourished when she's making you rest your leg right against her shoulder. her hand push your waist against the mirror, and you have to hold the barrer cause vi catches you flying low, hella low when it makes your legs shake in nothing but the expectancy of it.

"amazes me how you stand there and have the audacity to call me needy when i'm not even touching you," you'd reply, sassy, intelligent as ever cause even when you're turned on, you can think still, at least until she's using a hand to spread you open, using the wet of her mouth to lick over the fabric of your ballet uniform until it latches to your cunt after, make it stick to your skin like's not there and you're too invested into looking to say anything at all — on how you need that leotard for tomorrow, how you should've accept her shower idea.

"you're needier than me, if that doesn't made it clear" you're mumbling something about needing her to shut up, however, vi's not playing around when her spit mixes up with your own arousal, covering her chin, landing on her tongue when spreading you apart with the skilled muscle of her mouth. just a few touches and its enough to pay special attention to your clit, to make your hips move slowly against her face.

so good. she's making the fabric of the spandex to the side and before you can say something about how she's testing her limits, she's coating two fingers with your own need, lubricating them to push them against your entrance.

ballerina!reader who keeps eye contact like a damn champion when vi admitted one time how much it turns her on, how her blue orbs stare at yours while eating you, her fingers slowly pushing inside until she's knuckles deep. she’s kind, nice even giving you time to adjust, to savor the moment as you cunt seems to squeeze her digits as a warm welcome, as a way of driving them deeper, somehow rougher.

"oh good fuck," vi moans when she has the perfect look of your pussy opening up for her fingers "fuck- this is so hot. so hot sucking my fingers until there's no space.”

"no fucking-"

"no fucking" she promises, lies lies lies—. "i don't see how this could be considered fucking. we'd call it quick fun from now on."

and the boxer's entranced by the smell of you right over her nose, how you move right against her face, looking down, burning holes in her skin through the reflection. vi’s her knees are sore, puffy lips, she's always been messy in general, but today? today it takes the fucking cake when vi's unaware of her own shirt being stained but the combination of fluids, a testament to the comeback, to the need of being one.

jock!vi who likes to make you watch. makes you entranced to the way her arm flex every time she thrusted her fingers inside, how the flesh disappeared and the room's filled instead with a wet, lewd sound that seemed to travel in space. she's having no damn mercy when her digits curve all the way in, when she forgets about the barrier of layers of your leotard and she becomes pussydrunk instead, starved and hallucinating on whatever hallucinogen you carried on your sweat.

"do you see that?" vi asks, voice rough, strings of saliva still connecting her lips to your swollen cunt—. "gonna fuck you in front of mirrors all the time now. see those pretty tits bouncing, the dumb expression in your face- mhm we're definitely fucking in front of the mirror in your dorm."

jock!vi who's a pervert every single time. who's panties dampen while impatiently trying to rub her legs together, soothe the ache. she's such a visual learner she gets off at the sight of you, from your erratic movements, the way she's using actual force to keep you standing, leaning against the mirror and not crumbling in her arms.

you try to be silent and it's so damn nice to see you like this, to know how she's reducing you to pieces when your biting your lower lip hard to muffle the sound of your moans, how you cunt suck her fingers until they're fully in, open, warm and inviting, vi’s ready to cum from the sight only.

you're so in control all the time, snarky comments, sarcastic as fuck, you always have something to say until she's turning your world to misery, until she’s tormenting you, consuming every thought, every inch of your being, installed in your lungs.

"c'mon stay on your feet," vi says, blushing at her own words cause she's supposed to be the one who's able to carry you around, used to always move you around at her needs — "m'tired too baby. do it for me."

her words slur together, her mouth's getting tired, her muscles burn now as they keep moving, keep fucking you against the soreness installing on her body after the adrenaline's already settled.

"yes-" you reply trying to be of help, pulling on vi's hair cause it's so long now you can actually play with it, tug it and wrap it around your digits. “i’m trying i promise, i’m trying.”

good girl. she'd try to vocally praise you, but vi's too invested in making a feast out of you, on have you making the most delicious sounds as she's pulling the leotard entirely to the side and her tongue finally swipes from all the way to your abused hole back to your clit, face-deep in your folds cause no. it’s simply not enough.

ballerina!reader who can't help but be loud when peaking. who's clumsy when falling, unable to hold her weight anymore. who got vi closer than ever when you finally cum, pushing her closer, rougher than before. half lidded eyes, drool on the corners of your mouth: that's the look vi wants to see on your face every day, the look of being throughly spend, used.

she's working you through it like it wasn't already enough. like she isn't pushing on your boundaries enough as she overstimulates you. insatiable, ravenous, eternally greedy when it comes to you.

"sweet fuck," you breathe out, tangled limbs, sticky and damn dirty at this point—. "do you think anyone saw?"

"no" she replies, but in reality, vi doesn't care about been seen "we were quick. pretty sure it was less then ten minutes also."

both of you're unaware of the camera hidden in the right corner of the room at least until next practice when your soul's leaving your body:

camera. she ate you out in front of the security camera.

so vi heard it multiple times already when she’s wrapping the pink lace of your hair now in her favorite boxing gloves: she has such good intentions, but she's a victim, as usual, of her bad behavior.

[merlions]

Can I just say that the more I go through learning about anatomy & physiology the more I find out this is because if something is even slightly complicated, doctors become entirely convinced non-doctors are incapable of learning beyond any conceivable point of being able to explain anything to them.

Sometimes that may be true, in cases where a person just isn't interested at all in anat & phys or biochem, which is valid and fine, but that's SO far from universal. And sure, sometimes we actually don't know anything, or don't know much. But many times it just feels like inexcusable dismissal of the intelligence of the average person. People who have the information refusing to give it out, and not for any rational reason.

Just as one example, I hear it said a LOT in EDS circles that "we have absolutely NO idea why EDS and MCAS are related and so frequently comorbid, they have nothing that connects them or explains why they have anything to do with each other". I used to say that cause it was said to me.

And then I did a college level A&P class and I learned they're related because mast cells naturally live inside connective tissue. A mast cell disorder and a connective tissue disorder are related because mast cells are fundamentally related to connective tissue.

Maybe that doesn't explain everything, but it's truly not hard to explain to the average non-medical-sciences person, and makes a whole hell of a lot more sense than "shrug who knows???? It is a mystery" which is what we tend to be told

Anyways I'm just saying. To those medical-science inclined and trained, we all need to take a good look at ourselves and the way we think about and interact with laymen, and do some real work improving our medical communication.

To those baffled by their conditions and feeling it may be possible their doctors are just choosing to say "no one knows" instead of explaining even the mechanisms behind their illness...idk, this shouldn't be on you to have to do that work. But maybe if you know someone who's decent at science speak to explain things you don't feel you understand, or to read through and translate some studies on the topic?

Idk. Medical communication is failing everyone right now and I hope to spend my career helping the medical sciences world do a better job. This problem is so easy to solve, we (the medical science community, NOT the world at large) just have to actually decide to care about it.

chronic pain diagnoses are all like yeah we don't know what this is or why it happens. we also don't know how to treat it. good luck out there soldier

[willowsnook]

Hello can I request a fic: Lando falling for you and Daniel trying to convince you to go for it because he knows that you might reject him cause you’re a bit older than him. Thank you in advance!

Lando norris x reader

—----------------------------------------------------

You had known Lando Norris since he came onto the F1 scene at 19 and since then you’d seen him change drastically. He went from giggling little boy to someone who had definitely grown into his skin. Being on Daniel Riccardo’s team meant that you had spent a lot of time around the McLaren driver, though not as much anymore–you hadn’t even seen him since Daniel’s last race. 

He’d gotten a lot more attractive as he had aged, and that wasn’t a fact that went unnoticed by you. He had always flirted with you, even though you were three years older, and at first, it was cute and funny, but now your heart reacted a little differently. 

It was a warm afternoon in Monaco when you ran into him again. The paddock was buzzing with pre-race energy, and you were standing around the RedBull garage, waiting for Daniel who was a guest of Maxs this weekend. 

"Well, if it isn't my favorite team member," Lando called out, leaning against the garage entrance with a confidence he hadn't possessed in those early days.

Your heart did that inconvenient flutter again. "Lando Norris," you smiled, trying to keep your voice steady. "Long time no see."

He crossed the space between you, pulling you into a hug that lingered just a moment too long. When he pulled back, his eyes held yours with an intensity that made your mouth go dry.

"Too long," he said quietly. "How's the non-F1 life?"

As you caught up, you couldn't help but notice the changes in him. The way his hair was styled perfectly on his head – no longer a messy mop. How his muscles really filled out his racing suit. And most importantly, the way he looked at you. A searing look that had your insides turning to mush. 

“Coming out with us to celebrate my win tonight?” He asked and you snorted. 

“Cocky now aren’t we?” You teased and he smirked. 

“Confident.” 

You watched as he left to head back to the McLaren garage, unaware of Daniel coming to stand next to you. 

“He’s still got it bad for you,” Daniel said and you rolled your eyes. 

“No he doesn’t,” you argued. 

"Trust me, Y/N, I know that look," Daniel insisted, crossing his arms and giving you that knowing smile that had become his trademark. "The kid's been asking about you every time I see him."

"He's hardly a kid anymore," you muttered, immediately regretting the words as Daniel's grin widened.

"Exactly my point! So why are you still acting like he is?"

You sighed, watching as Lando disappeared into the sea of team personnel across the paddock. "It's not that simple, Dan."

"What's not simple? He likes you, you clearly like him—"

"I'm older than him."

Daniel threw his head back and laughed. "Three years! You're talking like you're robbing a cradle. He's twenty-five, not nineteen anymore."

The Monaco sun beat down on your shoulders as you turned to face your friend. 

Daniel slung an arm around your shoulder, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “Y/N, if you keep holding onto that excuse, you’re gonna miss out on something really good.”

You didn’t respond right away—just watched the back of Lando’s race suit disappear into the garage. The way he carried himself now, the way he looked at you like he wasn’t just teasing anymore—it was different. And yeah, Daniel was probably right. Maybe it was time to stop pretending the age gap was anything more than a number.

———

Hours later, the air was electric. Monaco had never looked so beautiful—or maybe that was just the champagne fog softening the edges of everything. Lando had done it. He won Monaco. His first victory in the crown jewel of F1. And he’d done it in style.

You had no intentions of going out at first. But Daniel had shot you a smug grin and handed you a glittery dress he claimed was just “laying around” in the Red Bull hospitality suite. A little makeup, a little courage, and suddenly you were stepping into one of Monaco’s most exclusive clubs, the bass thumping through your ribs before the doors even fully opened.

“Y/N!” You heard your name before you even spotted him. Lando stood up from the VIP booth, eyes lighting up like he’d just won the race again at the sight of you.

You offered a small wave, heart pounding. He looked good, showered and dressed in linen, that gold Monaco winner’s watch flashing on his wrist.

“You came,” he said, stepping closer, voice lower now that it was just the two of you.

“I figured you might need someone to keep you humble,” you said, though your smile gave you away.

He stepped even closer, eyes never leaving yours. “I think you’re actually my prize.” 

His words hung in the air between you, weighted with something that felt dangerously like promise. The club lights caught in his eyes, turning them amber and gold. This wasn't the giggling boy who used to tease you in the paddock. This was a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

"Careful," you managed, trying to sound casual despite your racing heart. "Your ego's already Monaco-sized tonight."

Lando's laugh was warm as he took your hand, leading you toward the VIP section. "Only about racing. About everything else..." His thumb traced a gentle circle on your palm. "I'm still figuring it out."

The booth was crowded with McLaren team members, all riding the high of their victory. Oscar clapped Lando on the back as you slid in, champagne flowing freely. You caught Daniel's eye across the table, his knowing smirk impossible to miss as Lando made sure you were tucked into his side. Drinks flowed and you were enjoying yourself, talking to Daniel and some of Lando’s other friends. A little after midnight, you yawned, ready to make an exit. 

"Tired already?" Lando whispered, his breath warm against your ear. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with fatigue.

"Some of us don't have the adrenaline of a Monaco win keeping us going," you replied, offering a small smile.

"Let me walk you back," he said, already sliding out of the booth. It wasn't a question, but his eyes searched yours for permission.

You nodded, ignoring Daniel's exaggerated wink from across the table. Outside, Monaco's night air was cooler but still held the day's warmth. The streets glittered with wealth and celebration, distant music spilling from other venues along the harbor.

"I've missed you," Lando said suddenly as you walked along the marina, his hands in his pockets. "Like, properly missed you."

Your heart stuttered. "It hasn’t been that long.” 

“Feels like it has,” he mumbled and you stopped walking, forcing him to face you. 

“I’m too old for you,” you said, your liquid courage coming through. “Don’t you want some young model or something fresh out of school?”

Lando laughed, stepping towards you and taking one of your hands, “I have wanted you for the past six years, nothing changes that.”  

His words hung in the night air, sincere and heavy with meaning. You felt your defenses weakening as he gazed at you, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights of Monaco's harbor.

"Six years is a long time to want someone," you said softly, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of celebration.

"Tell me about it," he replied with a small, vulnerable smile that made him look both like the boy you'd first met and the man standing before you now. "I used to think maybe it was just a crush, you know? That I'd get over it. But then I'd see you in the paddock, laughing with Daniel or focused on work, and it would hit me all over again."

You looked down at your hand in his, at how naturally your fingers intertwined. "I always thought you were just being playful. Flirting for the sake of it."

"I was a kid," he finished, taking another step closer. "But I'm not anymore, Y/N."

No, he certainly wasn't. “Then prove it.” 

His eyes lit up at your challenge and he closed the gap between the two of you, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined—and you had imagined it, though you'd never admit that to Daniel. It was confident, deliberate, his hand sliding to the small of your back to pull you closer. Your fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, threading through the short hair there as he deepened the kiss.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Lando rested his forehead against yours.

"Convinced?" he murmured, a hint of that familiar playfulness returning to his voice.

"I might need more evidence," you whispered back, surprised by your own boldness.

His smile was dazzling in the moonlight. "I've got plenty."