#basically i have A Lot of feelings about them

[comicaurora]

Hi! I remember you saying at some point (I think, on the podcast?) that just realizing you have ADHD helped you to deal with it because you found some practices and techniques to help it, even without medication - or something along these lines, do I remember correctly?

Can you tell, which techniques? I seem to be somewhat resistant to medication (tried all options we get in the country I'm in, and improvement is very minimal), so I'm interested what else can be done there just to make it manageable

Caveat that every ADHD person is different so what works for me might not work for you, but this is what I've found helpful:

Break up Executive Dysfunction and fight Time Blindness by SETTING TIMERS. I have a fitbit, and on days I can feel my brain being restless and uncooperative, I set a ten minute timer on it. When it runs out, I set another one, and so on. It buzzes on my wrist, so it's hard to ignore, but it's not gamebreakingly distracting so it doesn't ruin my mood if I'm on a work roll. A brief, tangible reminder that time is passing can help me snap out of a break period or, if I'm working, give me a feel for my rate of progress. I can also use that reminder to take stock of if I need to eat food, get up and stretch, or lie on the floor for a bit to reset.

Take SMALL, LATERAL BITES OF PROGRESS. If you're having a hard time working on something, feel out what else you might be able to make headway on. Maybe you've got some writing notes you could jot down to build on later. Maybe there's a tiny item on the day's to-do list you could cross off quickly. Maybe there's a text or an email you've been meaning to fire off, or you've got a mild itch to doodle something in a sketchbook. Any progress is better than no progress, and even if you're just on your phone on the couch, you can get a lot of good work done just jotting down thoughts in the notes app. The lateral element is also very important; if you're fixating too hard on the ONE thing you're SUPPOSED to do, you can trap yourself in a spiral of how it's what you're SUPPOSED to be working on but it feels IMPOSSIBLE. Literally let yourself do anything else. Don't trap yourself with "it's either doing your responsibility or it's NOTHING." Your work is not a plate of broccoli you're not allowed to leave the table without eating. Give yourself permission to un-imprison yourself.

Related, If there are external factors on the responsibility - like an outside deadline or a team of people you're working with waiting on your stuff - don't be afraid to let them know where you're at, or if you're uncertain you can make the deadline as stated, even if you think your "brain is not working" reason isn't good enough to justify the delay. Most people are extremely chill about it, and some of them will even offer to help or make it easier for you in some way. "Struggling with deadline" is not an ADHD-only experience. It is one of the most relatable human experiences, and basically everyone will be inclined to help you out.

ANY PROGRESS IS BETTER THAN NO PROGRESS. LARGE projects can feel extremely overwhelming because you know you can throw everything you've got at them for a day or even a week and it still won't be finished, and if you've got that shadow looming over you, you might sink into a malaise of "I can't finish it and that means I can't even bring myself to start it." The best way to fight that is to make ANY progress in ANY direction. Every large project can be broken down into bite-sized chunks. Anything feels overwhelming if you see it as an unassailable monolith. Work you do now is work you don't have to do later.

CHECKLISTS. It's hard to hold a large list of things that need your attention all in your head at once. It is unbelievable how helpful it is to just write them down somewhere obvious, and when you're done with something, CHECK IT OFF. Don't erase it, leave it visible that you FINISHED it.

Tell your anxiety to CALL YOU BACK. This one's weird, but when I'm stuck stressing over something, I've found it legitimately works to pull up my schedule and pencil in "worry about <thing>" for a specific date and time. My brain registers that SOMETHING has been resolved and nothing has been outright dismissed or ignored, so it settles down. When the time rolls around, the source of the anxiety is still there, but the feeling of anxiety itself has been drained out of it.

On a related note, this might not be an ADHD thing, but I've found it's very useful to Avoid Anxiety And Guilt Spirals by HOLDING COMPULSIONS AT ARMS' LENGTH. I picked this up from some readings on OCD, which is in the category of "I don't seem to HAVE this to a diagnosable degree, but some of the structures were at one point familiar to me." It's good to be aware that, if your brain keeps circling back to any given thought that distresses you, that is structurally an obsession, and if in reflexive response you have a desire to do a specific thing to mitigate that feeling, that is structurally a compulsion. This includes things like "I bet my friends think I'm annoying - I should message them something fun and casual to see if they still like me." Or "I'm worried about the state of the world - I should check the news so no new horribleness blindsides me." The compulsion might contain a sensible thing to do; checking in on your friends is good, keeping up with world events is smart. But done AS a compulsion, it reinforces the anxiety cycle. Even when it results in something neutral or positive, it only confirms that this innocuous thing is your only lifeline over a yawning abyss of terror and stress, because if this time it was fine, it must be because THIS time your vigilance Saved You. So you'd better do it next time, too, because there WILL be a next time, and you might not be so lucky twice, right? The way to stop this cycle is to weaken it over time by, when the obsession pops up (a random reminder of a stressor, an old fear) and the compulsion is prompted, do not do it, no matter how reasonable it seems. Hold the compulsion at arms' length, becoming aware of what the obsession wants you to do and why. Similarly, sit with the awareness of the obsession. You are having an unpleasant thought, but having a thought does not make it inherently meaningful in any way. It doesn't mean you're actually in any danger, any more than you were before you had the thought. It's discomfiting because it removes the salve of the compulsion from the sting of the obsession, but in the medium to long term, it withers the cycle at the root and makes the entire process loosen its grip. Then you can do things like talk to your friends and check the news without it being underlaid with the sting of panic and desperation; they are, after all, neutral activities with typically beneficial consequences, not lifelines over the abyss. It might startle you when, months later, an intrusive thought pops up that used to send you spiralling into misery for hours or days, but now it feels irrelevant - even absurd - and easy to disregard. It really does work, and it's surprising how many things you can untangle this way.

Avoid boredom time prison by HARNESSING HYPERFIXATIONS. My most controversial take, but I think if your brain is desperately hungry to do This One Cool Thing Today, it's a good idea to let it. Even if that means you spend the whole day drawing fanart or bingewatching a show or baking croissants instead of Getting Work Done, the benefits you reap from just letting your brain tap into the rare Infinite Dopamine Opportunity usually outweigh any and all work slowdowns that result from taking the impromptu day off. When your brain works in the ADHD way, your enthusiasm is a vital fuel to keep it running. You need to have energy and joy in your life, energy and joy to spare and spend on things that may not be inherently energizing. If you have the option to spend a day doing something ridiculously fun, fill up that tank and reap the productivity benefits for the next week straight.

[colliholly]

OK SO I have to talk about how much I love the running theme of coming to terms with obsolecence, change and abandonment present throughout Deltarune. It's one of my favorite aspects from the game... This was of course most present with Tenna in ch 3 (who basically beats you over the head with it every 2 goddamn minutes). BUT it's a theme you see with plenty of other Darkner NPCs too.

I think it's hilarious how part of the reason he likely hates Spamton is because he comes from a world that's more modern and relevant than him, but Spamton (who also has a lot of similar themes to Tenna) is also already pretty dated, old and forgotten by this point. The beef between them feels like two crotchety old men fighting over nothing and it's great

We know a Darkner's purpose is to assist Lightners, as well as it being the only way for them to feel truly "fulfilled". Ralsei's aware and accepting of the eventual obsolecence they all face.

ON TOP of this I love the development of how caring Susie is throughout Ch 3 and 4, and how hard she fights to prevent the Darkners she meets from being left behind, without really understanding that she's fighting a losing battle. She even goes as far as to grab Kris' bigass CRT from their living room and bring it the school just so Tenna wouldn't feel abandoned anymore, at least before he's adopted. (And, ofc, when she desperately tries to bring Gerson with her in ch 4, even though he's a different kind of darkner).

But, as we know Ralsei is correct... change and obsolecence are part of life. And there's simply no way to 'save' every object or person that comes into your life, they all have to be let go eventually.

(Not to get all crazy theorist, but it SURE does parallel another piece of media involving inanimate objects coming to life, having secret lives, having to come to terms with abandonment and change, as well as feeling most fulfilled when they're useful and enjoyed... HMMM...!!!!!!!!!!!!)

[danysdaughter]

After Hours

pairing | au!bucky x teacher!reader

word count | 7.8k words

summary | when bucky barnes keeps showing up early to pick up his nephew from school, it’s definitely not just about being a good uncle—it’s about the sharp, no-nonsense kindergarten teacher who won’t give him the time of day. one desperate club night and a locked bathroom later, you finally do.

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, semi-public sex, rough sex, oral sex (f!receiving), dominant!bucky, flirty!bucky, modern au, cocky!bucky, no-nonsense!reader, slow burn to smut, mutual pining, enemies to lovers-ish, no description of reader, BUT reader does have surname (racially ambiguous as always), ABBOTT ELEMENTARY CROSSOVER (this is fanfiction so I can do whatever I want)

a/n | this is filthy you guys, based on this request, and after reading this if you haven't I beg you to watch abbott elementary, literally rewatching for the fourth time, it's everything and changed my entire personality

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

“You do realize we’re ten minutes late, right?”

The voice came from the backseat—small, unimpressed, and filled with the kind of quiet disappointment usually reserved for tax season and slow Wi-Fi.

Bucky glanced at his rearview mirror and caught sight of his nephew, Danny, hair flattened oddly on one side from sleep, Superman backpack twice the size of his torso, and the most judgmental frown a five-year-old could possibly muster.

Bucky cleared his throat, shooting the kid his best reassuring grin. “Ten minutes is nothing, buddy. Trust me. Back in the day, I once showed up to basic training a whole hour late.”

Danny blinked. “Did you get yelled at?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Did you cry?”

“…No.”

Danny leaned back in his booster seat like a seasoned war general staring down a doomed campaign. “Ms. Lane’s gonna be mad.”

Bucky huffed a laugh as he pulled into the parking lot, spotting a scattering of parents still dropping kids off at the entrance. “Your teacher’s not gonna be upset you when I explain. You’re five. You’ve got diplomatic immunity.”

Danny shook his head slowly, solemnly.

“Not with me. You.”

Bucky paused mid-parallel-park, one hand still on the wheel, his brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Danny didn’t answer. Just stared straight ahead at the entrance to Abbott Elementary like it was the last checkpoint before war. Like he was waiting for the music from The Godfather to start playing.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, grabbing his backpack straps like they were armor.

Bucky frowned as he helped him out of the car. “What’s with the dramatics, huh? She gonna throw a book at me?”

Danny shrugged. “She’s just… Ms. Lane.”

And with that, the kid marched ahead like a tiny soldier into the building, leaving Bucky trailing behind, wondering what the hell kind of teacher scared a kindergartner more than a DC-level supervillain.

He was about to find out.

Bucky followed Danny down the hallway, trying not to feel like he was walking into a parent-teacher trap. It smelled like crayons, wet sneakers, and disillusionment.

A cluster of teachers loitered near the front office—one of them with an armful of broken rulers, one loudly arguing with a printer, and one sipping coffee with the grace of a woman who’d already survived decades of nonsense.

He made a beeline for her. Elegant, composed, a pearl necklace that said “respect me,” and an aura of calm he hadn’t felt since his last decent nap.

“Ms. Lane?” Bucky asked, offering a smile that had gotten him out of more than one parking ticket. “Sorry for the delay, I was doing my sister a favor—her son, Danny? He’s in your class.”

The woman blinked up at him, unimpressed. He could practically hear the mental pen clicking as she filed him under Oh no, not another one.

“I am Mrs. Howard,” she said, calmly correcting Bucky like he'd just misquoted Scripture. “Ms. Lane is the other kindergarten teacher.”

Bucky opened his mouth to apologize, but she wasn’t done.

“She’s just down the hall. Room 3B.” Then came the pause. The head tilt. The look.

“Young man…” She gave him a once-over. Not flirtatious. Not judgmental. Just quietly disappointed—like he'd shown up to church in jeans.

Bucky blinked. “Yes, ma’am?”

Mrs. Howard offered a solemn shake of her head. “Good luck.”

And with that, she turned and glided off, coffee in hand, already done with his entire existence.

Bucky stood in the hallway for a second, frowning. How bad could this Ms. Lane be? What, was she going to quiz him on phonics or glare him into a coma?

The door was already open a crack, but Bucky still knocked first, because that’s what you did when walking into enemy territory.

There was no chaos. No screeching. No glue sticks flying through the air. Which was immediately suspicious for a kindergarten class.

Instead, he stepped inside to find… silence.

Twenty tiny heads bent over worksheets like they were prepping for the SATs. Crayons moved in eerie unison. No one screamed. No one licked a desk. A kid in the back raised his hand quietly—quietly—to ask if he could use the bathroom.

That was his first warning.

Because when were kindergarteners ever quiet?

Bucky hesitated in the doorway, feeling like he’d just stumbled into enemy territory. What kind of boot camp were they running in here?

Danny nudged him forward, but Bucky’s attention was already drifting to the figure at the whiteboard across the room—spine straight, skirt fitted, heels clicking as you scrawled a date across the board with clean, efficient precision. You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

You radiated authority from thirty feet away.

He half-expected to see gray hair, maybe glasses on a chain. Strict. Sharp. The kind of teacher whose name gets spoken in terrified whispers on playgrounds.

Then you turned around.

And Bucky’s mouth dried up instantly.

You weren’t old. You weren’t scary. You were stunning. Not just pretty—gorgeous. The kind of beautiful that hits you like a left hook. And you didn’t smile when you saw him. Of course you didn’t.

You just turned, one brow raised, assessing him like a problem you were deciding whether to fix or eliminate.

Bucky cleared his throat, defaulting to his most practiced, most lethal move: the smile. The one that had gotten him out of bar fights, jury duty, and once, weirdly, an IKEA return policy.

“Hi. Sorry—I’m Bucky Barnes,” he said, stepping inside. “Danny’s uncle. Rebecca asked me to drop him off today. It’s my first time—”

“Kids are supposed to be in class by eight,” you interrupted, voice calm, level, and sharp enough to slice drywall. “It’s eight fifteen.”

Right. Okay.

The smile faltered just a fraction.

You crossed your arms, waiting, watching him like you were unimpressed by his entire bloodline.

Danny, standing a little behind Bucky now, mumbled, “Told you so.”

Bucky sighed and shot him a look before stepping forward a bit, trying again with a little more Sergeant, a little less smug.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, holding onto the edge of that smile. “That’s on me. My sister got called in early, and I didn’t realize traffic near the school was… a situation.” He gave a little shrug, trying to soften the blow. “It’s only fifteen minutes.”

One kid—front row, bowl cut, way too invested—visibly winced for him as you took a step closer to him. Bucky barely caught the movement before he felt the weight of your stare.

“Danny,” you said, never breaking eye contact with Bucky, “you can go take your seat.”

Danny didn’t hesitate. He made a beeline for his desk like he was escaping a hostage situation, never once glancing back at his uncle.

You turned your full attention on Bucky then, your eyes sweeping him head to toe in a single motion so dry, so thoroughly unimpressed, it made his spine straighten instinctively.

“Fifteen minutes,” you said, voice still perfectly pleasant, “is long enough for a child to lose their morning routine. It’s long enough to miss foundational learning, to feel behind before they’ve even started the day. It’s long enough to build a habit of dismissing responsibility.”

Bucky opened his mouth.

You didn’t stop.

“Fifteen minutes late to school turns into fifteen minutes late to interviews. Fifteen minutes late to jobs. Fifteen minutes late to life. That might not seem like much to you, Mr. Barnes, but to a five-year-old trying to learn structure in an unpredictable world? It matters.”

A low “oooh” rippled through the class like someone had just witnessed a verbal assassination.

You turned your head—just slightly—and every single one of them went silent like a switch had been flipped.

Then you turned back to Bucky with a smile so polished it might’ve passed for genuine, if not for the gleam in your eye that said this isn’t over, and you will remember me.

“Have a good day, Mr. Barnes.”

He blinked. “I—”

“Have a good day, Mr. Barnes.”

His mouth shut. His posture shifted. He nodded, respectful this time. “Of course.”

You turned back to the whiteboard without another word, already moving on like he was just a bump in your perfectly structured morning.

As Bucky stepped out of the classroom, he glanced back over his shoulder one last time.

The kids were still silent.

You were still terrifying.

And now?

You were stuck in his head.

From then on, Bucky made a small but strategic adjustment to his week.

He got Rebecca to agree—grudgingly, at first—to let him handle school drop-off twice a week and pick-up three times. It was about being involved. Showing up. Being a solid, male figure in Danny’s life. A steady one. That’s what he told himself. And his sister.

And sure, maybe it was also because Danny’s kindergarten teacher was the most infuriatingly magnetic person Bucky had ever met.

Ms. Lane.

You.

Every time he stepped into that classroom—on time, now, thank you very much—you were there. Clipboard in hand, spine like steel, eyes that didn’t blink when he smiled at you like he’d invented it.

You never giggled. Never blushed. Never let him get so much as a twitch of a lip curl when he dropped a line like, “Careful, you keep looking at me like that and people are gonna think we’re in a PTA scandal.”

Nothing.

You’d just stare at him, arch a brow, and hand him a paper that said ‘Parent Reading Night RSVP – Required.’

At one point, he was pretty sure you gave Janine more reaction for sneezing glitter.

And the worst part?

The kids loved you. Danny adored you. Sure, you also partially terrified them all, but you had their respect. Which meant Bucky couldn’t even pretend to resent the way you owned every room you walked into. He just had to lean in, play along, keep showing up, and try not to let it get to him when you ended every conversation with a clinical “Have a good day, Mr. Barnes,” like he was some stranger in a waiting room.

So he tried harder.

He wore better jackets.

When Becs didn't have the time, he made Danny’s lunches look like they were packed by Pinterest moms.

He learned all the traffic patterns around Abbott to avoid being even one minute late.

He even tried calling you “Ms. Lane” in that flirty voice he’d once used on girls outside jazz clubs in Brooklyn.

You looked up from your lesson plans, dead-eyed, and said, “Are you choking, or is that how you normally talk?”

You were unshakable.

Immovable.

He was in hell.

Beautiful, dry, completely-uninterested-in-him hell.

And he couldn’t stop coming back.

The door creaked open just as you were nodding along to whatever Janine was rambling about—something involving manifesting healthy communication with her plants or possibly something about moon phases and exes.

You barely suppressed a sigh. You liked Janine in small doses. She was enthusiastic. Kind. Chronically incapable of taking a hint. And lately, she’d made it her personal mission to turn your life into a rom-com, complete with imaginary “will-they-won’t-they” tension and way too much commentary.

“See, what I’m saying is, if he keeps showing up early, that’s basically a love confession. And if you weren’t so emotionally repressed—”

The door opened and he walked in.

Bucky Barnes strolled into your classroom like he owned a portion of the lease. Jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled, hair an intentional mess. He gave Janine a familiar nod and then locked his gaze on you like he always did—like you were the only person in the room.

He smiled. That easy, smirky, I-know-you-hate-this-but-maybe-you-don’t kind of smile.

“Ladies,” he greeted smoothly. “Miss Teagues. Ms. Lane.”

You didn’t look up from your clipboard. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, figured I’d show up before the bell, for once.” He leaned against the edge of a desk, far too casual. “I hear being punctual really impresses a certain someone.”

You deadpanned, “My class is in the library for story time. They won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll just have to entertain myself then.”

“God, you two are so adorable,” Janine burst out, hands clasped like she’d just walked in on a Hallmark movie climax. “The way you flirt—so classic enemies to lovers. It’s giving Pride and Prejudice. But like, modern. And in a school.”

You didn’t even blink.

“Janine. Leave.”

You looked at her. Just looked. One long, unimpressed, soul-shearing glance.

“Right. Right, right, right,” she mumbled, fumbling for her tote bag. “I have… bulletin board stuff. Laminating. Paper… science.”

She took two steps backward, then paused, giving Bucky the most exaggerated wink a human could physically perform.

You didn’t react. You were too tired.

She nodded like she was passing the torch of your romantic destiny and literally backed out of the classroom like Homer Simpson into a hedge.

The door clicked shut.

Bucky exhaled dramatically, like he’d just survived a natural disaster. “She’s like a human glitter bomb. No warning. No escape.”

You didn’t look up from your clipboard. “She’s enthusiastic. It’s exhausting.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “So I guess that means I’m not your type either.”

“You’re not glittery.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer, that damn smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. “I sparkle a little.”

You glanced at him then—slowly, flatly.

“You always this persistent?” you asked, voice dry as ever.

He tilted his head, hands sliding into his jacket pockets like he had all the time in the world. “You always this impossible to impress?”

You shrugged, tapping your pen once against the clipboard before setting it down. “Only with people who try this hard.”

He gave a low whistle, grinning like you’d just scored a point in a game he didn’t mind losing. “Damn, but I bet if I said I was here for the stimulating curriculum and not to see you, you'd kick me out.”

“I’d consider it,” you said coolly. “But I’m invested in Danny’s education.”

“Ouch.”

He stepped a little closer again, but not too close. Like he was testing a line with his toe, just to see if you’d swat him back or finally step over it yourself.

“I ever make you laugh, Ms. Lane?” he asked, real curiosity under the velvet of the question.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want a sticker if you do?”

His grin turned into something a little rougher. “I’d rather earn one of those gold stars I see on your discipline chart.”

You didn’t smile. Not quite. But there was a flicker in your eyes he caught anyway, and his grin deepened like he’d won something.

You turned back to your desk, flipping a folder open without looking at him again.

“You know,” he said, glancing around your empty classroom, “this is the quietest I’ve ever seen it. Kind of eerie. I was starting to think the kids were fake—like one of those training simulations.”

You gave a low, unimpressed hum. “If they were fake, they wouldn’t sneeze directly into my coffee when I’m not looking.”

He chuckled, eyeing your desk. “Is that why you’ve got three different mugs over there? Just in case?”

You didn't respond. But the faint upward curve of your mouth—blink-and-miss-it—was the closest he’d gotten to a laugh since the first day he met you.

It made something curl low in his stomach.

“I know I keep saying this, but I’m not just here to bug you,” Bucky said after a beat, his voice edging toward sincere despite the grin still playing at his mouth. “Danny likes it when I pick him up. Says it makes him feel cool when I show up.”

You looked up, just slightly. “He does like showing you off.”

Bucky’s smile softened, just a little. “Kid’s got good taste.”

Then his eyes slid back to you, the cocky glint returning. “Speaking of good taste—what are the odds I could convince you to grab coffee sometime?”

You gave him a long, slow blink. Not mean. Just… devastatingly neutral.

He added, “I’ll be on time. And I promise not to flirt with the barista.”

You opened your mouth—possibly to respond, possibly to destroy him—but before a single word could land, the bell rang.

Shrill. Loud. Unforgiving.

You sighed like the universe had interrupted you on purpose.

“Danny’ll be waiting for you outside the library,” you said, already picking up the clipboard again like this was over and done. “Probably trying to con the librarian into letting him borrow another comic book.”

Bucky hesitated. “So… is that a maybe on the coffee?”

You didn’t even look up. “It’s a ‘your nephew’s in the library.’”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “I’ll take that as a soft yes.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Take it however you want, Barnes. Just go get your kid.”

He turned toward the door, still smiling, still smug—but quieter now. And before stepping out, he glanced back one more time.

You were already back to your paperwork.

But you hadn’t said no.

Bucky was still smirking to himself as he stepped out of your classroom and into the hallway—clearly riding high off your non-answer like it was a personal victory.

And, as luck would have it, he walked directly into Principal Ava Coleman’s path.

She had sunglasses on indoors and a folder she clearly hadn’t opened all week tucked under one arm.

“Good afternoon,” he said politely, offering her a nod and a half-smile.

Ava turned so fast it was like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Oh it is now,” she said, eyes raking over him so blatantly Bucky actually paused mid-step.

She watched him until he rounded the corner, then turned on a heel and bee-lined straight for your classroom, heels clicking like trouble.

She leaned into your doorway with no regard for your personal space or your peace of mind.

You didn’t even look up as she strolled through your door, “Girl.”

You kept sorting worksheets. “Ava.”

She gave you a look like she just walked in on free tickets to a concert and front-row seats.

“Now that is the finest white man I’ve seen this whole year,” she said, plopping down into one of the tiny student chairs with zero grace and maximum chaos.

You glanced up, deadpan. “It’s March.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “I meant school year. Don’t try and be smart with me.”

You arched a brow. “Wasn’t trying.”

She pointed a perfectly manicured nail toward the door. “You better quit playing with that man’s heart before I mess around and pull rank.”

You blinked once. “I’m not playing with anything.”

Ava smirked. “Girl, please. You’ve got him showing up early on purpose. That man’s in here more than Gregory and he actually works here.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just gathered your things slowly, expression unreadable.

Then: “He’s annoying.”

Ava stood, smooth as silk. “Mm-hm. And yet he’s got you so annoyed you keep your lipstick fresh after lunch.”

You glanced at her, unimpressed.

“I’m just saying,” Ava continued, striding around the room like she owned it (she technically did, unfortunately), “if you don’t take him, I will. That man is gonna give me some fine, emotionally stable mixed babies.”

You looked at her. Just looked. Slightly disgusted, mostly exhausted.

“Ava. Seriously?”

“What?” she asked, clearly unbothered. “You’re the one over here acting like you don’t notice. Always so uptight, hair all sleeked back like you’re about to defend someone in court. Girl, this is a school.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Ava, what do you want?”

“I’m going out tonight,” she said, waving a perfectly manicured hand like this was some kind of decree. “Clubbing. Drinks. Vibes. You’re coming.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Absolutely not.”

She pointed. “You’re coming.”

“No.”

“I’m your boss. You’re forced to. It’s in your contract.”

“It’s really not.”

“Also,” she added, shrugging, “you’re the closest thing to an equal I’ve got in this place. So you’re coming for moral support.”

You finally looked up, full eye contact. “Ava. No.”

She pointed at you. “Nine o’clock. I’m texting you the address. Now go home, let your hair down and let your scalp breathe for once. Wear something that says ‘I’m open to bad decisions.’ Not ‘I’m about to read you your Miranda rights.’”

You opened your mouth to decline again, but she was already halfway down the hall, yelling something about “energy healing” and “pre-gaming with affirmations.”

You sighed.

Loudly.

“You gotta stop lookin’ like someone stole your dog,” Sam said, nudging his shoulder as they walked toward the club entrance. “You’re killin’ the vibe.”

Bucky shot him a look. “You dragged me out.”

“I’m saving your sad, one-woman-man life,” Sam said. “You need to remember other women exist, Buck. The world’s bigger than that kindergarten teacher who makes you sweat like you’re back in basic.”

Bucky sighed, scanning the line outside the club. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Sam clapped him on the back. “C’mon. Maybe the actual girl of your dreams is in here.”

“Already found her.”

“You are so damn whipped, man,” Sam muttered.

Inside, the club was all neon glow and bass-heavy music. The air pulsed with energy and cheap cologne. Bucky kept his hands in his jacket pockets, jaw tense as Sam tried to steer him toward the bar.

And then he saw you.

You were standing near a tall cocktail table, back to him, dress hugging every curve like it was tailored by sin itself. That deep burgundy color against your skin, the sheer lace sleeves, the neckline that made his mouth go dry—fuck.

It was like the air got sucked right out of the building.

He stopped walking. Just… stopped.

Sam bumped into him. “What? Don’t tell me you already gave up—”

Bucky lifted a hand, pointing without looking away. “That’s her.”

Sam followed his gaze. “That’s Ms. Lane?”

Bucky nodded, dumbfounded. “Yeah.”

“She teaches kindergarten?”

“Yeah.”

Sam stared a moment longer. “I’ve never wanted to re-enroll in school so bad in my life.”

Bucky’s jaw worked. You hadn’t noticed him yet. You were talking to someone—smiling, even, which was a rare enough sight that it nearly took him out.

Then he saw who was beside you.

“Oh. Ava’s here too.”

Sam turned. “Who’s Ava?”

“The principal.”

Sam blinked. “You’re telling me the tall one with the long hair and wearing that is the principal?”

“Yep.”

“I’m calling Sarah,” Sam said, already reaching for his phone. “We’re transferring my nephews.”

Bucky didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on you—his teacher, his girl, his quiet obsession—laughing in a club with a dress that made his palms sweat. All those weeks of buttoned-up shirts and sarcastic dismissals, and now here you were, looking like a damn vision.

Sam nudged him. “You gonna stand there drooling or go say something?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I think I’m in love.”

Sam rolled his eyes hard. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

But Bucky didn’t hear him. You’d turned just enough for your eyes to start sweeping the room, and the moment you looked in his direction—

He knew you saw him.

And he knew everything was about to change.

The club pulsed around you—sweaty, crowded, way too loud—and you were already regretting everything.

You weren’t the kind of woman who went out on Friday nights. You were the kind who wrote parent emails about glitter-related injuries and kept a drawer full of emergency dry-erase markers.

The kind who dodged PTA moms like landmines and maintained a firm no-nonsense reputation because the moment you didn’t, someone’s child would be climbing the bookshelf like it was Everest.

But here you were. Burgundy dress, heels too high, lip gloss too shiny, sipping on a drink that tasted vaguely like regret and melted candy.

Ava was beaming beside you, obviously thriving. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” she said, swaying to the music. “You, me, outfits that should be illegal. This is the energy we need.”

You took a sip, trying not to look like you wanted to crawl out of your own skin. “I already want to go home.”

“You always want to go home. You're, like, emotionally married to your couch.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but then Ava froze—gasped like someone had pulled the fire alarm—and grabbed your arm with enough force to startle you.

“Girl. Girl. You will not believe who just walked in right now.”

You frowned, confused. “What—”

“Look.”

You followed her eye line. The club suddenly felt ten degrees hotter.

Bucky Barnes stood at the entrance, taller than anyone else around him, leather jacket open over a dark henley, hair tousled, mouth set in that stupid half-smirk like he knew he didn’t belong there and didn’t care. His blue eyes scanned the crowd like he was looking for someone.

And then they landed on you.

Oh no.

No.

“This is not happening right now,” you muttered, nearly tripping over your own words. “I have got to get out of here.”

You turned, already strategizing your exit route, but Ava threw an arm out in front of you like she was stopping traffic.

“Girl, forget you. Look at that man’s fine ass friend.”

You blinked, turning your head just enough to catch him—Bucky’s friend. Broad shoulders. Clean-cut. Smiling already like he knew how this worked. His eyes were on Ava like she was a problem he was already planning to solve.

“Hell yes,” Ava said. “That’s my man. Manifested. Claimed.”

You were too busy trying to make your brain reboot. Because Bucky was still watching you. He hadn’t looked away once. Like you were the only person in the club. His mouth curved slightly. Not cocky. Not playful. Just… locked in. Sure.

And damn him—you felt it. That same heat in your chest you pretended didn’t exist every time he came to pick up Danny. Except now, there was no desk between you. No escape.

And then, the inevitable.

The two pairs drifted toward each other. Like planets colliding. Like destiny had a sick sense of humor.

It was Ava who broke the silence first.

“Hi,” she said to Bucky’s friend, offering a hand like she expected it to be kissed. “Ava Coleman. Principal. Administrator. Visionary. And I know you’re about to buy me a drink.”

Sam blinked once, clearly amused. “Sam Wilson. Nice to meet you, Ms. Visionary.”

“Mmhm. I know.” Ava looped her arm through his like it was nothing. “Let’s go, future Mr. Coleman.”

You turned, shocked. “Ava—”

She didn’t even glance back. “You’re on your own, counselor. Don’t mess this up.”

And with that, she strutted away with Sam trailing behind her, clearly both confused and deeply invested.

You turned back to find Bucky still standing there.

Still watching you.

And now it was just the two of you.

No classroom.

No clipboard.

No rules.

Just you. And him. And the truth you’d been ignoring.

He smiled.

And you suddenly couldn’t remember a single reason why you ever told yourself he wasn’t dangerous.

Bucky stood there for a second longer, drinking you in.

The lace sleeves. The curve of your waist. The neckline that made his brain stop working for a solid five seconds. It wasn’t just the dress—it was you in it. Out of your usual uniform. Out of your guarded shell. Still composed, but softer somehow. Looser.

“You look—” he started, voice low.

“Hot?” you cut in, arching an eyebrow, mouth twitching just enough to betray your awareness.

He laughed, quiet, head tipping slightly. “I was gonna say amazing. But hot works too.”

You rolled your eyes and took a slow sip of your drink to hide the way your pulse jumped.

Bucky stepped closer, just enough to speak without raising his voice. “I didn’t think you went to places like this.”

“I don’t. Ava dragged me.”

You glanced past him, where Ava was already leaned over the bar with Sam looking both impressed and slightly alarmed.

“And now she’s dragging him,” you murmured.

Bucky followed your gaze and let out a soft chuckle. “Should we check on them?”

“No,” you said instantly. “Let natural selection take its course.”

He grinned again—less smug this time. Quieter. More real. The kind of smile that said he’d missed seeing you. The kind that made your breath catch a little deeper than you wanted to admit.

You took another sip, letting the pause stretch, then tilted your head at him.

The music pounded around you. People brushed past. The lights shifted.

But it felt like everything stilled between you and him.

“I thought maybe, outside the classroom... you’d stop pretending I’m not getting to you.”

Your grip on your drink tightened slightly.

You didn’t look away.

You should have.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you held his gaze like it was a contest. Like you were daring him to blink first. Your chin stayed lifted, eyes steady, but something behind them flickered—just for a second.

Bucky saw it. That crack in your wall. And God help him, it made his pulse jackhammer in his throat.

You tilted your head slightly, that same biting calm in your voice. “You really think you’re getting to me?”

He stepped in closer, slow, careful—not touching you, but close enough that the heat rolled off him like static. “No,” he said. “I know I am.”

Your throat worked on a swallow you tried to hide, but Bucky clocked it.

You were still composed. Still wrapped in that hard-earned edge of professionalism, like even now, in heels and lace, you could throw a behavioral chart at him and end the whole thing.

But your body betrayed you.

The shift of your weight. The way your breath hitched when he looked at your mouth.

You didn’t push him away.

“You always this arrogant?” you asked, voice like silk-wrapped steel.

“Only when I’m right.”

You opened your mouth, probably to put him in his place again—but then the music shifted, a heavy, pulsing bass dropping in from the DJ booth. A sea of people moved on the dance floor, but the space between you and him felt small. Pressurized.

His eyes dipped to your lips, then back up.

“Dance with me,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

His smirk curled slowly. “You heard me.”

You scoffed, already shaking your head. “I don’t dance.”

“Sure you do. You just don’t want to with me.”

“Accurate.”

“But you will.” He leaned in, voice brushing the shell of your ear now. “Because I’m asking. And because for once, I don’t think you want to walk away.”

You hated how that made your stomach flip. Hated it even more when he held out a hand—not cocky, not smug. Just… waiting.

You stared at it.

Then at him.

Then, slowly, you slid your hand into his.

And that was all he needed.

Big win. Massive win.

He tugged you gently into the swell of bodies, his hand warm against yours, his other settling lightly on your waist. And when he pulled you close—closer than you’d ever let him stand before—you didn’t pull back.

You danced.

At first, stiff. Calculated. Like you were trying to make it not mean something.

But Bucky? He knew how to move. Knew how to guide without pushing, how to lean in just enough to make your head spin. Every time your hips brushed, every time his hand slipped an inch lower on your back, you felt it in your knees.

You hated him for being good at this.

You hated yourself more for liking it.

And when his lips brushed your ear again, breath hot and voice low, you barely heard the words over the music:

“Just admit it.”

You swallowed, refusing to answer.

He smiled against your skin.

He already knew.

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because something inside you snapped the second his breath touched your neck. And the next thing you knew, your fingers were gripping his wrist, dragging him behind you through the crowd with single-minded purpose. Not speaking. Not thinking. Just moving.

Bucky didn’t ask where you were going.

Didn’t need to.

He followed like a man being led to his own damn salvation.

You found the restroom near the back—single occupancy, thank God—and yanked the door open, pulling him in after you. The lock clicked behind you just as his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle.

There was no space for that anymore.

You kissed like you’d been waiting weeks to do it—months actually. All teeth and tongue and heat, his hands gripping your waist like he still couldn’t believe you were real. You pressed him back against the wall, palms flat on his chest, lips dragging along his jaw, biting at the curve of his neck just to feel him shudder.

His hands roamed—your waist, your hips, sliding lower, greedy, hungry, completely unrestrained. His mouth returned to yours, catching your gasp mid-kiss as he backed you against the sink now, one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other on your thigh, tugging it up around his waist.

“You sure?” he murmured against your mouth, breath ragged.

You answered by dragging his lower lip between your teeth.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He kissed you harder.

Sloppier.

Desperate.

The kind of kiss that said he didn’t care about the lipstick smudging or the way your dress rode up or how his belt buckle knocked against the porcelain edge of the sink. It was all teeth and moans and hands gripping too tight.

Your fingers slid under his jacket, then his shirt, pushing it up, needing to feel skin—hot, firm, real. You ran your nails over his stomach and he groaned like it physically hurt to be touched that way.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he panted.

You gripped his belt, pulling his hips flush to yours. “You’ve got a pretty good idea what you’re doing to me too.”

He looked down at you like he was already wrecked—and still starving.

Like this wasn’t enough.

Like it was never going to be enough.

Then suddenly Bucky let out a breathless laugh, eyes darting around the cramped bathroom as he made sure to lock the door behind you. “In here? Really?”

You smirked, stepping backward until your back met the cool tile wall, the sink brushing your hip. “What?” you said, voice teasing, eyes locked on his. “You’ve never fucked in a public bathroom before?”

He tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Have you?”

You shrugged, that slow, calculated way that always made him insane. “First time for everything.”

He stared at you for a beat, eyes dark and full of heat—then moved.

He was on you in a flash, hands braced on either side of your head, mouth finding yours again in a kiss that tasted like restraint snapping in half. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, lips crashing together.

Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging, nails scraping against his scalp as he kissed you harder, deeper, needier. His body pressed into yours, firm and unrelenting, and you gasped when you felt the hard line of his cock against your thigh.

Then he dropped.

Literally—dropped to his knees, palms dragging down your sides with reverence and greed.

“Bucky—”

“Shh,” he murmured, voice rough as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Let me.”

His hands pushed your dress up slowly, worshipfully, bunching the burgundy fabric around your hips. He hooked a finger into your panties, pulled them to the side, and let out a soft, guttural groan.

“Jesus Christ…”

Then he dove in.

His mouth pressed against your cunt like he was starving, tongue parting your folds with a groan that vibrated against you. You cried out—soft, sharp—your hands flying to his hair again as he started to lick, slow and purposeful. Long, wet strokes that made your knees go weak.

One hand clutched the sink for balance, the other fisted in his hair as he sucked your clit into his mouth, groaning like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

You bit your lip to keep quiet—pointless, really. Your hips bucked against his face and he held you there, arms locking around your thighs, face buried between your legs like he had no intention of coming up for air.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, voice muffled as he licked deeper, tongue fucking into you before circling your clit again with maddening precision. “Been thinking about this since the first day I saw you.”

You choked on a gasp, head tipping back, the edge already building—too fast, too strong.

And he wasn’t stopping.

Not for anything.

Your grip tightened in his hair as Bucky’s tongue dragged a slow, torturous circle around your clit, only to suck it between his lips with a low, obscene groan that vibrated through your entire body.

“Fuck—” you gasped, breath hitching as your thighs threatened to close around his head.

He wasn’t having it.

His left hand braced against your hip, holding you open, steady, while his right slid up your thigh—palm rough, fingers sure—until he reached your slit. One thick finger slipped inside, slow, dragging along your walls as he moaned like he felt it too.

“You’re so tight,” he breathed against your cunt. “So wet for me. This pretty pussy’s been waiting for me, huh?”

You shuddered, jaw slack, hips rolling down onto his face and hand like your body knew exactly what it needed. He pumped the finger slowly, deliberately, curling just right to make your knees buckle. Then he added a second—stretching you, filling you—and the heat in your belly twisted hard.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to watch your face as his fingers curled deep inside you. “Let me hear you, baby.”

His mouth returned to your clit, licking in messy, desperate circles while his fingers fucked into you faster—his rhythm syncing perfectly with your shaking body. Every thrust hit that spot inside you with aching precision, your thighs trembling as your moans broke free.

You weren’t composed now.

You weren’t silent.

You were his, unraveling in his mouth, pulsing around his fingers, the world narrowing to the slick sounds of your body and the obscene groans he made as he devoured you like it was his last meal.

“I could do this all night,” he panted, fingers curling hard as your hips jerked. “You gonna come for me? Gonna soak my fuckin’ fingers?”

You couldn’t even form words—only nod, only whimper, only clutch at his hair and the edge of the sink like you might float away if you let go.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he growled, tongue flicking your clit fast and filthy now, fingers pounding into you. “Come on my face.”

Your body clenched, the pressure snapping like a whip crack—your orgasm crashing over you so hard you cried out, hips shaking, thighs locked tight around his head. He groaned, licking you through it, fingers still working you until you were whining, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

He finally pulled back, mouth and chin glistening, chest heaving.

He looked wrecked.

And proud.

Bucky stood, chest rising hard, his jaw clenched like he was fighting off every urge he’d ever had. His mouth was slick with you, his fingers still glistening, and he looked down at you like you were the only thing tethering him to sanity.

Then he cursed.

“Shit—” he growled, hand dragging down his face. “I don't have a condom.”

You blinked, still breathless, still shaking.

Then you reached for his belt.

You pulled him close with both hands, grabbed his face, and kissed him hard—tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting yourself all over him.

He groaned, loud and broken, his hands flying to your waist, gripping tight.

“I’m on birth control,” you panted against his lips. “It’s fine.”

He froze for half a second.

Then everything snapped.

He spun you around, bent you over the sink, and shoved your dress up around your waist again with a growl that sounded like it was ripped from his chest.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this,” he muttered, dragging his pants down just enough to free himself—his cock hard, thick, flushed at the tip.

You looked at him over your shoulder, eyes dark, daring. “Then take it.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed your hip with one hand, the other guiding himself to your soaked entrance. He groaned when he felt how wet you still were, and then he thrust in—hard, deep, one sharp movement that made both of you cry out.

“Jesus—” he bit out, buried to the hilt inside you.

You gasped, your hands bracing against the sink, your head dropping between your arms as he pulled back and slammed into you again, rougher this time, like all the control he’d been clinging to shattered in one thrust.

His grip on your hips was bruising.

His rhythm? Relentless.

“Look at you,” he gritted, hips snapping into you again and again, cock dragging perfectly over your walls. “All that attitude. All that sass. And now you’re fucking dripping for me.”

You moaned, arching your back, pushing back onto him. “Shut up and fuck me.”

That did it.

He pounded into you, deep and rough, grunting with every thrust, each one sharper than the last. Your hands scrambled for grip, one of your heels slipping as he rutted into you like he was trying to claim you, pull every sound out of your throat that you’d refused to give him in daylight.

“Been thinking about this since the first time you called me Barnes like it was a threat,” he growled, one hand fisting in your hair to pull your head back. “And now you’re letting me fuck you in a goddamn club bathroom?”

You gasped, eyes fluttering. “Shut up.”

He fucked you harder.

“You love this,” he growled in your ear. “You love the way I feel inside you. Admit it.”

Your nails scraped the porcelain.

He yanked you upright against his chest, his cock still buried inside you, pounding you with punishing, perfect rhythm.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice ragged. “Say you wanted this.”

You moaned, nearly sobbed. “I—fuck—I wanted this—”

He groaned, low and guttural, lips dragging over your shoulder and hand drifting to your neck.

His hand on your throat wasn’t choking—just holding. Just claiming. His mouth was at your ear, breath hot, voice wrecked. You were bent over the sink but upright now, your chest flush to his, and your eyes—

He made sure they were on the mirror.

“Look,” Bucky growled, fucking into you hard enough to make the sink creak. “Look what I’m doing to you.”

Your gaze caught the reflection—and fuck, it was obscene. Your lips parted, cheeks flushed, sweat-damp hair clinging to your temples. His broad chest against your back, one hand gripping your hip, the other still around your throat like he was holding you steady so you couldn’t escape how good it felt.

Every thrust slammed into you from behind, deep and fast, his cock stretching you wide, hitting that perfect spot over and over until your legs were shaking.

You whimpered, unable to hold back anymore.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Let me hear you. No classroom. No clipboard. Just you. And me.”

Your head tipped back onto his shoulder as his thrusts grew rougher, deeper, fucking you in front of the mirror like he wanted you to remember this—to see exactly what he turned you into.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he panted. “So fuckin’ tight. You gonna come for me?”

You moaned, body tensing, orgasm coiling hard in your belly, your thighs trembling, the pressure too much.

His fingers moved down your stomach, finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he slammed into you.

“Come for me,” he growled into your ear. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

You shattered.

It was sharp, messy, loud—your cry bouncing off the bathroom walls as your pussy clenched around him, body locking up, hips jerking uncontrollably. You came so hard you saw white, barely able to hold yourself up as your orgasm rolled over you in crashing waves.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Bucky grunted, and then he lost it.

His rhythm stuttered, a broken gasp tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep one last time and came inside you, hips jerking, breath ragged against your neck.

He held you tight, forehead pressed to your shoulder, still inside you, both of you shaking and panting, sweat-slicked and spent.

The mirror caught everything.

Two people undone.

Two people who couldn’t take it back.

And neither of you wanted to.

The room was quiet now, save for your breathing and the soft hum of music bleeding through the walls.

You blinked slowly at the mirror, still bent over the sink, your hair mussed, dress bunched around your hips, Bucky’s body heavy and warm behind you. He was still buried inside you, both of you barely recovered.

He exhaled, lips brushing your shoulder, then your neck. “Well, damn.”

You let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if you weren’t still coming down from the best orgasm of your life.

He finally pulled out with a low groan, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he did, and then helped smooth your dress back down over your thighs. His touch lingered just a second too long, like he wasn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

You straightened, turned slowly to face him, your expression mostly neutral—but your eyes were warmer than before. He saw it. He always did.

Bucky leaned back against the sink beside you, tucking himself back into his jeans with practiced ease, still watching you with that lazy post-orgasm smirk.

“So,” he said, running a hand through his hair, still slightly breathless. “Now that we’ve gotten the hard part out of the way…”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “That was the hard part?”

He grinned. “Figuratively. And literally.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to check yourself in the mirror. Your lipstick was gone. Your cheeks were flushed. Your neck had the faint outline of his stubble. You looked exactly how you felt: fucked out and dangerously close to letting him in.

You dabbed at your collarbone with a paper towel.

He watched you quietly for a second, then said, softer now, “Come on, baby. Just one date.”

You froze.

He didn’t miss it.

“One date,” he said again, stepping a little closer, voice still low. “Not the club. Not the classroom. Just you and me. Dinner. Or drinks. Hell, coffee if that’s all I get.”

You looked at him, really looked.

He was flushed, eyes bright, hopeful in a way he hadn’t been in weeks. There was something real behind that smirk now. Something open. Unprotected.

You should’ve shut him down.

Should’ve said something cold. Dismissive.

But instead, you leaned in—kissed him, slow this time, less teeth, more tongue. Just a whisper of what could happen again if you said yes.

When you pulled back, your lips barely brushed his.

“You’re gonna regret asking me out, Mr. Barnes.”

He grinned.

“Not a chance, Ms. Lane.”

[lucanderie]

Still need to mull this over some more, but it's very intriguing how much player-defying Kris proves themselves physically capable of this chapter.

They maliciously comply with our exact wording when asked to turn a doorknob. They cover their mouth midway through a sentence. When asked to say Berdly's name, they repeat themselves loudly in shock. They do PLENTY of physical actions or gestures unprompted, such as kneeling down and touching Ralsei when only prompted to talk, pushing Susie out of harm's way for the second time, giving her their knife with a flourish, laughing or nodding to clarify a statement... as well as their unprompted hijinks at the church. They act by themselves both in the spur of the moment and premeditated, in both low-stakes interactions and highly emotional, instinctive reactions. It seems like they're capable of doing any emoting, physical gesturing, or creative prompt interpretations they so desire apart from a) speaking, b) when directly commanded to do something else and c) in many weird route sequences (will circle back to this). They know entire commands word for word before they execute them, and they are aware enough of the fact that we have goals and what those goals may be to actively conspire against us. Kris knows our "rules".

This is extremely interesting because we saw very little of this in the previous chapters- leading us to believe Kris had basically zero input on Dark-World happenings, and had less understanding of their own situation then say, Ralsei did. But here, Kris isn't just getting more clever about or more accustomed to defying us- they're proving progressively more capable of just doing things of their own volition that any possessed kid who was randomly dropped into this situation with no warning or context would not wait two days to try.

Combined with the fact that from the beginning, they defy us to limit what we see long before they defy what we actually force them to do, (even when they clearly don't like doing it!), and that there's precedent for a character's mindset determining the player's level of control with Susie, it's seeming more and more like Kris is purposefully limiting themselves in earlier chapters. They have a vested interest in "playing the part", coming across to either us or someone else like they have less agency than they do, and they get progressively more open about the amount of defiance that they are capable of.

This is just, a fascinating jump in Kris's amount of agency! At the very least, they may know a similar amount of meta-info to even Ralsei. It changes some of their earlier actions from purely-forced to compliant. And there's a lot of (non-evil, you guys) reasons they would do this- they're probably at least, (at this point), afraid of some kind of retribution from us or their co-conspirators. They want to stay ahead of us by hiding their agency, they may not be comfortable enough with themselves to show express in certain instances... And this changes their defiant actions from things that they are allowed to do into things they are willing to risk doing- saving Susie twice, not hurting Ralsei's feelings, comforting Noelle, slorking down those juice cups like they're NOTHING- all little risks they're willing to take.

This just leaves the weird route- which may either be a route where the player simply gains more control over Kris, or maybe the "proceed" commands could be more general and therefore more inclusive. Or Kris could be initially, willing to play along with freezing the Darkners in order to achieve their goal, to bide their time, and once they realize how fucked up we can get it's too late.

I don't know. I'm definitely missing things, but I just love how much more Kris we have and are eventually going to get.

[a-posing-somdomite]

I always loved my pink and my princess

and I still do ♡

My femininity doesn't exist despite my transmasculinity, it's part of it; painting my nails is as much an expression of my boyishness as my mastec was. It's all linked, goes together hand in hand to form what feels to me like a masculine gender.

I feel like it's really hard to grapple with for a lot of cis people and even some trans people, that feminine expression could affirm someone in their masculinity. Cis-patriarchy needs us to conflate internal feelings of gender with gendered expectations, it needs to restrict and clearly define to control. And so it enforces in us the idea that a wish for gender conformity is a necessary part of gendered feelings, that gender non-conformity is inherently at odds with our internal perception of our gender.

But people are people, and people don't neatly fit into the latest little boxes me made up for them. Gender expression isn't a ready-made, it's a build-a-bear, you can pick and choose whatever you like best, whatever makes you feel good about yourself.

And all of this is so basic. All these discussions are so, so old. Feminists established this generations before us. It's embarassing that we have to debate people who call themselves feminists over "you can like dinosaurs and blue and still be a girl." 💀

One really weird thing transphobic cis women will say is something to the effect of “I was a tomboy, thank god it was before the transgender craze. They would made me transition.” Like, probably not, girl. As you are a cis woman who has never communicated any form of gender dysphoria. It makes it really obvious that they think being transgender is just conforming to different gender roles. There is an ocean between a little girl who likes traditionally masculine fashion and has traditionally masculine interests and a child that is transgender. They are not a slippery slope. They don’t push you down the slide of transgenderism if you cut your hair short when you’re 12.

There are so many trans men who were never tomboys, who were the picture of the ‘perfect little girl’ and genuinely enjoyed traditionally feminine hobbies and expressing themselves in ways associated with femininity. It confuses and angers cis people when they come out as trans because they only see gender as a role to perform and not an identity. If you’re truly a woman, you’re generally not susceptible to randomly turning into a man. If you’re truly a man, you’re generally not susceptible to randomly turning into a woman.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae !

not sure if i've requested this before or not, so bear with me haha. my memory is a bit fuzzy.

i struggle deeply with my mental health and have been hospitalized twice over it. things have been thankfully looking up since my second hospitalization but i still have days/moments where the world feels like it's crumbling.

just looking to see if you'd be comfortable writing poly!marauders comforting a reader who might've been recently hospitalized or has trouble adjusting to life after deciding to work on taking care of herself. (for example, getting into regular daily routine like eating/basic hygiene is so weird after ignoring it for so long !)

maybe some crying and just fluff. your poly!marauders is really so special to me and i hold it close to my heart.

no worries if you're not comfortable writing this :)

xoxo

Thank you for your request angel <3

cw: the circumstances are vague but its implied that reader has trouble taking care of herself, some insecurity around self-sufficiency and around poor hygiene

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

It’s rare for you and James to be the last out of bed. In fairness, you think he’s only here to entice you out. James has already gone and come back, with strawberries which Remus is using to make you all muffins. He’s mincing and measuring and mixing laboriously in your kitchen. Sirius loves you all more than he pretends, because he dragged himself out of bed at the thought that Remus might be lonely, and now you can hear the low sounds of their lovesick murmuring from down the hall. James took off his clothes to get back under the covers with you and seems to be sneakily trying to tickle you awake with his mouth underneath your jaw. You refuse to open your eyes. 

“You’re so awake,” says James. 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re so, so awake.” He buzzes his lips against your skin. You have to bite down on your lower lip. “And you’re laughing.” 

“I am not.” 

“You want to.” James kisses the spot before ending your torment, pressing a kiss to your lips as well. “What’re you thinking about, lovely?” 

You hum, contemplative. “I’m thinking that we need to get Remus a proper mixer.” 

“We really do.” He rests his face in your neck again. “I do like watching him stir, though. It makes his forearms look really…well, you know.” 

“That’s not a good enough reason to force labor on him,” you say, though you do know and are selfishly inclined to agree. 

“No, you’re right,” James sighs. It fans warmly over your skin. “Hey, can I ask you something without it being, like, a thing?” 

Your eyes open now, though you can’t really see him where he’s tucked beneath your chin. “Yeah,” you say cautiously. 

“It’s not a big deal. I just don’t want you to be embarrassed. It’s not embarrassing, but I don’t want you to think that I think it is, if that makes sense.” 

“Okay…” 

“I think you’re lovely, you know that, right? So, it doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not a criticism.” James is rambling now, nervously, and you’re growing nervous along with him. “I just don’t want to keep things from you, because, well, sometimes you have to ask people you love strange things, you know? But that doesn’t make them mean anything more than they really do.” 

“James,” you cut him off. You feel him stop breathing, a stillness beside your neck. “What is it?” 

“Okay, sorry.” He presses a soft kiss to your skin. “I’m just wondering, have you showered lately?” 

It takes you a second. Half of one, really, and then you’re covering your face with your hands, turning away from your boyfriend in mortification. 

“Hey, hey.” James wraps a hand around your hip, keeping you close. “Angel, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Oh my god,” you moan into your hands. Your face feels roaring hot. “I just—I forgot. Like, I forgot I even have to.” 

“I know, lovely. It’s a lot to keep track of, yeah? It is, and that’s why I thought I’d mention it to you. Not because it’s a problem, just because I thought you might not have remembered.” 

It’s not a lot to keep track of, though. It shouldn’t be. Your boyfriends cope with it all just fine, eating and washing themselves and exercising and managing to keep tabs on you on top of all of it. You don’t understand why it seems so much harder for you than for everyone else. 

James can tell you’re about to cry. He makes a soft, doting noise, hugging you as best he can and pressing his cheek to where your hand covers your face.

“It’s okay,” he promises you. “It really is.”

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize. What do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I must smell.” 

“You don’t—” James starts to laugh, choking it off quickly. “You don’t smell. I didn’t ask you because you smell, I just asked because I realized I didn’t think I remembered you showering the last few days. You’re fine, okay, look.” 

Though you can’t see him, you’re aware of movement, and suddenly very aware that James’ face is in your armpit. It’s brief, no more than the time it takes your body to seize up in horror, and then he’s back above you. Your hands have fallen away from your face in shock. 

“Yeah,” he says definitively, “you’re good.” 

“James!” Your tone wavers between dismay and a delighted sort of fondness, which is a decent measure of the rest of you. 

“You’re fine, my love,” he says, and there’s nothing wavering about James’ earnestness. He rubs up and down your side lovingly. “It doesn’t matter. Please don’t be upset, okay?”

You’re still blinking up at him, trying to get your emotions in order, when Sirius comes trudging down the hall. He has a throw from the sitting room around his shoulders and a telling bit of strawberry muffin batter smeared on the side of his nose. 

“James, if you want orange juice, you’re going to have to squeeze it yourself, because—” He falters as he enters, taking in your wet eyes and James’ conciliating hand on your middle. “What’s wrong? What’ve you done to her?” 

The last part is said in jest—it’s usually a safe assumption that James is the last person who would upset any of you—but your boyfriend’s expression turns so terribly guilty that Sirius looks like he regrets the joke. He squeezes James’ arm as he clambers onto the bed with you two, a furrow between his brows. 

“What?” he asks again. 

You sigh and decide to make light of it. “I stink.” 

Sirius’ frown worsens at this. Then, quick as anything, he casually bends and sticks his nose in your armpit, sniffing. You feel your eyes pop. 

“No, you don’t,” he says. 

“What is with you two?”

“Why would you think that you stink?” Sirius asks. His forefinger brushes underneath your lashes, collecting the lingering moisture like he just can’t abide it. “Not that I would mind if you did, of course, but it’s an odd thing to fixate on with no evidence.” 

“I told her she doesn’t,” James says, slumping down onto your chest. He seems happy to share in the labor explaining this to you. “It’s only been a little while since she showered, but now she’s worried she’s disgusting.” 

“Why would you wonder if I’d showered if I didn’t smell?” you ask. 

“Oh.” Sirius nods, as though this now all makes sense. “Because he’s obsessed with you, obviously. We all are. You think I don’t know how many times this week James has been to the gym?” 

James’ eyebrows lift. “Now, why are you keeping track of that?” 

But you only frown, because, actually, you knew that too. But that’s not difficult to keep track of. It’s always plain when you get up in the morning and there’s a half-finished protein shake on the counter, James’ bag missing from its spot by the door. 

“Or are you trying to tell me you don’t know how far Remus is through his puzzle?” 

You shake your head. “It’s on the coffee table, I can see it.” 

“Right,” says Sirius, “but we notice those things because we love them. So James didn’t have to smell you to know you hadn’t showered. He just noticed.”

Your gaze slinks back to James, shame a worm eating away at your middle. “I’m sorry that you notice and I don’t.” 

“Sweetheart, you only forgot,” James says gently. “I don’t mind. You’re doing your best, yeah?” 

You worry your lip. It doesn’t seem like it can be your best, if everyone else manages it as their baseline. Sirius tsks and takes your hand, tugging you up and James with you. 

“You are.” He mushes a kiss to your temple as he drags you out of bed. “I can tell. We all slip up sometimes, baby, it’s fine. There’s no sense in agonizing over it. Come have breakfast.” 

The smell wafting from the kitchen is warm and sweet. Remus’ muffins are still in the oven, and he allows James to kiss him good morning only thrice before begging off and letting the James stay with his arms around his middle. 

“Are they tormenting you?” Remus murmurs, plainly amused by James’ uncharacteristic pouting.

“Yes.” James hugs Remus tighter, nuzzling his throat with entirely characteristic clinginess. “Save me from them, please.” 

“He tormented her first,” says Sirius. 

“I didn’t mean to,” James laments. 

Remus clicks his tongue, still holding James but looking to you. You shrug. “He delivered a hard truth,” you say, “but they both stuck their faces in my armpits, which was worse than anything.” 

“Oh.” Remus appears appropriately thrown by this information. “Yeah, that’s…why?” 

“Shut up, you liked it.” Sirius squeezes you meanly. “Don’t listen to her, Moony. I’d sniff your armpit, too.”  

“I’m alright,” Remus says cautiously. “I don’t really see why you would have to, either?” 

“Circumstances arise,” James mumbles into his front. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 0.17 The start of a never ending fight

PREV PART trigger warnings: (semi) violence, talks about wanting to die, illnesses, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, DRUGGING SIDE EFFECTS, anger, (light) infantilzation, tell me if I missed any! main m.list    series m.list    good ending m.list

Something is wrong, terribly wrong. You went home to confront Dick and Jason yet here you are in your bed unable to move without your sight disappearing and you basically passing out. Perhaps you should have listened to Francis, perhaps you should have gone to the hospital with them like the ambulance worker suggested. Perhaps you should have listened to your supervisor and calm down before you stormed over there.

But it doesn’t matter, you can’t change your choice.

You just need to get Duke here, perhaps he can get Alfred and Bruce of your back. Because if you hear your sperm donor tell you another bed-time story you will join your mother sooner then later. You don’t know why but you feel as if something is wrong with medication, as if the pills might be expired even though the date on them says otherwise. The American health care system isn’t known for their transparency and ethical bounds, so you wouldn’t be surprised if the company that made your medication cut corners.

There is no way Bruce messed with them right? He wouldn’t have done that… Not when he is Batman ‘protector of the weak, the dark knight’. That would be going against his moral code, right? Especially when the chemical reaction of a drug with another drug could easily kill you, your sperm donor isn’t that reckless… Right?

But then again, all of his robins started at a young age, he didn’t take you the hospital when Jason had beaten the shit out of you and he ignored how long it took for you to finally walk properly. He had refused to send you to a physical therapist that isn’t Alfred, too terrified of your injuries being reported and then his secret would have been exposed. But not the secret of how neglectful he truly was, he doesn’t really care about that one. He knows he can buy off any journalist that would even think about spreading the truth such fake news. No, even then he cared more about Batman than you.

You can’t count on Bruce having morals when he never had chosen the right path in his life as Bruce Wayne, all he has ever done as a Wayne was put up a mask and harm those around him.

You can’t trust him. Even if you know that you are being paranoid, you just can’t shake the feeling of something sinister hiding behind his eyes.

The same sinister look that you had seen on Alfred’s face so often that you no longer tensed up when you saw it. But on Bruce’s face it feels even more dangerous, it sends your whole nervous system in overdrive. But you can’t tense up, you can’t show a sign of your pain increasing because that would trigger Bruce to start coddling you.

Even more then he has already been doing.

You don’t know how late it is, but you feel as if you have been in your room for longer than a day. But you can’t read your digital clock and pulling out your burner phone would fuck up your line of communication with your friends for when you can see.

“What day is it?” you ask Bruce, swallowing your pride as you cringe at how your voice sounds. It sounds high and hoarse at the same time, it sounds painful to talk and it is. It is as if the vibrations of your voice is enhancing your headache, enhancing your pain. You know it hasn’t, it can’t be, not when you know every pain trigger and every movement that can enhance your pain as if you had gotten a guidebook when you became ill. No this has to be induced, or your illness has gotten worse.

If it did, you just hope it will finish the job.

Bruce doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t. “Don’t worry about that,” he whispered, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “do you want to take a bath? You have been sweating quite a lot.”

You can’t believe this, but you do want to take bath. Not just to wash the sweat of you but to also get the fuck away from this man and use your burner phone. “Yes,” you say as you push yourself up, ignoring how the world spins around you and most importantly ignoring the look of pity Bruce send your way. “get out.”

Bruce scoffs; “You are not taking a bath alone, you could drown.”

You laugh, pretending to wipe away a fake tear in amusement. “I didn’t know you had humour old man,” you say, trying to look as casual as you can. “but I am taking a bath alone. I am almost an adult, I do not need daddy dearest to watch over me as I clean myself.”

“Do you want Duke to help you wash up?” He asks, clenching his hands onto the book he’s holding. He’s almost tearing the pages, he’s clearly jealous.

“No,” you spat out, rolling your eyes. “I don’t want anyone helping me bathe, you see I like this thing called privacy.”

This time Bruce laughs as you have just said the funniest thing alive. “You are lucky that you even have a door,” he hisses, his eyes narrowing but you just glare back even if you are unsure of where to look. Your mama didn’t raise someone who would just back off the second a confrontation got hard, no she raised you to be a fighter and if you have to fight you will. “you should be happy that I didn’t move you into my own room or the living room where you can be watched at all times!”

You don’t care about what Bruce things, so you push yourself off your bed as you attempt to make your expression passive. Truly, you would think you would have perfected a poker face after being ill for so many years. After hiding all you have been through, but to Bruce you look like Dick attempting to intimidate his scowl for the first time. He just can’t seem to find it threatening, even when he sees your mother’s face in yours.

“You have no say over how I should feel,” you hiss, stepping closer to him as Bruce stands up from the chair he has been sitting on. You ignore how your heart starts pounding louder when he grabs your arms hard enough to Bruce, hard enough to increase your pain. “especially when you continuously hurt me, even now.”

NEXT PART is my writing block decreasing a bit? Seems so :D

taglist (OPEN): @justsaii, @bbmgirll, @cruzerforce4256, @frank-vanderboom, @lilyalone, @mat5u0, @blackheart1454, @wisefuncherryblossom, @lingxio, @c4xcocoa

[recklessghostart]

About the 'Skizz Situation' and why the fan community is not being a good representation of what it wants to claim.

Before I get started, I need y'all to read this with an open mind and an open heart. This is not an attack on you, or at all. It is me pointing out what I see and hoping to bring stuff to your attention. For those who don't know, the 'light' (and ultimately not entirely correct) synopsis going around is that Skizz got a donator asked Skizz to say 'trans rights' and he didn't because it was 'too political'. The reality? Skizz was chilling and vising with his chat having some good times and stuff, didn't vet the dono before starting to read it outloud, and that dono more or less said that they were a 'long time' viewer of Skizz and (the wording almost felt aggressive/accusing) didn't feel he did enough for the community and wanted him to say Trans rights. Skizz in the moment and trying to keep things light said he was just wanting to vibe with his chat and didn't want his channel to address things too 'political' (he clarified later he meant Polarizing) and he has nothing against nobody. He then followed up in the comments that clarification (which, lets be real, it is polarizing) that he didn't want his community to foster hatred in his comment section and its not the forum to have those debates (which is FINE. He is allowed to have boundaries. Those boundaries were set not just for himself but to protect his LGBTQ+ watchers) and of course he supports the LGBTQ+ community and Trans rights. Something else I wish to point out: This donator claimed to be a long time viewer of Skizz. Frankly I don't believe them or anyone who who is listening to any of this. He has been MORE than open about his support of the community in the past, and often. His last stream before all this was even him talking with Gem and Lizzy, two Bi women, about Bi stuff. That dono was made to stir the pot. To either make him say something to cause hatred in his comment space, or make him slip up and get the community to dislike him. So- how is the community a poor representation of what we claim? Well a lot of the claims the LGBTQ+ community makes is wanting people to grow. To want Allies. To support other discriminated groups. So- They see this Man- this DISABLED man (Skizz has MS) who has OPENLY SUPPORTED them in the past, make a slip up of words, and refuse to understand where is is coming from, why he may want to keep things 'good vibes' and just more normalized (because the very much Gay coded jokes and stuff he and Imp and Gem and the others make NORMALIZES the community which is AMAZING), Who himself is straight and comes from a very red state so may not 100% understand how to word what he means correctly, and basically tries to burn him at the stake. To take away his income. People want to Boycott him over this. To basically destroy his life. (Because he quit his Job to be a full time content creator, and he is still a very small one at that.) Tell me, how does that make anyone ever want to support this community? How does that show kindness and understanding? To make people want to grow? How does any of this treatment make you the better person? Because, long story short, it doesn't.

Now some of you are bringing up his mods, how two may be trump supporters. True or not (I haven't seen evidence of this? But I won't dismiss it), you also need to think of a few things in terms of that. They have been his mods for 5+ years. Mods often are close and friends of the streamers, especially small streamers which he is/was. People, can be friends with people of different political parties. You may not want to, but when I tell you that cutting people off because of a political opinion is new, its NEW. And a lot from the older gen wouldn't even dream of it. Furthermore they are (as far as I know) volunteers. He does not pay them (again, small streamer). He needs mods to run his channels and without them he can not do his job safely, especially for his community. And many people will not do this job for Free (at least not well). He can't just replace them overnight. Give him time to have those hard conversations if he chooses to have them. It's not like they have even brought those beliefs into their work or his streams. Long story short, Be good. Not just to each other but to Skizz himself. Have the understanding you would want people to have for you if you slip up with good intentions. Crucifying someone who supports y'all does nothing good for this community.

[booksandteaandtears]

Makeshift veterinarian

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!cop!reader

Summary: a day that starts bad ends up better because of a certain grumpy trauma doctor. but mostly because of a cat.

genre: fluff, jack doesn't like cats

content warnings: a cat gets hurt and underage drinking

about 2.1k words

masterlist

Some days as a cop were really bad. Some days were pretty good. Some were in between. And some, were actually fantastic.

Now this day hadn't started out fantastic. You had an evening shift, which you hated 'cause it meant dealing with drunk youngsters. You did not get to team up with your preferred partner because they were on vacation. And on top of everything, you had new boots on because someone had puked all over your old ones yesterday and you could not get the smell or the stains out. Bad week.

The new boots were a problem. Not only because you could already feel the blisters coming up, but mostly because new boots meant problems. You'd picked out the pattern years ago: anytime you got new boots and people commented on them, you'd have the worst shift of that year.

So you and your rookie were hiding out in the suburbs, en route to a concerned neighbour that wanted the teens kicked out of the yard a couple houses over. Your partner tonight was basically a teen himself, fresh out of the academy.

"Just left here," Said Cooper while you were driving into a suburb not too far from the city centre. “And then it should be number 88, on your right hand side." You parked the car and both of you stepped out, checking your belt before closing the door. "Right Cooper, this one's yours. Should be an easy one, just tell the neighbour we'll ask them to quiet down and it should be solved easily." He knocked on the door, and it took a minute for a calm face to open it. You couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

"Mr. Abbot?" Cooper asked. The man nodded and gestured for the two of you to come in. The house was a little cluttered and not too big, filled with books, an old leather sofa and a beat up police scanner was laying on an otherwise empty cabinet. A crutch was placed next to the door and he picked it up when he followed you into the house, leaning on it when he lifted his left leg up, putting his weight on the crutch instead of his right leg. You took a moment to take a closer look at him. His brown greyish hair was messy, like he'd raked his hand trough it a lot. The shadows on his chin and neck were slightly messy, but not unkempt. "It's the neighbourhood kids," he started to explain. "They're making a bunch of noise, which is fine by me, I'm working night shifts over at PTMC anyway. I'm just concerned they're drinking too much. I'd go over there myself but they don't really listen to me." Cooper nodded. He looked at you expectantly. You looked straight back at him. That boy did not know how to take the lead in anything. When the silence got a little too long and unbearable you stepped in. "Sir, any reason you're worried about exuberant alcohol intake, did you see any of the kids? We're not about to walk in there just on a hunch." Mr. Abbot smiled at you, making intense eye contact. "They're screaming about chugging approximately every 7 minutes. There's about 15 boys there, based on the cars in front, maybe a couple girls. If they've been keeping this tempo up since earlier they will all be at least a good couple of beers in at this point. And they're young, about 16 or so, so alcohol poisoning will creep up fast. I hooked two of the kids up to an IV last week, when the neighbour's' kid came around because his friends wouldn't stop puking. I'd rather prevent myself the trouble this week. I’d walk over there myself, but my prosthetic has been acting up and II doubt they’d listen to me anyway." Abbot pointed to the prosthetic in the corner. Cooper was trying to jot down what Abbot was saying, but he was missing half of it.

You decided to end the painful encounter on Cooper's part and promised Mr. Abbot you'd try to reason with the kids. Cooper tried to save face by saying "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Abbot!" a little too loudly. Abbot nodded, but when Cooper turned around he grunted, "Dr. Abbot actually, but I think that's too much information for the kid too remember." Your hand shot to your face, trying not to laugh at your partner, and at least conceal it when you did. Dr. Abbot smirked at you. "Good luck with that one." He winked at you. "Thanks." You whispered back. You could feel your face turning red.

When you arrived at the kid's house, it was more quiet than you expected. You knocked on the door, but when there was no answer you let yourself and Cooper into the garden 'round the back. It seemed the reason for the quiet was that around half of the kids had fallen asleep and the other half was busy making out. Cooper blinked and stared at you. You sighed at him. "Are you going to take charge of this one, or is it up to me again." The blinking continued. "Right." You muttered. "New shoes day and an incapable rookie. What could go wrong."

"Hello there!" You shouted into the garden, trying to assert authority. "Everybody up and at ‘em, cups on the floor, tongues out of each other's mouthes! Look lively!" The kids scrambled up and the sound of red cups dropping filled the air. "So, whose parents am I going to call for the mess around here?" A couple kids pointed towards a dark haired boy on the right, that has just been kissing with a blonde girl. You scanned him quickly. "This is your parents' house?" "Yes, ma'am." The boy answered. "Do they know you and your friends were out drinking here?" He swallowed. "They know about the friends, not about the drinking." You hummed. "That's what I thought. All right, here's what we'll do. Firstly, all this drink is going to get thrown out. You three on the right can get started on that. Secondly you're going to clean this mess up, so your friend won't get busted by his parents. And I'm taking ID's while you do that, so don't thinks you'll get off easy. I'm writing you all down, and next time anything happens you might just be spending a night in jail. I'm guessing you don't want to have to explain that to your parents, now do you?." The kids nodded fiercely. "Then you're all going to go back to your houses to hit the hay. I don't want you driving, so either get someone to pick you up or sleep over here and drive home sober in the morning. Monday afternoon, after school, you'll all be reporting at the women's shelter downtown, and you're going to get put to work. Is that clear to you all?" They nodded again. "I asked, is it clear?" A choir of "yes ma'am" filled the lawn. "Good, and don't entertain the thought that I won't find out whether you've been by the shelter, 'cause I will. Now Cooper, get to writing down names." Cooper opened his notepad and somehow got ink al over his hands from his pen. "Yes ma'am." This was bound to be a long night.

Half an hour later you were headed back towards the car, the kids were dealt with. You were trying to explain to Cooper why you had chosen to deal with the evening as you had when you heard a noise on the street beside you. You stopped walking and turned towards the sound. An orange cat lay on the street, blood dripping from his left hind leg. You hurried towards it immediately. "Oh you poor thing, did someone hit you and run? Oh darling." You stroked the cat's head and a dishearteningly quiet meow escaped it. "Oh, you sweet, your leg hurts, I know. We'll make it better." You picked the poor thing up and turned towards Cooper. His eyes were big as he asked you, "What are we going to do with that now?"

"The cat's broken its leg." Is what you decided to start the conversation with. Dr. Abbot stood in front of you, staring you in the face. "And you brought it to me to fix up? Saw my leg and thought I might feel for the thing? I don't like cats. Try someone else." "You're a doctor, you're supposed to help. Don't be so grumpy about it." "I am a doctor, yes, for humans. Not for furry things with claws. You need a vet for that." Your eyes dropped to the Dog Tags that were hanging out of his V-neck shirt. "You are a vet." You sighed and pushed past him, into the house. He grabbed your shoulder to stop you and looked you in the eyes, again. "Wrong kind of vet, kid. Take the fur ball to a real one." You shook the hand off and placed the cat on his kitchen table. "Just take a quick peek at the poor thing. It's shivering already and I'm sure you know how to fix it. If you just set the leg we can drop the poor boy of at a shelter afterwards. The vet won't take him in if no one's paying."

Dr. Abbot circled the table. "Girl." He said. "Pardon me?" "It's a girl," he said, gesturing between the cat's leg, "There's just a tail between those legs, nothing else." A smirk crossed your face. "You're going to help her then?" Abbot looked back at you. "I'll see what I can do. But I make no promises." You smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Abbot." He turned to the sofa and grabbed a bag. "Just Jack will do for now, I'm not treating any human patients anyhow."

Half an hour later the cat was treated with about half the contains of Jack's go-bag, and she was snoozing happily in a towel on the table. You had thought him handsome before, but it had somehow multiplied while watching him hunched over the cat, all his focus on trying to help the poor thing. It didn't help that his arms had looked amazing while doing it. You swallowed your thoughts. "Thank you Jack, I know I pushed you into that, you didn't have to do it." Jack scoffed. "You act like there was any choice, you just barged in here with that girl. I can't say not to a pretty lady bossing me around. Pretty sure you'd have called the cops on me if I had refused." His eyes twinkled with amusement. A smirk touched the corners of your lips. "I won't comment on that. I'm just a good judge of character, I knew you wouldn't say no in the end.” You picked up the jacket that you had shrugged off to assist in keeping the car still. “Cooper's just going to get the car and then we will be on our way with the poor thing." A sigh escaped Jack and he started mumbling. You blinked at him, you couldn't hear what he said. He sighed again and repeated himself. "I'll keep the thing here for now. I just spent 30 minutes saving its leg, it would be a waste is she was just going to get an infection at the shelter now." You raised your eyebrow. "You're going to take care of her?" He nodded and petted the cat's head. "Sure, though I don't really know how." You avoided his attentive eyes by petting the cat as well. Your finger brushed against his and your heart skipped a beat. "I'll come by after my shift." You answered, probably sounding a bit too eager. "I'll get some cat food and a scratch pole, I'll help you figure it out." Jack nodded and smiled at you. "Sure, I'd like that. It's a date." You looked up from the cat and returned his smile. “Don’t get your hopes up, Jack Abbot. I’m only coming for the cat.”

Your new shoes had no impact the rest of the night, and the next morning, when you came to help him with the cat, Jack had breakfast waiting for you. Best shift of your life.

[a-writer]

Invisible String - Part 3

So… it’s pretty obvious that this has become a series. Hope you enjoy our little toxic dumbasses!

Azriel x reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: angst, cursing, toxic relationship, smutty talk

“I can’t believe he said that to you” Nesta sits next to you on the couch, talking to you with that deadly calm voice she always uses when something is not sitting right with her. “I’m going to kick his ass next time I see him.”

“We can kick his ass together.” Mor says from her spot on the floor.

“Not necessary, girls.” You watch them roll their eyes at you at the same time. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t said worse things to one another…”

“But (Y/N),” Feyre interjects from her spot at the armchair in front of you. “Saying that he thinks about you when he’s hooking up with other girls is, like, really bad.”

Nesta and Mor nod at that and you look at them. It’s not common for the sisters to be together sharing an intimate space such as the library at the House of Wind. Nesta and Feyre are civil now, even friendly most of the time. And they will always come to you if you call. That is why you love them so much, as well as Mor, who you’ve known for the longest time.

“I don’t know…” You rub your temples.

Yesterday Azriel dropped you that bomb and, luckily, today he was sent away on some mission. The bad thing? He has gone to the Spring Court, where Lucien resides now with her. Elain. “Has Rhys heard anything from him at all?”

“Last he heard he was about to enter the Spring Court, so he’s probably there talking with Lucien and Elain.” Feyre says cautiously.

“Great.”

“What happened between you two, anyway?” Nesta has never been one to dance over a subject. “Cass always says that you and Azriel were basically attached at the hip.”

You feel your lungs constrict at her words, because it’s true. Azriel was your partner in crime, the first person you always looked for in a room, the one that you wanted comfort from, who you could show everything within you, the good, the bad and the ugly, because you knew he would never judge you.

“When Rhys was Under the Mountain, it was hard here.” You sigh and Feyre gets up to sit by your side, a hand on your shoulder that you appreciate. “A lot of stuff happened, we blamed each other, but we also felt guilty for the situation. I don’t know. I guess we didn’t know how to process it.” You look at Mor and she gives you a little smile. She understands how it was better than anyone else.

Your throat closes and you feel almost dizzy remembering those days. Feyre puts and arm around your shoulders and Nesta grabs your hand. Mor gets up to sit on the floor again right in front of you, both her hands resting on your legs. You look at your friends and thank the gods for bringing them to you and understanding you so well. Because whatever it is you are doing with Azriel, you know it makes no sense. And it pains you to see how things ended after everything you went through with him.

“(Y/N), we love you, all of us.” Feyre mumbles and squeezes your shoulders. “But this thing you have going on with Az… It’s hurting you more than making you any good.”

“I know…” You whisper. How is it possible that something that was so beautiful turns into this ugly and complicated situation?

You flip the pages of a book you can’t even name mindlessly. Where is he? It’s already so late, he should have arrived already. The meeting with Cassian had probably ended hours ago, and he promised you that today you would have dinner together. But now it’s already nighttime, the food is cold on the table of the living room and you feel like crying. It’s not the first time Azriel has disappeared and completely ditched you. In fact, it has become something so usual that even Mor asked if you’d like for her to come and have dinner with you, because, deep down, she knew Azriel would not appear today.

Your heart beats fast and you feel the book slipping from your sweaty hands. What is he doing? Is he with someone else? Before you can overthink more, the door from your little apartment in Velaris opens and you hear steps walking in slowly. His smell envelopes you, like rain and wind, and you feel tears prickle at your eyes. Azriel appears at the threshold of your shared bedroom. You drop the book and sit up on the bed, wait for him to say something, to apologize, but he just stares blankly at you.

“Are you drunk?” Your voice is high and it seems to wake him up of some trance.

“No.” Lie. You can smell the alcohol now that he’s closer.

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

You purse your lips. Is this how your relationship will be forever? You have had your ups and downs with Azriel, but for the last three years, it seems like a constant fight.

“Out with who?”

“Out with Cass.” His tone changes to annoyed, and you can see he fights not to roll his eyes at you. “After the meeting we went and had dinner, and we grabbed some drinks. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I was hoping it was, taking into account that you skipped the dinner that you promised me to go grab some drinks with your friend.” Annoyance fills your voice and now Azriel does roll his eyes at you.

“Let’s not do this, please.”

“Do what, Azriel?” You get up now, pacing around the room, too nervous to stay still. “You know how many times I’ve been here, alone, waiting for you to finally show up? How many nights I’ve spent asking myself where were you? I’m tired of this shit, I can’t do this anymore.” Your eyes fill with tears at the words coming from your mouth.

“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?” Azriel’s voice sounds weird, annoyed, mad, sad. “I’m sorry, okay?! But it’s been almost 50 years. 50 years without Rhys and I don’t know what to do. Fuck! I hoped by now we would have rescued him back, but he’s not here and all of us are trying to fucking rule this city in the shadows and it’s just tiring. I just want to leave.”

“You want to leave me?”

“I want to leave everything.” He runs his hands down his hair and a single tear drops from your eye. “I can’t do this anymore, (Y/N).” He walks towards you and grabs your face. “I love you, you know I do. But…”

“But what, Azriel?” The tears are now freely running down your face, and Azriel tries to wipe them with his thumbs.

“I don’t think I know how to be with you.”

You feel like you might be drowning, because your relationship has been complicated, but Azriel has never said he wanted to give up on it.

“Why?” Your voice is low and you hate how pathetic you sound.

“I just…” He drops his hands from your face, looks down. “This isn’t working anymore. I love you, (Y/N), I really do. But I feel like I’m falling and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“I can help you, Az.” Now it’s you who grabs his face, make him look at you, trying to make him remember everything you’ve gone through together. “I’ll help you, I don’t care if I have to fall with you. We’ll get up together, like we’ve always done.”

“(Y/N)…” You can see his eyes glint with tears. “I don’t want to leave you, but I have already hurt you enough, I’m so sorry.”

Azriel grabs one of your hands, kisses your palm and takes a step backwards. You want to get close to him, to grab him and not let him go, but your feet aren’t moving. He looks at you one last time, a tear rolling down his face, and then he turns around and leaves you.

 

“(Y/N)?” Mor’s voice drags you out of the painful memory, and your three friends have concerned faces.

“I’m sorry, what?” You swallow the knot in your throat.

“Are you coming to tonight’s dinner?” Mor repeats softer.

Rhys has organized a dinner with everyone in the inner circle tonight, even little Nyx.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

————————————

Feyre has decorated the table with flowers and candles, and the dining room from the River House looks as dazzling as ever. When you arrive, everyone is already there, Azriel included. You can’t hide your surprised expression at seeing him, you thought he wouldn’t have come back from Spring Court yet.

A loud laugh catches your attention and you smile at Nyx, his little wings flaring while Cassian throws him up and down and Nesta tries to snatch the kid from him. You laugh at the image and get close to them. Nyx sees you and gives you a big smile.

“(Y/N)!” He doesn’t pronounce your name quite well yet but you forgive him.

You grab him from Cassian and plant a big kiss on Nyx’s cheek. “What was Cass doing with you, huh? Getting himself into trouble with auntie Nes?”

Cassian laughs and grabs Nesta’s waist, who rolls her eyes but leans into him. You feel an unexpected weight on your shoulders, and a too familiar smell envelopes you. Azriel’s muscular arm is on your shoulders, which now are tense.

“Hey, Nyx.” Azriel smiles at the babe and pinches his little cheek. Nyx, of course, laughs, delighted that Azriel is giving him some attention. Kind of relatable.

You look at the side of his face, then at Nyx in your arms, and suddenly everything becomes too real, an unwanted memory resurfacing once again.

The cool breeze enters through the window and makes goosebumps appear on your skin. Tangled up with Azriel in bed, both of you naked, it’s the perfect Sunday morning. He’s got your hands intwertwined and is looking at you like you hung the moon.

“Do you want to have kids someday?” The question pops out of your mouth without much thought.

Azriel contemplates you for a few seconds. “Yes, I would like to have kids in the future.” He gives you a little smile. “As long as they look like you.”

You laugh and get closer to him, your bodies flushed.

“I would love to have a mini you running around. Except from the whole brooding thing you’ve got going on.” You tease him and he flicks your nose. You get more serious, look him in the eye. “I’m sure you’ll be a great dad, Az.”

He doesn’t answer, but you can see his eyes, grateful, loving. You kiss him slowly, as if you want to remember every inch of his mouth.

“Someday we’ll have kids. But in the meantime…” He puts you on your back and hovers above you, his majestic wings shielding you both from the real world. “We can start practicing.”

Azriel winks at you and you laugh, and that’s the last thing you see before he passionately kisses you.

A soft touch on your neck wakes you up from the memory. Cassian and Nesta are gone, Azriel is making silly faces at Nyx and his thumb is caressing the side of your neck. An almost imperceptible touch, but you feel it. Because you feel and see everything he does. Luckily, Nyx decides he wants his mom and calls for her. Feyre is there in the blink of an eye, and you give her Nyx before he starts crying.

Azriel’s arm is still on your shoulders, his thumb giving delicate strokes to your neck. You step away from him, put some distance, try to think coherently.

“How was the Spring Court?” You cross your arms over your chest. It’s just a casual question.

“Good. Flowery. Luckily Tamlin was nowhere to be seen.”

“How was Elain?” You know you’re not being exactly slick with it, but you’re past the point of caring. Azriel knows you too well anyway, always gets your intention.

“She was good. She seems happy with Lucien.”

Azriel has this serious face that you can’t decipher, and before you can continue and make it awkward for all of you, Rhys calls you to the table.

The dinner is fantastic, and you look around the table to your found family. How lucky you are. Dessert comes and then drinks, and Feyre excuses herself to go put Nyx in bed.

“We have to organize a ball in Hewn City, it’s been a while now and Keith has asked me to.” Rhys looks at the table. “We need to invite Eris.”

Cassian grunts and Azriel tenses. Mor doesn’t react.

“I think it’s the right thing.” Amren adds. “He is our ally now.”

“Barely.” Cassian mumbles and Amren gives him a cold stare.

“(Y/N) I would like for you to meet him in advance, extend the invitation yourself.” Rhys looks at you and you nod. “You can meet on the border of Hewn City, no one will care there.”

“I’m going, too.” Azriel’s voice is cold.

You look at him, so does the rest of the table. Feyre just came back and she sits next to Rhys.

“You don’t have to.” Rhys says.

“I can take care of myself.” You say at the same time.

“I know.” Azriel looks at you and then at Rhys. “Eris looks at her like she will be his next snack. I’m going with her.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t think Eris will appreciate you being there.”

“I agree with (Y/N).” Rhys says.

“I’m sorry but it is not up for discussion. Eris may be our ally but he’s clearly not someone who we can trust. I’m going with her.” Azriel looks at Rhys, his tone leaving little to discuss.

Rhys and Azriel’s eyes turn void, Feyre’s too, and you know they are having a conversation. It doesn’t last long, suddenly their eyes are back to normal and Rhys looks at you almost apologetically.

“Okey, Azriel is going with you. You’re leaving in two days.”

[permanentmess]

bob reynolds headcanons (including romantic x reader !)

GIF NOT MINE

a/n: i have completely let this hyperfixation consume me to the point where i quite literally think of bob or the thunderbolts most of the day. it's debilitating, but that means you will get some very passionate fics from me (literally have been in the middle of writing one thats why this took so long)

this is written with a female reader in mind, although could be easily read as otherwise :)

also let me address a common worry: absolutely NONE of this is meant to infantilize or baby this character in any way. anything i wrote was with a lot of consideration and i was using my logical thought processes to develop these. i recognize that this is a major issue already and i am not attempting to contribute to it

warnings: mentions of sex/sex life and activities so MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, mental illness (obviously), food/lack of eating, SPOILERS FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* FILM INCLUDING POST CREDIT SCENE

like i said in the thunderbolts one, its practically canon/accepted fanon that bob loves to read

i also feel like he might just...forget to eat (this basically comes from the bag of food and full shake he had in the post credit scene too lmao)

is trying to learn to cook but can really only cook like mac and cheese or scrambled eggs

but since he has a lot more free time, i can imagine after a bit he'd get pretty good at it (can you imagine ben grimm teaching him how to cook oml)

relationship wise, i think he's not exactly inexperienced, but he doesn't really remember anything

it says in his file his drug addiction and juvenile record started in middle school

so any romantic relationship or anything in that realm is just like...not familiar to him at all. or he just simply doesn't remember, like i said

i feel like he really likes physical touch but due to his past + the void, he's just a bit scared to touch anyone at first

but once he trusts himself and others more its easier (like towards the end of the movie/with yelena)

i think he likes the comfort of the baggy clothes that cover most of him, and thats why he wears them even though he "runs hot" (totally not projecting here) ((also its like teenagers w their hoodies -- weighted blanket style))

something tells me he likes arcades, specifically claw machines. idk why

also stuffed animals. yelena and ava definitely bought him one of those weighted ones

he seems like he would want to sleep with a nightlight at least, if not one of those aurora borealis light thingys (i have one 10/10 very calming)

i know everyone writes him as stuttering a lot, but i think he really only does it when he's anxious (i think im an expert, ive seen this movie 5 times don't come for me 🤚🏼)

like he can get really confident, especially on his better days

other than reading, i feel like he'd get into drawing or photography. something creative that can distract him but provide an outlet

(also this is actually canon but) he does the chores and dishes because he wants to feel like he's contributing to the team since he can't control his powers :(

this is maybe me projecting a little, but i feel like he ends up finding a lot of solace in nature. he went to malaysia to try and figure stuff out, so i have no doubts that he likes to get out of the city

more x reader based [romantic, some could be platonic]:

he loves his hair being played with. like you want him to pass out easy? let him stick his head in your lap, run your hands through it, massage his scalp. he'll be OUT in like 5 minutes

washing his hair? oh my god he is literally in heaven

your relationship is very slow but honestly both of you are okay with that

you two are also that couple that doesn't argue. you may disagree or want to talk to each other about stuff, but you never raise your voices [think: holt and kevin in B99 "arguing"]

he kinda does seem like the jealous type to me, but not in the toxic way. he'll just squeeze your hand extra tight or do that behind hug where he puts his head on yours or your shoulder and you immediately know

(its very hot when he gets possessive)

other than physical touch, i think he's an acts of service man. anything he can do to share his love, he wants to. and he likes little things you do for him

when i think of being with bob i just think of that quiet relationship where you're really in sync, soft mornings with the sun streaming in through the window, cute candid photos on each others phones

but i could also see one with like a slightly more talkative/expressive reader who really brings out bob's confidence. i don't doubt that he loves to yap too (some/most days at least)

he will try to cook for you but it might not turn out well (he's banned from the kitchen one week for burning water. he got distracted cause you were so pretty)

on a bit more of the sexual side, i feel like he has a praise kink. like he likes being told how he's doing, if he's treating you well, etc.

i feel like your guys' sex life starts really slow. just kissing, then moving up, until one day something in you both just kinda snaps and you can't keep your hands off each other

and maybe when its like very passionate or maybe he's a bit jealous that day, sentry comes out a little 🤭

despite being a god, sentry will straight worship you, idc, its canon

not that bob wouldn't

but sentry does on another level

at the end of the day, bob wants what you want, and you want what he wants, so it all works out well

bob is the type to have a note on his notes app of just your favorite things (all your typical orders, favorite books/movies/music, etc.). like its not that he doesn't remember (he has it memorized) but you know just in case Void takes a lot more of his memory

he'll bring a jacket with just in case you forget, he'll open doors for you, pull out your chair, he just gives off pure sweetheart and gentleman energy (not in the infantilization way)

just imagine a really peaceful relationship all around with such a genuine, sweet guy (i need him so bad)

as with the thunderbolts one, let me know about your own! kinda short but i hope they are enjoyable

[woozisprincess]

How each svt member would react to getting those magnetic couples bracelets

Really adorable, much fluff, a lil spice during Soonyoung's, fem reader, no she/her pronouns used but in Vernon's part reader is referred to as "his girl" and in Hao's part as well.

Saw these on TikTok and thought it was adorable.

Seungcheol

His idea. This man is possessive we know this. During a romantic dinner he pulls out the box and hands it to you. You think it's such a pretty bracelet, and it's clearly expensive. When you go to thank him, he interlocks your finger with his own, and the charm on his suspiciously similar bracelet locks to yours. How cute.

Jeonghan

Also his idea, and when you looked at him a lil odd he asked why you didn't love him. 100% guilt tripped you no questions asked. It wasn't even necessary, he just wanted to. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, reluctantly agreeing to his obvious schemes. You do love the bracelets, you just don't know why he has to be so extra about it.

Joshua

Loves em. Thinks it is the cutest thing in the world, and loves that you always wanna be connected to him in some way. He already finds you so adorable, he really didn't think that you could get any cuter. He's always been such a big fan of hand holding so you can imagine that this only spurred him on.

Jun

Thinks it's sooooo cute. The idea of couples bracelets with a magnetic charm is so fun to him. He thinks whoever came up with them is a genius. Who wouldn't want to always be connected to the love of their life? He just adores how the magnets immediately attract one another when you two are close.

Hoshi

Oh my god he's obsessed. Sits close just to feel the magnet tug on his wrist, and loves knowing that you can feel it too. Now something other than the strength of his passion for you is physically pulling you together.

Absolutely holds your hand when you fuck so he can feel them connect.

Wonwoo

Doesn't understand it but as long as you're happy. Like it's cute but it's literally just a bracelet. A bracelet with a magnetic charm. Why is it so important? But hey, you love them, and you're happy, so he's not gonna complain.

Woozi

Watched in silence as you wordlessly opened the box, grabbed his wrist, and linked each end of the bracelet around his arm. Is gonna say something about how you know he's terrible about wearing jewelry, but instead let out a small gasp when you lift your arm next to his and the half heart shaped charm on your matching bracelet immediately attaches to his. Acts nonchalant. He's never taking it off like ever. You'd have to saw his wrist off of his body.

Dokyeom

Obsessed. The thought of being constantly attached to you pleases him way too much. They were 1000% his idea. Being attached to his sweet baby? The love of his life? You have to remind him that they're just bracelets with magnets. He looks at you betrayed. "They are not just bracelets! They are symbols of our love!" You give him lots of kisses as an apology.

Mingyu

He's blushing like a fool. A complete mess. Tries to be cocky. "You can't bear to be away from me can you?" He's basically on the floor having a heart attack. This is exactly why you bought them. You think he's fucking adorable.

Minghao

"are these handcuffs?" Thinks it's weird. Why are you trying to physically attach yourself to him? Girl I need my space. You look at him all sad and he folds like a lawn chair. "It's fine it's just a bracelet I don't care I'll wear it if you want." Can't help the way his serotonin skyrockets at the pure joy that overtakes you when the magnets connect.

Seungkwan

Teases you relentlessly about how attached to him you are. Is crying on the inside bc you love him. Loves the bracelets tho. He loves matching couples stuff so this only spurs him on to buy more things like it. Now you have matching shoes, matching necklaces, matching earrings, matching hats, etc. you have to tell him to cool it because you're running out of space in your closet and drawers. He buys you another wardrobe.

Vernon

Bought them after you mentioned them. Vernon doesn't know a lot outside of movie trivia, but he sure as hell knows when his girl is hinting for him to buy something. He thinks they're cute but not a big deal at all. Lost it after a week. You're a little sad about it so he ends up buying another set

Dino

Bought them. Basically cried to get you to agree. Not that you didn't want them, you just thought that he was way too serious about them. Loves holding your hand so they connect while you're walking together. He will cry if he sees you not wearing it. Please don't make him cry.

[starlighthosh]

idk where to request this, i have a a list of my favorite writers and I thought about you 🥹🥹HAHAHAHA so basically its cheol dating someone back in their trainee days, she was also a trainee but left because pledis cant debut another group CAUSE THEY ARE BROKE. Well there are a lot of videos of seventeen during their trainee era in that melona room and fans saw random videos of her taking care of cheol, since if you saw cheol in that room he was at his rebellious era 😭😭😭 only she can stop him, AND MANY YEARS AFTER ITS 10TH ANNIVERSARY OF SEVENTEEN (HAPPY BURSTDAY TO YOU) and fans were wondering what happened, AND THEY'RE STILL DATING GOING STRONG WOHOOO and only announced it today, no one can stop cheol, she also has a successful career non idol or idol yeah AND THAT'S JUST CUTE HAHAHA

That’s such a long but still such a fun request🫡 and thank you for choosing me for this🫶🏻

Definitely took me a while to write it, but I hope you still enjoy. Happy burstday to you too:)

melona memories - c.sc

extra warning: idol!reader, secret relationship, established relationship

The first time fans noticed you was in an old video with bad quality from over a decade ago. You were just kids with great goals and Seventeen was still just a dream.

You weren’t actually supposed to be in the shot, the focus was meant to be on Seventeen practicing, dancing, sweating, laughing. But you somehow still made it into the video. Only slightly, but enough for fans to go crazy about it. You were kneeling down next to cheol, handing him a water bottle and brushing the fringe of his sweaty forehead with a towel, tender like someone who knew him better than anyone else.

“Who’s that girl with cheol?” “She’s the only one he ever let scold him😭” “That’s the girl who left pledis!!”

Now it’s been ten whole years since seventeen debuted. Back then you were watching them from the shadows, the quiet corners and the seats of a concert, letting them shine while you built up your own success. You debuted a few years later under another agency, making your own name as a soloist. But cheol has always been the guy you came back home to at the end of the day.

You never stopped dating since the trainee days. Not when you left the company, not when you debuted years later and not when he grew to be the leader of thirteen boys, carrying the weight of a whole fandom on his back. In all the chaos, you were his peace.

“Are you sure?” you asked that morning, your voice groggy as you sat up in bed. The tweets have gone viral overnight, both of your phones exploding with messages from several people and fans. Cheol was scrolling through the fan edits, a faint grin playing on his lips while he watched the fans piece the puzzle together.

“They figured it out anyway” he replied, turning the phone to show you the edits of the same video with a dramatic zoom into your face. You laughed, leaning against his shoulder. “They will go insane when they find out you’ve been hiding me for all those years”

Seungcheol pulled you in, his voice gentle. “I never hid you. Just protected us”. You knew that, he never made you feel like a secret just once. Instead you were his safe place from flashing cameras, pressure from the company and the weight of being a leader. But now it felt right to show the world what you two have been quietly nurturing.

The company obviously was hesitant about it. “You’re both active idols. It’s seventeens tenth anniversary. Think of the timing and the fans”. But neither of you really cared this time. No matter how much hate you would get, you could make it through it. Together and separately.

So you made it official. A picture of two hands intertwined. You wore a silver ring and fans could remember a familiar bracelet on the other wrist. No tags, no caption.

Seungcheol followed an hour later with his favorite picture of you two. It was from the night of his birthday two years ago. You didn’t know you were being photographed, which makes the picture just so much more authentic, laughing and enjoying each others presence without any fears.

“From the melona room till today, still my favorite person. My peace🤍”

The internet exploded. Fan theories, clips of soft smiles and eye contact all pointing back to you. The best part though was that everyone was happy. They weren’t mad. They could detect the love you two have been sharing for so long with great care.

Later that night, when the world quieted and the sun set from the loud day, you found yourself in your shared apartment. Legs were tangled on the couch and two bowls of ramyeon between you. “You never thought we had to announce it, hm?” you teased. Cheol smiled, lazy and content. “We didn’t need to, but it’s cute they figured it out anyway”

You placed your bowl down and leaned into him. “Ten years already. The time just flew by”. He nodded. “Yeah and you still make me feel like it’s just dumb teenage love” cheol mumbled, removing little strands of hair out of your face. You giggled, looking up to meet his eyes. And he kissed you, soft and grateful.

In this loud world that never stops spinning, you’ve been the only constant.

[thewritingfairy]

𓂃⋆.˚A long day

In which (Name) attempted to wash their hair and Duke ends up helping 

I'm feeling uh so it's a they/them reader with a non-specific curl type (the picture of the lady is just because I think she's so pretty-. I think she's from the interview with a vampire?) Because I did my hair for driving classes today (as you can't drive with clawclips in which I usually wear and I can't use a banana clamp because it can snap open) and I paid the price with my pain levels- SO this is based on my Nobody's child fic as I love that dynamic between Duke and (Name). trigger warnings: drabble unedited, Duke having small yandere-like tendencies but not a lot you ignoring the bats like it's a full time job

main m.list    series m.list   bad ending m.list

You are going to kill someone, specifically Dick. Because what do you mean 'I want to do your hair' when you don't even trust Dick? The only thing you want is to do your hair get to work, have a fun night shift and then go out with your friends.

Washing your hair is already a whole task, especially styling it with how stubborn it is, and you have no patience for Dick and his bullshit. You don't want him around especially with your irritation levels already rising. You are making such a mess and you can't seem to get all that shampoo out of your hair, you can't help but groan in anger as it all gets to much. Especially with Dick still trying to convince you to let him help you outside of your bathroom door. So without hesitation you text Duke;

˚₊IDIOT WITH NO WILL TO LIVE˙⋆

pls come save me from the moron named Dick and help me with my hair if you have the time I can't do this anymore- I'll own you

˚₊MY FAV BROTHER˙⋆

Coming, I get to pick your hairstyle :)

˚₊IDIOT WITH NO WILL TO LIVE˙⋆

I'm fine with that, just pls don't let me do this, my arms are already burning after just shampoo, my pain is having trouble with deciding to be low or so high that I feel like passing out ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

Duke truly is a miracle worker, Dick was waiting outside of your bathroom door attempting to convince you to let him do your hair and the second Duke said; "Please fuck off."

He fucked off.

Truly, he needs to teach you his ways.

When you unlocked the bathroom door Duke winces, the bathroom is a mess and you are basically hyper ventilating with water running down your face and neck. "Jesus, I'm glad that your uniform is a button up-" he mumbles as he grabs a towel to wipe down the floor. "go hang over the bad tub, I'm washing your hair as well as styling."

"I love you," you say as you sigh in relief. "I can not do this on my own."

"You can, just not today," Duke hums patting your back in a comforting matter. "so let me do it."

You hum as you close your eyes. It feels like heaven as Duke rubs in your shampoo, once you feel better you really need to learn new tricks to do your hair on your own. But for now you'll enjoy his help.

But to Duke this is amazing, you hate it when people touch your hair. He had helped you before, as well as your friends but that was only after procedures. Researches that left you unable to care for yourself. Yet here you are trusting him enough to help you even when you can still move, he knows it's because you have to work and you have plans tonight. Plans he'll follow you to ensure your safety

but you still asked for his help

While he was doing your hair you two chatted about your plans tonight. Willow had convinced all of you to try out this new karoake place in some abanoned part of Gotham (truly who starts a Karoake joint in the middle of nowhere?) and all of you thought it would be pretty funny to see Maria fail at singing high notes (something you suck at as well, but that's why you two always sing together, double the fun!).

"Do you want to airdry or diffuse?" Duke asks when he's finished with styling.

"Difusse, airdrying takes too long," you tell him as you grab your diffuser. "I know you hate difussing, but can you help me with the back? I don't care if it's get frizzy."

"Alright, just tell me you have heat protectant." He groans out as he takes the machine out of your hand looking at it like it's cursed.

"uh-"

"Idiot-"

fun fact I never diffuse because it brings my pain up so high I cannot move my arm for a whole ass day- And it makes my hair dry and stringy. like actual straw idk if it is because my hair is a mix of fine to normal to some thick-ish strands. Duke hating diffusers is just me hating on them-

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[gu-ro]

I have SO MANY FUCKING FEELINGS about this scene.

Ok so

A) trans vibes. Eli was born a boy, and thats part of what she's expressing here, and Oskar just rolls with it. One of big themes of the book is the isolation inherent to growing up queer in an environment that doesnt have the space for you. The fact that Oskar is unfazed by this is sweet but also shows that Oskar is also probably a bit queer. Throughout the book he's bullied by peers to the point of it basically being a hate crime. This book pulls a reverse uno on who the monster is. Yes Eli is a vampire but she's not the evil one in the story. She just needs to survive.

B) the other big thing is that the book parallels vamparism and sexual trauma. How its this parasitic cancer that lurks in the corners of society people want to ignore. Eli has had many lifetimes worth of sexual trauma imposed on her. Her birth into vampirism was castration and was subsequently kept as a sex-slave-blood-bag. After escaping she learned that toxic men will give her things she needs if she allows them physical access to her. Some people misconstrue this in the same way people do Lolita, where in lolita its an unreliable narrator describing what he's deluded himself into thinking is happening. Similarly people ascribe adult levels of intention to Eli, claiming that she IS manipulative but its important to remember that Eli is 12. Eli is not an adult. If Eli is engaging in this behavior its because she's heavily traumatized.

So when Oskar asks her to date- and she asks "do you do anything special" sure it could be read as childhood innocence, but really its her asking "do I have to fuck you". In the book the interaction goes further. Initially, he's turned down, and Oskar is clearly sad, so Eli offers to kiss him to make him feel better. This showing she's clearly internalized that she can placate people and smooth things over by allowing access to herself physically.

Oskar however is a late bloomer. In the book its established that he doesnt understand sex. He finds a playboy magazine in the basement of his apartment complex and is mostly confused. So his answer here is of course that of a child. No of course theres nothing special beyond their intention. Only then does Eli agree.

Eli gets to BE a child here. For the first time in 400 years Eli gets to have an age appropriate relationship and BE a child again.

And Jesus fuck wow.

As someone who has a long history of sexual trauma I see myself a lot in Eli. This part of the book is so sweet and healing to me.

Let the Right One In (2008) | dir. Tomas Alfredson  

[creature-wizard]

How to persuade people more effectively

So my lovely Tumblr people, I think you can agree that we are facing dreadful times and that it would be wonderful if we could get out of them. As we all know, changing anything in society and politics requires changing a lot of of minds, which often feels like a Herculean task. Since I believe in trying to fight smarter rather than harder, here's my list of advice to make this work easier.

Ask yourself if you’re really up to the task.

If you’re really tired or not in a good mood, you might want to pass. If you’re looking at someone who’s really obnoxious and maybe likely to set you off in bad ways, you can pass. If OP has a username that signals an extreme viewpoint like retvrn1488, maga5ever, or wyldwombyn, consider that just blocking them may be your best choice. Also, you’re probably never going to get anywhere with someone who thinks you’re beneath them – if someone obviously holds you in contempt, just don’t bother. You are not required to try and educate or argue with everybody who’s wrong. Pick your battles.

Know your stuff.

I’ve made the mistake of trying to talk about things that I didn’t know nearly as much about as I should have a few times. Even though I wasn’t wrong, I just didn’t have enough information to demonstrate that my positions were justified. Each time I tried this, it basically blew up in my face. Please don’t repeat my mistakes.

Ask yourself: Can you explain and justify your position without repeating a soundbite like “X is a conspiracy theory” or “Y is racist”? Can you show why it’s a conspiracy theory? Can you show how it’s racist? If you can’t, you’re not ready yet. Go level up first!

Stay composed and be charismatic.

I know this is sometimes easier said than done, but coming off as calm and confident does wonders, especially in contrast with someone who just can’t hold it together. It also helps to have a big vocabulary and to be articulate, and to inject an energy into your message that makes people feel empowered and motivated.

Don't talk to people like they've been consciously choosing evil just because they want to.

People don't do that. People believe that what they've been doing is either good, neutral, or necessary to survive. Functionally telling people "you're evil and you know it" signals to most people that you're a bad faith actor. (The ones who will actually agree with you are probably deeply traumatized from abuse and/or suffering from moral OCD.)

Don’t show contempt.

Showing contempt signals that the person you’re arguing with isn’t worth taking seriously. This is can be useful for handling bad faith actors who come and try to make themselves your problem. You know you aren’t going to change their minds, but you can signal to anyone watching that this person is an utter fool, even a laughingstock while signaling to them that they aren't getting anywhere with you.

If you’re trying to actually change somebody’s mind, you do not want to show them that they aren’t worth taking seriously. You want them to feel respected, like you think they’re smart and have ideas and feelings worthy of attention. I know this can be easier said than done! But if you begin with the assumption that the person you’re talking to is capable of learning and probably has some insights, values, and opinions worthy of consideration, you’re going to give off a much better vibe for them.

Don’t attack people personally.

If you’re trying to persuade someone, don’t call them racist, sexist, bigoted, etc. Don’t call them ignorant, stupid, or whatever. This is basically just a form of showing contempt. Again, showing contempt has its uses, but persuading people isn’t one of them.

A lot of people assume that the people they want to persuade think very highly of themselves and if they just cut their ego down to size they’ll become receptive and listen. But most people are just going to see an attack and nope out. Besides that, teaching self-hatred is how capitalism manipulates people into making themselves more profitable and marketable, and it’s also one of the ways white patriarchy manipulates people into taking on its repressive and often oppressive roles. Self-hatred is the weapon of the enemy, we don’t need it.

Don’t play the victim.

Playing the victim isn’t the same as acknowledging that you have been abused or harmed, or acknowledging that you lived a life where everything was stacked against you. Talking about ways you’ve been victimized doesn’t equal playing the victim, contrary to what some bad faith actors out there say.

Playing the victim is about the role you take on in a social interaction, where you position yourself as fragile, put-upon, and vulnerable. It’s the kind of thing a lot of white women do when things don’t go their way. It’s also a habit that’s easy to pick up if you don’t have firm boundaries. People who haven’t realized they can just go, “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to have this interaction, so I just won’t,” might start traumadumping, or try to shame the other person, or try to make a big guilt trip. “How dare you talk to me this way, you don’t know what I’ve been through! You’re so selfish, you don’t think about anyone but yourself! You’re forcing me to do all this work for you because you’re so entitled!”

I know, people can be really frustrating. Sometimes they can be incredibly upsetting. Sometimes they can send us spiraling into dangerous places. But the thing about playing the victim is that it not only doesn’t persuade people, but it’s also really unhealthy for you. It feeds a narrative that you are always disempowered, even when you’re not. On the Internet, you can usually just choose to not interact if things get overwhelming, and maybe use the block button. It can be harder to get away from people offline, but it’s important to do the best you can.

It’s also useful to recognize when you’re getting defensive and to know what you can do when that happens. Here’s a page that might help you with this.

Don't act like anyone you wouldn't listen to.

When's the last time you've listened to one of those street preachers screaming about everything they think is wrong with society and yelling at people to repent of their sins? Never, right? Don't act like the kind of people you would ignore.

Be a good listener.

Persuading people isn’t just about saying what you want them to hear, it’s also about listening to them so they feel like you’re engaging with them, rather than talking down to them. Plus, listening helps you assess what they actually know and believe, which helps you determine what you need to say to them. Here’s a page to help you improve your listening skills. (And I know stuff like maintaining eye contact and reading body language isn’t always easy or possible for people – just try to do the best you can!)

Validate people where you can.

Validation signals that you understand and care about people’s problems, which makes them more open and trusting. You don’t have to validate bigotry or anything like that, but you can validate how frustrating it is to deal with high grocery prices, politicians who don’t seem to care, and lots of everyday frustrations. This is also how you begin building solidarity, by the way – when people see how we all suffer the same way, they can begin to see that we’re all working toward a common goal.

Use anecdotes.

It would be wonderful if we could just show people scientific data and have them be persuaded by it all the time, but for many people data feels abstract and not really real. (It probably also doesn’t help that most people don’t understand how the data was collected.) However, anecdotes often feel more real to people, and have a lot more persuasion power. (Consider how many “this happened to a friend of a friend” stories get passed around like gospel!) Personal anecdotes are really great – telling someone about your awesome trans friend can do a lot do make them reconsider their prejudices about trans people.

But also, have scientific/scholarly resources.

Some people are going to be sharp enough that anecdotes won’t work on them – and good for them, honestly! Also, scientific and scholarly resources can lend further credence to anecdotes. So try to have them on hand, if you possibly can!

Give people reasons.

People don’t like doing things if they don’t feel like there’s any good reason for it. Also, be aware that different types of reasons will be more or less compelling to different people. Some people will find moral reasons compelling on their own, while some people will respond better to a “how this benefits you personally” reason. Someone might respond better to “we shouldn’t do X because it hurts the environment” than to “we shouldn’t do X because it’s cultural appropriation.” (And of course we want people to understand that cultural appropriation is bad, but that’s going to be a whole other thing you’re going to have to give reasons for!)

Adjust your rhetoric for the person you’re talking to.

Though we all share many common values, we also understand the world through many different lenses use different language to communicate what we see and feel. We also prioritize certain ideals over others.

If I were going to talk about the racism in the Republican party to a strongly Christian person or a New Agey person, I might say that all of this stuff they’re saying about immigrants is meant to stir up fear and divide people, then go on to talk about how the data just doesn’t support this idea that immigrants are as violent as they say.

If I were talking to the kind of person who strongly believes in the ideals of freedom and liberty, I might talk about how anti-queer legislation infringes on people’s freedom to live how they see fit. I might bring up that it violates their constitutional right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Offer alternatives.

The easiest way to end a bad habit or belief is to replace it with a good (or at least neutral) habit or belief. For example, if you’re trying to persuade people to stop using unsourced white sage (here's information on the problem with this, if you don't know), list alternatives such as rosemary and juniper.

Leave them with additional resources to explore.

Keeping a big list of resources on hand is the secret to activism bliss. Okay, maybe not, but it sure makes things a lot easier! If someone is really curious and engaged, they’ll often be willing to explore resources if you have them. Do try and make sure that not all of your resources are locked behind paywalls or require a deep understanding of specialized language. Curating resources accessible to any means and level of education will help you maximize your ability to persuade and educate.