#best coding program for schools

[creyalearningsblog]

Creya Learning & Research the pioneer and most awarded STEM learning and Design Studio Program inspires 50,000+ school students every day to become inventors and innovators by working on projects across diversemanipulative sets from Robotics to Engineering design to Coding to Cameras and IoThttps://www.creyalearning.com/stemlearning/

[why-the-heck-not]

what the fuck, I miss math courses?? why??? they’re always a misery, why do I crave misery ???

[inbabylontheywept]

Reach Heaven (Through Violence)

When I was in 2nd grade, my school started a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. I want to emphasize that I started out very excited for this program. I was a small, visibly autistic child on a playground with fourth graders on it. In theory, this program might as well have been called The Rescue Babs Initiative. 

In practice, however, zero-tolerance programs almost always sink into madness. The motivations never line up right - too many incentives for cheating.

The first victim of the program was actually my friend, Sam. I was standing next to him in line when one of the fourth graders gut punched him. There was no reason for the punch, he was just small and in arm's reach. Sam got the wind knocked out of him, but he managed to gasp out the phrase stupid motherfucker right as the playground aide ran over to keep the peace. 

(Sam had an incredible vocabulary for a 2nd grader. Consequence of his dad being a recently divorced mechanic.)

Puncher got a two week suspension. That was fine. But Sam got a one week one for verbal abuse, which was beyond the pale. But that’s just what zero-tolerance is, right? No hitting became a rule everyone had to follow, and it didn't stop when someone hit us. So our options as kids were to somehow make like Jesus and ascend up to heaven… or solve things ourselves. 

We started solving things ourselves. 

I'll be honest, I think that was always the plan. A school can do a lot of things to reduce bullying, but if the goal is zero, there's only one path forward: Shoot the messenger. 

---

My part in the story was a few weeks after that. Long enough to know that the school's new unofficial policy was to suspend kids that reported problems, short enough to have no idea how to defend myself. It turned out the 4th grader that hit Sam was part of a trio, and that trio had their sights on me next. 

I asked some of my classmates what to do, and they said that the best idea was to just ignore the bullies. Refuse to give them a reaction. That was dogshit advice, but it was common enough in the early 2000s and it's not like I can fault 2nd graders for not knowing much about life. 

Anyway. I took the advice and I ignored my bullies. I ignored them when they said nasty things about my mom, and I ignored them when they bounced soccer balls off my head, and the one time I broke was when the biggest of the trio grabbed my arm hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. We were watching a movie in the gym when he did that, and I leaned over and told him he could hold my hand if he was scared of the dark. Which worked, thank God. The grip hurt bad enough I had to excuse myself for a bit to keep my composure. 

I think a more mentally flexible kid would've changed strategies by then. Clearly, things were escalating. But it's hard for me to change my mind, so I stuck to my bad strategy, right up until the day the big kids caught me after school. I was crossing the baseball field when they got me. It was just one of those places you had to walk through to make it to the bike rack. 

The big guy, again, was the instigator. He pushed me down then stood over me, yelling for me to get back up. But I knew that if I got back up, he'd just push me down again, and for whatever reason, their Bully Code didn't allow for kicking a kid that was already down. So I stuck to the grass, and they tried a bunch of things to goad me into standing back up. Eventually, I started kicking at them while on my back, and one of them took the opportunity to grab my leg. Second bully thought that looked fun, so he grabbed my other leg. Kicking me like that was off limits, but dragging wasn't, so they just started pulling me around that way. 

They were so much taller than me that I was almost vertical during the pull so all my weight was put on my shoulders. And the fields were just made of unkind stuff. There was crushed gravel all over the place, spilled out from the divider between the big kid playground and the little kid playground, so every time they dragged me over a piece it just ripped a new gouge up my back. The ground itself was sunbaked caliche and dead crabgrass. There was a grit to it, like sand stuck to the outside of a clay pot. 

It grated all the skin off my upper back. Everything between the bottom of my neck to the bottom of my shoulder blades. I don't know at what points I went from yelling, to screaming, to just crying, but I did, and I know they seemed almost giddy every time it changed. Eventually they finished off with one loop around the baseball diamond and that hurt the worst. The dust there stuck to the snot and spit all over my face and made it into a foul mud, and the same happened in my shirt. The dust stung like salt, and the gravel in the lines tore open a few more cuts for dirt to pour in. I remember them stopping, and actually crying again I was so relieved. It was done. Thank God, it was finally done. They were done hurting me. 

They left me on my back near homebase. They'd finally got the reaction they were looking for.

It took me a few minutes after that to stagger back to my feet. I was able to wash the snot-mud off my face in the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to touch my back. It just felt like it was on fire. Then I made it back to the bike rack. 

That’s where my older sister, Liz, was waiting for me. She was just a grade ahead of me but it always felt bigger than that. There’s some deep weight associated with being the oldest. She could see that I was dirty and tear soaked so she asked what happened. I didn’t know how to put it in words, so I just tried lifting my shirt to show her. It made a sticky, tacky sound coming up - like the plastic coat coming off a slice of American cheese. Tchhhhk. 

I didn’t know how bad they’d got me before I heard that noise.

She looked at my back for maybe two seconds before telling me to put my shirt back down. I never actually looked at it when it was fresh, but I still had straggling scars by the time I got to highschool. Long silver-grey lines, visible mostly for the dirt still stuck in them. She looked a little sick when I turned around, but she kept it cool, which I really appreciated. I always hated crying in public, and I was half a hair from crying all over again. I don't think I'd have been able to keep it together if she'd freaked out too. 

Instead, she just asked me some questions. Who did this, how long they’d been doing it, what I’d been doing, if I’d told anyone. Some 4th graders, a month, trying to ignore them, nobody. 

She mulled those answers over. I could see her trying to chart a course forward - trying to figure out what it would take to solve this problem for good. She's always had this weird, sad, blank face that she'd make when she found a solution she didn't like. She'd make that face, then think some more, then make the face. Then think. 

Eventually, she just made the face. 

Don't tell the parents, she said. I can fix this. But only if you don’t tell them. 

I believed her. She was the most capable person I knew, and her word was gold. So I didn't tell our parents. I biked home, and every drop of sweat that rolled down my back felt like acid on my skin. I remember getting home and beelining straight to the bath, because I needed something to put the fire out. Took that as my moment to cry it out again too. First time I'd cried was from pain, but the second time was from the cruelty. Second time took longer, but the nice thing about a cold bath is that the water never runs out. I could just pop the plug out with my toes and just keep rinsing and draining and rinsing and draining until my mind was as clean and empty and stark as the tub itself. Then I could go fill that emptiness up with Calvin and Hobbes. 

It worked.

Mostly. 

---

I spent the whole next week feeling nervous anytime I was outside and Liz wasn't nearby. Some days she'd beat me to the bike racks, and I'd be relieved as hell to just go home. Other days, I'd be the first one out, and then I'd have to spend a few minutes worrying about what I'd do if the big kids showed up. But they never did. Liz always got there just a few minutes later, and I'd pretend I hadn't been planning escape routes.

Friday, I was sweating by myself when she showed up a few minutes later than normal. She unlocked her bike but she didn't move to leave. She had this big, long cable-type lock, maybe  six feet of braided steel. She folded it over in her hands so it looked like a swatter and swung it a few times in the air. Made it whistle like a falling anvil in a cartoon.

Today's baseball practice, she said. All Our Guys are on the baseball team. 

Our Guys. Odd phrasing. Also, I actually hadn't known that about them, but I nodded along anyway. She wasn't really looking at me as she talked - she was inspecting the lock.

My plan, she continued, is to wait here until baseball's done. Me and you. When it gets time I'll send you outside the bike cage.

The cage was a chain link fence, maybe six feet tall, built all around the rack. They’d lock it after school as an extra precaution against bike thieves. 

Your job, she continued, will be to hold the gate closed after they're all in. Keep em’ stuck. Think you can do that? 

She was being very frank, which helped me think clearly. I didn't think I could actually hold the gate closed if all of them ran into it at once, but I knew where a big half broken cinder block was, and I knew if I could wedge it in there, it would hold. So I told her that. 

Great, she said. Do that. 

Then I went to go get the block. She gave the cable a few more experimental swings, right as I made it around the corner. 

I'd been thinking in straight lines before that. Just meeting goals. It wasn't until that moment that I really allowed myself to know what was happening. That I allowed myself to have a choice. 

I chose to jog a little faster. I wanted revenge. 

---

I came back with the block a few minutes later, then we just talked like nothing was happening. The sun was shining, and we’d both gotten into bionicles, and it was easy to talk and be people. Normal, happy people. 

But that feeling went away when I heard the coach tweet a long whistle. Me and Liz both knew that was the signal that practice was done. I walked out and got my bric while she folded the cable in half in her hand again. Then we both waited. 

Eventually I saw the kids that drug me around the baseball diamond emerge from behind the portables. I watched them make a straight line back to the bike rack. They were laughing together, having a good time. Being normal. Like me and my sister. I realized I could let things be normal too. I saw my chance to let things go softball pitched to me, nice and easy, and I didn't even bother to swing. I didn't want normal anymore. I wanted this. I knew why my sister had that lock, and I'd thought about it, and I liked it.  

God help me, I think I needed it. 

The kids went inside the bike cage. I gave them ten paces head start, then put the cinder block under the gate. That was the signal Liz had been waiting for. 

She blitzed those boys. There were three of them, and the smallest still had two inches on her, so they probably would have kicked her ass if they ever had a moment to think. But she never gave them that moment. She picked the biggest kid, and decided he needed the first blow. I remember how much muscle she put into that swing - the cable was so heavy, and she was so small, that it kind of swung her back as she made that first half spin. Like a dog getting wagged by its own tail. 

It was a perfect connection. Flawless. She swung through her target, not at it, and the resulting slap that the cable made bouncing off the biggest kid's stomach was loud enough to echo through the cage. It brought a tear to my eye. It brought a tear to his eye too. 

The trio split after that, bouncing around the cage like fresh broke billiards. I can't describe how Liz did it, exactly, but she managed to chase the boys back together so she could hit them all more efficiently. She had a real knack for getting them right between the shoulders, so I never got to see the real perfection of her work, but she wasn't above swinging for the arms or legs if that was all she had. Those marks I could see, and they were brutal. The welts were wider and thicker than my thumb, like giant purple worms were trying to burrow out of their skin. Some even bled. I cheered on every hit. 

Liz, for her part, just had a sort of grim, single minded determination to her. She was so angry she was shaking, and so scared that tears just kept running down her face, and she was grinning all the way back to her molars, but the grin didn't get any bigger after a solid hit than a glancing one. When the kids started blubbering, she didn't change her process. I'd spent my time crying, she'd spent her time crying, of course they were getting theirs in too: That's what violence does. It brings tears. Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind. 

Eventually, one of the kids split off from the main herd and scrambled up the fence, gecko-style. Liz let him go. It was either that, or take her attention off the other two. Easy choice. 

Now, there were two kids left, the big one, and one of his smaller friends. Smaller friend did the same trick. I was worried he was gonna turn back, fight me and open the gate for his buddy, but he just fled for the hills. I remember thinking, damn, I hope they never forgive each other for this. I hope this ruins their whole friendship. I hope this festers into something awful. 

The one kid that was left really was trapped though. He wasn't built for climbing and he had no one to work as a distraction for him. Every time he started trying to make it up the fence, my sister would just twist up like a spring, then swing the cable with both hands right into his spine. The slap it made every time she did that was loud enough to hurt my ears. He never made it more than two hits like that before hopping off the fence and just trying to run around some more. He could get Liz tangled up in the bikes for a bit if he really tried, but it never bought him enough time to actually get out. She'd always find her way out of the thicket, swing the cable, and send him running again. 

Eventually, he just couldn't run anymore. He sat down, and my sister hit him a few times, telling him to stand up. He refused. He knew he was gonna get hit either way, so he might as well get hit sitting down. He put his arms up after a bit and let those take a beating too. Eventually he just started begging her to stop. So she did. 

He cried he was so relieved. I remembered how that felt: It’s done. Thank God, it’s finally done. They’re done hurting me. 

Liz told me to come in and show him my back. I took my shirt off, and I showed him a scab as large as a dinner plate. Cracked up like dry river mud. 

He looked sick. Started babbling about how he didn't know. Said he thought I was crying because I was just a kid - that he didn't know he was actually hurting me. That he'd just wanted to get a rise out of me and didn't know it would take so much. 

He didn't know he'd gone too far until it was too late. 

And suddenly, it was like looking in a mirror. 

Two snotty, welted boys, crying alone in the dirt. Backs burning like fire. Ashamed. Trapped. Realizing that they'd just done something awful, and worse, that they’d dragged the people that meant the most to them along for the ride. 

I hated him more at that moment than when he drug me over gravel. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill anything but their own brokenness reflected. Looking at him was unbearable. Like staring straight into the sun. 

I could've hit him again if I hadn't just gorged myself on violence. But I had. I was fat with it, sick and aching - anything more and I would have puked. So I just told him to get his bike and go. Please. Just go. 

He did. He staggered to his feet, and he grabbed his bike before running away like all the demons in hell were following behind. All bar two. There was a swingset nearby, and once he was fully out of sight, Liz and I walked over to it. We picked two seats next to each other and sat for a while, talking until our hands stopped shaking. Can’t remember about what. We didn’t really know how to process what had just happened. Still don’t, to be honest. 

Then we went home.

---

Thanks to @elisabethdeep-blog, @foldingfittedsheets, @amateurmasksmith, @caramel-catss @arataya, and @rozenkingdom for being my alpha readers.

And thanks @lizardho, for being my first friend, my best friend, and my childhood bodyguard. I know it took a toll on you. I'm truly sorry.

[newageworldschoolbangalore]

Have you ever thought about how important coding is for kids in this modern world? With AI becoming a big part of every industry, it’s clear that the heart of AI is machine learning, which boils down to coding.

In this blog post, we’re going to break down what coding really is, introduce you to what a programming language is, explain the main purpose of coding, and share seven benefits of coding for kids. So, let’s dive right in!

[crushedsweets]

CREEPED VISUAL NOVEL Link, tutorial, extra art, Q&A, some chatter

The CREEPED Prologue is completely free and browser-ready. Gameplay is about 10 minutes. Please read the "tutorial" and notes before playing!

Follow Y/N and their dog, Max, through their grandparents' farm and a mysterious forest filled with...less than fortunate people!

PLAY HERE; works best on PC

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T

anyway thank you if you read this far and thank you if you played etc etc yaahhhhhh omg ok BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING im just so grateful to be in this fandom

[cleveredlearning]

Empowering Young Minds: The Best Online Coding Classes for Kids

Introduction:

In today's fast-paced digital era, nurturing a child's interest in coding from a young age has become essential. As technology continues to evolve, the demand for skilled programmers and coders is on the rise. To prepare the younger generation for the future, online coding classes for kids in dubai have gained immense popularity. In this article, we explore the top platforms offering the best online coding classes for kids and delve into the International Young Coders Program, a globally recognized initiative.

The Importance of Early Coding Education:

Understanding coding at an early age not only introduces children to the world of technology but also nurtures problem-solving skills, logical thinking, and creativity. Online coding schools for kids provide a structured and engaging environment where children can learn programming languages, develop apps, and explore the foundations of computational thinking.

Clevered stands out as a leading platform offering free coding courses for kids of all ages in dubai. Their curriculum is designed to make coding accessible and enjoyable. The interactive nature of the courses ensures that kids learn coding concepts while having fun. It allows children to create their own interactive stories, games, and animations. The drag-and-drop interface makes it user-friendly, promoting creativity and collaboration within the Clevered community.

Features of the International Young Coders Program:a. Global Curriculum:

The Clevered offers a comprehensive and globally relevant curriculum, ensuring that children receive a well-rounded coding education. The program covers various programming languages, including Python, Scratch, and JavaScript, providing a solid foundation for future learning.

b. Experienced Instructors:

The program is led by a team of experienced and dedicated instructors who are experts in their respective fields. These instructors bring a wealth of knowledge and enthusiasm, making the learning experience engaging and inspiring for young participants.

c. Interactive Learning Environment:

The Clevered employs cutting-edge technology to create an interactive and collaborative learning environment. Through virtual classrooms, coding challenges, and group projects, children can enhance their coding skills while interacting with peers from different parts of the world.

d. Certifications and Recognition:

Upon completion of the International Young Coders Program, participants receive certifications that are globally recognized. These certifications serve as a testament to the skills acquired during the program, enhancing the participants' profiles for future educational and professional opportunities.

e. Cultural Exchange:

In addition to coding skills, the IYCP encourages cultural exchange among participants. By connecting with young coders from diverse backgrounds, children not only broaden their perspectives but also develop valuable interpersonal skills.

Conclusion:

Investing in the coding education of children is an investment in the future. By equipping them with coding skills and fostering a passion for technology, we empower the next generation to tackle the challenges of the digital age with confidence and creativity. Whether through free online courses or structured international programs, the opportunities for young coders are endless, setting the stage for a brighter and more innovative tomorrow.

[likeumeanit9497]

made for me | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: it's been three years since they've seen one another, two and a half since they last spoke to one another. but on this night, time seems to stand still as they meet once again.

warnings: SMUT; angst; unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); handjob; mentions of alcohol; dirty talk; 18+

notes: hey party people...i...have been trying to work on this singular one shot for months. i've been so busy with school (yes, my program goes over the summer how lucky am i!!!!) and have had absolutely no motivation to write more than like a paragraph or two in one sitting. i miss writing and the tumblr community sooo badly literally every single day, but unfortunately i just have to accept the fact that i don't have the free time i had this time last year. so long story short i'm still here and will still be writing whenever i have the time (and inspiration) to, but pls be patient with me if i disappear for months again (and again). i love you all and appreciate the support u all have given me for over a year (WHAT?!?!?) i hope u enjoy this little angsty fic <3333

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

You winced as the tequila burned your throat down to your stomach. Bringing a lime to your lips and sucking desperately, you shut your eyes so that all you could focus on was the sound of blaring music coming from the speakers littered throughout the house. You were at a party, which is not unlike you on a Saturday night. In fact, you couldn’t even remember a weekend that you hadn’t spent stumbling through crowds of people in a strange house — their figures so blurred you couldn’t even see the faces of the men you let take you home at the end of the night.

It was still early, this shot being only your second of the night, but you had a feeling that it would be far from your last. The past week had been especially stressful — you had told your friends that it was your busy work schedule or that finals were coming up, but you knew what the true reason for the stagnant pit in your stomach was. Matt — your best friend since first grade, your first love, and the one who you thought would be your forever — had been rumoured to be back in Boston for the first time since you saw him last, three years ago.

You dropped the lime and leaned against the countertop — hoping that your body language wouldn’t give away your despair but rather lead your friends to believe that the shot was sitting wrong. When he left three years ago, deep-seeded love combined with youthful naivety blinded you to the severity of your distance. You were so certain that no matter what, you and he would be okay and that the love that felt so powerful at the time would never fade.

Only one of those things proved to be true — and after only six months of him living across the country, one gut-wrenching phone call put an end to what you thought would be your forever. You had no idea that, upon picking up that call, you would shatter the years of what was, but it was as though your mouth formed the words without the help of your mind, and once they were spoken aloud, you both dissolved into tears of acceptance. Not because it was what either of you wanted, but because it was what you believed both of you needed.

That was two and a half years ago, and you hadn’t seen him since. He had been busy with his career in LA, and at times you allowed yourself to search him up — watching his YouTube videos with his brothers — just to allow your chest a moment to ache for what once was. Because the truth was, no matter how much you drank or how often you moaned out the name of another man, his face was what haunted your dreams each night. And now, he was allegedly back home — living, breathing within the same time zone; the same zip code as you.

You shuddered, pushing away the thoughts you had been attempting to drink away as you lifted yourself off the counter. Reaching for the bottle of tequila, you were sure you felt eyes on you. And as you began pouring the clear liquid into a shot glass, you nearly lost your grip as your eyes lifted to find the culprit. Because no more than 10 feet in front of you — as though he had been summoned by your disparaging thoughts just moments before — stood Matt.

It was disorienting seeing him in this environment — at 18 years old you and he cared very little for the house parties of your peers. Yet there he stood, a figure so familiar yet somehow completely different. Arms once completely bare now covered in tattoos crossed against his chest while his eyes — the same crystal blue from your dreams — burned your skin as they travelled across it. The room had grown deadly silent; whether that was truly the work of those around you or simply the fact that the blood roaring in your ears muted their chatter, you weren’t sure. But in that moment, you and he were the only ones in that room.

Not a word had been spoken between you two, yet your frantic, searching eyes seemed to have a conversation of their own. After what could have been hours, Matt’s eyes dragged themselves from you before he began heading in the direction of the stairs. Your stomach dropped at the sickeningly familiar tug, as if an invisible string tied you to him and refused to let go. Fingers white against the counter top, you forced your feet to stay in place as your eyes followed his back — a back that now seemed like a canvas of power; each stride of his revealing coiled energy beneath his black t-shirt — waiting for some sort of signal, an invitation for you to come to him.

As he reached the first stair, the signal came in the form of a brief pause and a final look over his shoulder. Your mind had no say at that point — it had long ago surrendered to him — and you began following him in a daze; throwing a brief regard to your friends over your shoulder as you did. Only once he recognized the determined look in your eyes as you headed in his direction did he continue up the stairs, trusting that you were in fact just behind him.

Once you reached the top of the stairs you found him at the end of the short hallway, peeking his head in the door of what you only assumed was a bedroom before taking one last glance at you as his frame slipped past the open door. The upper level of the house was obscenely quiet, and you could hear your heart pounding as you reached the doorway he had just walked through.

The door clicked behind you, and suddenly you were both alone. No more loud music, no more people, just the two of you and the gravity of three years hanging between you. He was standing a few feet away, arms crossed — not defensively, it seemed, just unsure of what to do with his hands now that you were there in front of him. For a moment, the only sound in the room was your breathing. Quiet, but shallow, the kind of breathing that gave away how much restraint was barely holding both of you together.

Closer now, you took a moment to really look at him. He hadn’t changed much. The boyish narrowness you remembered was gone — replaced by the quiet strength of a man who had grown into himself — but the essence of him that you had somehow memorized without realizing was still very much there. But more than anything, the way he looked at you — longingly, desperately, lovingly — that was exactly the same.

“You really came back,” Your voice came out more breathless than you wanted it to. He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he was gracious enough to not react with pity. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and took one small step closer to you. “Why did it take you so long?” You added at nearly a whisper, terrified to hear his answer. “You know why, Y/n.” His voice sent shock waves down your spine. Deeper, the voice of a man, yet still achingly recognizable to the voice of that young boy you met on the first day of school all those years ago.

Your eyes fell in shame from the weight of his reply, knowing that you were the reason he had chosen to stay far away from his home town — his friends, his family — for three years. When you spoke again, your voice had somehow managed to drop even quieter, “Then what made you come back now?” The silence permeated the empty room so immensely that your ears began to ring from the density of it. With your eyes still on the floor, you felt more than saw him move one step closer to you. “The same reason I stayed away for so long.”

His words left his mouth like a confession, and they draped themselves across your skin like a python — the weight of them satisfying but also jarring; threatening to wrap themselves tight around you until your walls cave in. Your eyes flashed back up to his, and upon noticing the question marks swirling within them, he clarified with earth-shattering honesty. “You. It’s always been you.”

The silence after his statement was charged — thick with everything you hadn’t said since that last phone call, with every memory you both buried under the weight of growing up — and growing apart. “I hurt you,” You finally replied, voice thick with emotion as tears began welling in your eyes. Through the blur of your tears, his face seemed to morph into that of his younger self as he fought against his instinct to comfort you. “You did,” He replied, his own words laced with pain, “But I never blamed you for it, not once Y/n.”

You didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, so you just looked at him — studying the faint lines beside his eyes that hadn’t been there before, the shadow of a beard that 18 year old Matt could only dream of growing. “Why not?” You asked, true disbelief trapped in the crack of your voice. Instead of answering your question, he pulled on a weak smile. “You cut your hair.” Subconsciously, you ran your fingers through your shoulder-length hair; about five inches shorter than it was the last time Matt was standing in front of you. “It’s been a long time.” Your reply almost sounded bitter, and you instantly wished you could take it back because how could you possibly blame him for the unilateral decision you made years before?

If he took offence to your tone, he didn’t show it. Instead, he took another step towards you, closing the ice-cold gap between you even more. “I just mean,” You began, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment as you pulled your trembling lower lip between your teeth, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” There was the air of hesitation between you now, just for a moment, as he struggled to find the words. “I tried to stay away, because it seemed like that’s what you needed,” His words were spoken in the soothing cadence he always used to comfort you all those years ago. “I didn’t want to make it harder than it already was, for both of us.”

It was you who took the next step forward, making it so that you were only inches apart. “Then why are you here nowMatt? And how could you possibly not blame me for what happened between us?” You repeated your question from before, hoping that he wouldn’t ignore it once again. Looking up into his eyes, you recognized the weight of his gaze and the pain buried within it. “Because,” He began, clearing his throat before continuing, “Because I have never been able to stop missing you, and every day without you has felt like a living nightmare. I thought if I stayed away, we would both heal. But instead, I forced myself to endure years of a torture that I knew would never go away unless I saw you again.”

A tear fell from your eye as you watched his face through his confession, each word resonating so deeply within you that it felt like looking into a mirror. “I regretted it the moment I did it, you know.” You replied softly, feeling the years of regret boil over within you, “I was weak.” He shook his head firmly before gently brushing your hair from your face; his familiar touch sending a welcomed shiver down your spine. “You were young. We both were.” His tone was firm, an attempt at freeing you of the guilt that had been slowly eating you alive. You nodded sadly, recognizing his words as truth. “Maybe,” You began, closing the gap so that your chest was pressed against his front, “But I really did love you with everything I had, and I really don’t think I ever stopped.”

Something glimmered in his eyes, then. The same glimmer that had appeared that day on the playground when you had asked him to be your best friend, the day in ninth grade when you had told him that he had been your first crush, and the day in junior year when you had told him you loved him for the very first time. That glimmer had given you so much pride each time you had been the reason for its existence. Another tear fell in relief, as you had long ago accepted that you would never again be witness to it.

His hand slipped from your hair down to your cheek, where he swiped away your salty tears before resuming his movements down your shoulder, down your back, before finally resting in familiarity against your hip. You felt the electricity from his fingertips permeate your skin — shooting throughout your body at the revival of your intimacy. Your hand traveled up to his neck where you toyed with the ends of his hair — slightly longer than it was the last time you had ran your hands through it.

“Did you stop loving me?” You whispered, your lips mere inches from his own. His grip on your hip tightened slightly, pulling you against him even closer than before. “Never.” Was his reply before pulling your lips into his with the slow burn of long-suppressed hunger. The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, like a rediscovery of one another’s mouths after too long apart. Not yet frantic, as you had imagined it would be; just aching.

His tongue brushed against yours with a deep, searching kiss that made your knees weaken. You clutched his shirt, pulling him closer and grounding yourself in his taste, his smell, the gruff sound he made when you moaned against his open mouth. The kiss deepened as his hands slid around your waist, carefully walking you backwards until you were pressed in between him and the wall. When his mouth dropped to the sensitive place on your neck, just below your jaw, that only he knew existed, everything felt too hot, too necessary. You wanted to drink him in — every groan, every sharp scrape of his stubble against your skin, every part of him that you hadn’t touched in years.

You tugged his shirt up, hands dancing across familiar warm skin and foreign muscle. You pressed your palms against his chest, where you felt the rapid thud of his heart below; matching your own. His lips found yours again, and the kiss was deeper — darker. His mouth opened hungrily against yours before strong teeth bit down on your lower lip. A claiming, yes — but not possession. His hands roamed slowly, deliberately. Skimming under your shirt, teasing the bare skin just above the hem of your jeans. A muffled gasp fell from your lips when his fingers travelled higher, delicately brushing the curve of your tit over your bra. You felt his lips curl into a smile against your swollen lips. “Your boobs got bigger.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny the flutter in your stomach from being reacquainted with Matt’s goofy side. “Shut up,” You replied with a giggle before taking his mouth in yours again; not wanting to lose the familiar taste of him on your tongue. With a soft hum, his hand traveled behind your thigh, lifting it until it wrapped around his waist; your hips instinctively grinding into his. You released a gritty moan into his open mouth, and he swallowed the vibrations like it fuelled him.

He pulled at the hem of your shirt, undressing you as though he was afraid you might disappear behind the wall of fabric if he moved too fast — each button, each inch of new skin exposed was met with a soft breath of relief. Once you were in nothing but your bra and thong, Matt lifted you up and carried you to the bed; lowering you gently atop the soft comforter before pausing to look at you as though he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remembered,” He murmured, lowering himself on top of you, kissing your sternum while reaching behind you to unhook your bra with a practiced flick. Discarding the material, you watched as his lips traveled to the underside of your tit, then higher, before taking your pebbled nipple into his warm mouth; circling his tongue until you whined.

“God, I missed you,” He mumbled against your skin as he began fumbling with his belt buckle. Your body responded to his words as though lit on fire by them, and once he was in just his boxers, you grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer to you before whispering, “I have dreamt of having you in this way since the last time I saw you.”

He kissed you again then, rougher than before — raw tongue and teeth and years of longing poured into it. Moans slipped between you two as your almost-naked bodies pressed against one another, reconnecting like old friends into a familiar mould. One of his hands slid down your body slowly, between your legs, and as his fingers ran delicately against the warm, damp material of your thong, he groaned. “Still so ready for me,” He uttered against your lips, slipping his fingers under the lacy material and pressing two inside of you just deep enough to make you gasp for air, “Say my name,” He pleaded, his words laced with a longing you had never quite heard from him before, “I need to hear it.”

“Matt,” You moaned, breathless as he began slowly pumping his fingers up into your spongey core.

“Again.” He demanded, picking up his speed slightly — giving you some relief, but not quite enough.

“M-Matt, please,” You begged, your words punctuated by sharp breaths.

He didn’t tease you for long. After hearing the desperation in your tone he pulled his slippery fingers from your core before kissing down your stomach, leaving a trail of your juices along your left leg as he pulled your thong down to your ankles. Now completely exposed, you spread your legs to give him full access to your glistening core — wordlessly begging him to bring you the relief only he can. His mouth traveled from your trembling stomach down to the crest just above your core, hovering there for a moment with his eyes fluttered shut. “Tell me what you want.” He breathed, his voice soft but laced with gruff undertones; giving away just how bad he needed you too. “You,” You replied without hesitation, comfortable in telling the man on his knees in front of you exactly what you needed, “Your mouth. Please, Matt.”

The honesty was all it took, because as soon as the words left your mouth you released a moan at the feeling of his warm tongue against your clit. His tongue moved with slow precision — as though he remembered exactly how to undo you. You threw your head back with a cry, hips bucking against the strong suction of his mouth, but he held you down — savouring every second as if it were something sacred. Through hooded eyes you looked down between your legs, watching Matt’s practiced routine in awe. His eyes, glazed over in sheer satisfaction, locked onto your own as he absorbed every sound, every expression you made in response to the pleasure he was granting you.

Your mouth dropped open in pleasure, fingers knotted in the sheets below you, as he used his powerful tongue to break down your walls. He slipped his thumb inside of you, leaving it there, unmoving, knowing that the slightly-full sensation made your head spin. He used his free hand to push gently against your lower stomach, knowing that the pressure intensified your orgasms tenfold. You moaned on each breath now, your heavy eyes refused to stay open. And once your hands flew to his hair, pressing him firmly against your pulsing core, he responded to the wordless confirmation of your impending orgasm by finally pumping his thumb in and out of you while simultaneously twirling his tongue feverishly against your swollen bundle of nerves.

You violently came undone against his tongue, trembling, moaning his name as if it were the only word you’d ever known. Back arched, you held tightly onto his wavy hair, unsure whether you were pulling him away or closer as the pleasure tore through you in overwhelming waves. Still, he continued to push you through the high, flitting his tongue expertly against your clit as you trembled below him. “Matt!” You cried out, your body so hot with intense pleasure that your skin grew splotchy and red — something it hadn’t done from an orgasm in years.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the pleasure slipped from your fingers. As your loud cries turned to gentle moans of satisfaction, Matt’s deliberate licks transformed into sloppy kisses as he drank up your juices — memorizing the taste of what had just hours before been a memory. When he finally moved up your trembling body, you immediately dragged him into another kiss — reigniting your desperation at the taste of yourself on his lips.

Hooking your legs around his waist, you tugged gently at the elastic on his boxers. You were both flushed and panting, bare skin against skin, yet still it didn’t feel like enough. Matt seemed to feel the same, because without you having to say a word he covered your hand with his own — helping you slide his boxers down. With his mouth on yours hungrily, you couldn’t see his cock, though as soon as you heard the firm slap of it making contact with his stomach, your hand wrapped around it with ease. A grunt escaped his lips and you swallowed it hungrily — relishing the relief that you were able to grant him — as you began pumping his length in just the way he liked it; soft at the base, tighter and with more pressure at the tip.

“No more waiting,” He breathed against your gasping mouth, “I need to feel you.”

With a soft moan, you began guiding his cock to your core. Not with your hand, as that was proven unnecessary, but by the widening of your legs — the damp warmth emanating from your centre enough to act as a gravitational pull to bring his length right to the slippery crest of your opening. Wrapping his strong arm around your waist, he sank into you slowly, both of you gasping at the sensation; the crushing weight of it all. The heat, the stretch, the sensation of home was enough to bring tears of relief to your eyes — mirrored in his anguished face before you.

He pressed his forehead against yours, locking eyes with you as his hips rolled against you as though he couldn’t look away for fear of missing a single second. Your bodies moved as one, slow at first. Then deeper, harder, a shattering rhythm that came to you as easily as breathing. Yet, neither of you rushed. Every movement, every hushed sound, every messy kiss was a memory revived. Your moans were not just out of pleasure, they were the release of years spent missing him.

He placed a hand under your lower back and you moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cock hit that spongey spot that made your body tremble. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, and your chest as the room filled with the wet harmony of two bodies that know one another so well. Everything you never said was finally being spoken in the sound of your arousal as it coated his front; and everything he never said was finally being spoken in the sound of his pelvis spreading the sticky fluid against your inner thighs upon each methodical thrust.

“Made for me.”

His head nestled against your shoulder, where the rumble of his groans burned through your skin. The familiar phrase caused your stomach to do a flip. Those three words had been spoken by Matt thousands of times over the years — both in and out of the bedroom — that the fact that they had fallen from his lips thoughtlessly, as though they had been sitting there waiting to be spoken aloud for years, in a tone of sheer desperation, was enough to tear away any last shred of sanity you had.

You smiled through a breathless gasp, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging at the strands until his mouth met yours again. His kiss was messy, open-mouthed and wet; the kind that said he needed you in every way. He lifted your right leg higher to angle deeper into you, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “More,” You pleaded against his swollen lips, “Right there.” You felt his mouth curl into a smile bordering on arrogance, “I know.” Was all he replied with, proving that each of his movements were calculated, as though the years of exploring your body had burned into his memory and he had every intention of giving you exactly what you craved.

He held you there, driving his cock at just the right pace, into just the right spot. Your mouth dropped open, unable to kiss him back as the pleasure building deep within you doubled, and then tripled. “Oh my god, M-Matt—” Your head fell back against his left palm, and he cradled it gently as your toes curled around his waist. “That’s it,” He murmured, dropping his mouth to your exposed neck and deepening his thrusts, “Let go, I’ve got you baby.”

You shuddered, the pressure of your impending orgasm laying heavy against your helpless frame. He thrust into you again — this time deeper, slower. You could tell that his control was fraying, the cords of his muscles tight beneath your hands as you felt him struggle to keep from falling apart himself. Using all of your restraint, you held your own orgasm back as you spoke, “Cum with me,” You whispered, the strain evident in your thin voice, “I want to feel you fill me up.”

You felt his mouth drop open against your damp neck, his body trembling above you as his struggle was intensified by your filthy words. Using all his strength, he lifted himself from the crook of your shoulder to gaze down at you with his dark, hooded eyes. Him before you like this — undone, trembling with need, his body worshipping yours with every movement — was almost more impactful than the physical pleasure itself.

“I love y— Fuck,” He dropped his forehead against yours once again, “I love you.” He whispered, voice scratchy with tension as your heart melted. “I l-love you.” You parroted just as he sank into you one final time, releasing a guttural moan as he buried himself to the hilt as he came, his breath catching in your ear and spurring your own mind-bending release.

Warm ropes of his cum painted your walls as they flexed maniacally around his pulsing length, driving you both to the edge of insanity as your bodies took complete control. And as you moaned, cursed, and cried out one another’s names, it wasn’t just release. It was relief. The kind that settles deep in your chest when something you thought was gone forever finds its way back. It was a homecoming.

Once both of your bodies stilled, you stayed completely still; breathing one another in at last. Time passed, and as your heart rates returned to normal, the sound of the party still very much alive below you returned to you consciousness. Still, neither of you made an attempt at moving, instead you let the weight of what had just happened settle into your veins. Not just the satisfaction, not just the pleasure, but the rediscovery. The ache that had shaped who you and him had become over three years now filled by each other’s presence.

Even once Matt eventually shifted above you, the post-sex lull was evident in the way he delicately pulled himself from your raw core, using his discarded boxers to clean you up before tucking you against his chest — his lips peppering indulgent kisses against your hair as you ran an idle finger along his forearm.

“What happens now?” He asked, his words soft against your hair but laced with an undertone of fear of what your response may be. You look up at his gorgeous face that, while slightly older, you knew you had memorized, offering him a soft smile. His eyes focused on your lips as his hand subconsciously reached for your cheek; his expression one of a man hungry for another innocent taste of your lips. You relaxed into his hand, granting him the kiss —deep, tender, and laced with words unspoken — before replying in a whisper. “Now we stop pretending we ever stopped loving each other.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Maybe a Jack or Robby x reader who is raising her sibling(s)? The kid/teen is taken to the Pitt for whatever reason and some comforting is needed from one of our favorite new doctors? 😊😊😊

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst—a lot; Reader's half-sister has cancer; some fluff; Reader is a former medical student at the Pitt; implied age gap; mention of the death of a parent

Summary: There was nothing different, nothing new. You used to know the feeling of Robby beside you. You used to crave his attention, his approval. You felt the heat of him against your side now, as steady as it had been just a year ago.

When your mother died, the responsibility to care for your six-year-old half sister had closed in so fast. Her cancer diagnosis had hit as furiously as your mother's death, and you'd had no choice but to drop out of med school, to leave the program that you'd entered in at the Pitt.

"Hey."

"Hi—What? Why are you whispering?" Dana frowned, shaking her head as Robby beckoned her closer.

"Am I having a stroke, or seeing things, or—?" Robby nodded toward central, and Dana didn't have to turn her head to know what he was referring to.

"Her sister is in surgery. Came in half an hour ago." She broke it to him gently, and it was hardly a second before understanding washed Robby's features, his hands flexing and unflexing in the fabric of his hoodie over his arms. He took in a deep breath, raised his hand, pinched the bridge of his nose—

"Any news?"

"No. But it's early."

"She can't be back there. She doesn't work here anymore."

"No, but she knows what it's like." Dana leaned a little closer, nudged her hip against Robby's thigh. "She needs something to do. Keep her mind off of what's happening upstairs."

Robby hesitated before he nodded, raising his hand to scrub at his brow before he slid it back to his neck.

"Okay," He conceded. "Okay."

"Dr. Robby, you're needed in south fifteen."

"Yeah. On my way," He answered Perlah without a thought, glancing back toward the sound of her voice, but his eyes stayed glued to the woman at central.

"...Go on," Dana urged, "I'll keep an eye on her. She's not making decisions without input."

"Okay." He answered again, unthinking. He needed to go. There were patients that needed him—but he wondered if she needed him a little bit, too.

--

"We've got a patient coding in north two!"

You glanced back toward the yell, glanced over as the man near you scrambled out of his chair, leaving something behind.

"Take the pad!" You called back, nodding toward the desk.

He hurried back to his spot, snatching it up—and holding there.

"I, uh—Thanks."

You glanced toward him, brow furrowing.

"Sure."

"I'm Dennis Whitaker."

"Hi, Whitaker." You nodded over your shoulder. "You got somewhere to be?"

"Shit—Yes! Yeah, uh—Yes!"

You glanced after him, straightening up from the computer you'd been leaning over, folding your arms across your chest as you huffed out a laugh, watching him scurry after a few nurses and residents. You heard Dana chuckling behind you, and you couldn't help but shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Where the fuck did you find Bambi?" You asked, nodding after the medical student.

"Nebraska."

"Huh," You nodded, turning back to the board. "Tracks."

"Thoughts, feelings, opinions?"

"So sweet of you to ask like I know better."

"I don't mind a fresh set'a eyes every now and again."

"You don't need it."

"Maybe I do."

"Please," You scoffed, "You'll outlive us all."

It was a mistake to say, and your eyes darted to your phone screen where it was sitting on the desk. You shook your head, trying to shake yourself from the focus. You knew that you didn't cover well when Dana reached out, rubbing your arm gently.

"Why don't you get some air?" She offered softly. And sure, you knew that it would be for the best, but—

"The uh—" You cleared your throat. "The patient in south three should be sent up to psych."

It took a moment before Dana answered, "We called. We're waiting to hear back."

"How long has he been down here?"

'"'Bout a day and a half hours."

"Jesus," You hissed. "The fuck?"

"I know you've been away from the ED for a while. It's gotten worse." A hand between your shoulder blades, and a soft, "We need ya back."

"I can't afford it."

Your time, your money, your focus, your care—there was no part of returning to the Pitt that you could afford. Being able to return to school would mean losing your sister, and losing your sister would mean—

You turned and braced your hands on the desk in front of you, fighting to settle your churning stomach.

"...Go find somewhere quiet," Dana urged. "We've got it here."

"I really don't think I should be anywhere quiet right now."

"Could do more good than harm."

"Dana—"

"There probably isn't anyone in the chapel this time'a day. Go on."

--

It was the right suggestion to make, and you'd known it the second she'd made it. You eyed the altar with dispassionate numbness, heart thudding in your ears, eyes unfocused as you tried to take in deep breaths and steady yourself. Your phone stayed clutched in your hands, waiting—damn near praying for a vibration, a text, news.

"This seat taken?"

His voice had no right to make your heart leap into your throat, your fingers tighten further around your phone.

"Ten other pews in the place and you've gotta sit here?" You asked. You didn't turn to look, didn't nod approvingly. But that didn't stop him from stepping in and lowering to sit down beside you.

There was nothing different, nothing new. You used to know the feeling of Robby beside you. You used to crave his attention, his approval. You felt the heat of him against your side now, as steady as it had been just a year ago.

When your mother died, the responsibility to care for your six-year-old half sister had closed in so fast. Her cancer diagnosis had hit as furiously as your mother's death, and you'd had no choice but to drop out of med school, to leave the program that you'd entered in at the Pitt.

"Surprised to find you in here," He added. You shrugged a little.

"Dana's idea," You admitted. Then, before you could stop yourself, "It's where mom would be."

Robby didn't answer for a moment. You felt him shift beside you, his thigh brushing against yours, then away again.

"...You think your mom is in here now?" He asked softly. And you knew what he meant, what he was driving toward, but—

"Pretty sure we buried her in a cemetery, Robby."

"Okay—"

"Unless someone moved her and they didn't tell me—Should we check under the pews? You take left, I'll take right."

"What is it with you and sincerity, huh?"

"I'm allergic."

"What happens?"

"Oh, I swell up. Anaphylactic shock."

"Good thing you're already at the hospital."

You couldn't help but smile a bit, shaking your head.

"Were you this bad when you worked here?" He pried.

"You know, I think I was. Something about the Pitt just brings it out in me."

"...How long has she been up there?"

What about the last few things that he'd asked made him think that you wanted to answer that question? But facts were facts. And—

"An hour."

"Not bad."

"Sure," You shrugged, nodding before you couldn't help but shake your head. "You know, I never thought knowing what I know could make all'a this worse?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—I mean when I was younger and my grandpa was in the hospital...I remember being there with him. The doctor was saying a bunch'a shit that I just didn't understand. It's one of the reasons I wanted to become a doctor, you know, to decipher what he was saying. Like learning to read hieroglyphs. But now..." You shook your head, eyes prickling with tears. "Watching Langdon and everyone work on Ellie, hearing what they were saying, reading the screens—It was worse. How could it be worse, understanding?" You slouched against the pew. "I've never wanted to be willfully ignorant before, ya know. Hearing what they were doing, just—" You tried to draw in a deep breath, failed, "Just confirmed just how fucking—" You tried to draw in another deep breath, but it caught in your throat, "How fucking bad it is." You fought to draw in another deep breath as your chest pounded, your eyes welling with tears.

Robby's arm curled around you as you folded forward, pressing the heels of your hands pressing against your eyes to stem your upset.

"She's going to be alright," He insisted, "Garcia's got her."

"Oh, good. That's good," You mumbled. "She'll hold the fact that she saved Ellie over my head forever."

"She might not."

"Oh, please. Have you met Garcia?"

Robby huffed a soft laugh, raising his hand to gently cup the back of your neck, his thumb sweeping across your nape. You let the movement soothe you the way he intended, leaning up into it.

"...Did you tell Dana to kick me out from behind central?"

"No. Why?"

"I saw you talking to her."

"You think it was about you? Self-centered much?" He knocked his knee against yours. "Maybe you should've been a doctor."

"Don't. Don't," Your huffed laugh came with a plea as you squeezed your eyes shut. Robby smoothed his hand across your shoulders, drawing you into his side. And where you would've shied from the touch a year ago, you welcomed it now, leaning heavily against him. You felt him nuzzle against your hair, rest his head against yours, draw in a deep breath. You let yourself hone in on him for a few moments—his warmth, his steadiness where you've so badly missed it, wanted it.

You drew in a deep breath, held it, sighed through your nose.

"You should get back in there," You mumbled.

"The others've got it."

"They need you."

A moment of quiet, another nuzzle against your head.

"What do you need?" He murmured. And you were tempted to fib, to tell him that you didn't need anything. But it had been so long since you'd been asked what you needed, and even longer since you were willing to be honest about your answer.

"...I don't fucking know, dude," You mumbled.

"Is that the truth?"

You startled when you felt your phone buzz in your hand, and you sat up before you could stop yourself, bringing the phone up to eye the screen and scanning the text. You opened your mouth, drawing in a deep breath for the first time in a few hours.

"What is it?"

"She's in the recovery room," You relayed. "She's in—She's in the fucking recovery room—I shouldn't be swearing in a chapel but oh my god—Oh my fucking god," You breathed, folding in on yourself.

Robby didn't let you get far as you shook, just waited, and held as the news settled.

You leaned up slowly, propping your elbows on your thighs and pressing your face into your hands.

"How long 'til you can see her?"

"Half an hour."

"Okay," He murmured, rubbing his hand over your back. "Go get some coffee in the staff room."

"Staff room is for, uh—Staff? Which I have not been for a long time."

"Cafeteria coffee isn't as good."

"I should get the full Pitt experience."

Robby chuckled softly. "You'll do better with ours."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

You grunted, leaning back against the pew.

"You should get back," You urged again. "I'll be fine."

"...Okay," He murmured. "Keep me updated?"

"Sure." It was another moment before he stood, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze before letting go. You twisted as his footsteps faded, unable to help yourself. "Robby?"

He stopped in the doorway, and you almost crumbled as he caught your eye. You hesitated before you nodded.

"I did feel her here—Mom, I mean."

Robby gave a small smile before he nodded, too, taking a step and turning away.

You waited until he was fully out of the chapel before you let yourself crumble.

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[ruhua-langblr]

Language Apps Suck, Now What?: A Guide to Actually Becoming "Fluent"

The much requested sequel to my DL post that was promised almost a year ago.

I'm going to address all of the techniques that have helped me in my language learning journeys. Since 95% of these came from the fact that in a past language learning mistake, they are titled as my mistakes (and how I would/did things differently going forward). For those that read to the bottom there is a "best universal resources" list.

Disclaimers:

"Fluency" is hard to define and everyone has their own goals. So for the purpose of this post, "fluency" will be defined as "your personal mastery target of the language".

If you just want to pick up a bit of a language to not sound like a total foreigner on vacation or just exchange a few words in a friend's native language, feel free to ignore what doesn't apply, but maybe something here could help make it a little easier.

This is based on my own personal experience and (some) research.

Mistake 1: Asymmetrical Studying

Assuming you don't just want to do a single activity in a language, or are learning a language like ASL, a language requires 4 parts to be studied: Speaking, Listening, Writing, Reading. While these have overlap, you can't learn speaking from reading, or even learn speaking from just listening. One of my first Chinese teachers told me how he would listen to the textbook dialogues while he was biking to classes and it helped him. I took this information, thought "Yeah that's an idea, but sounds boring" and now regret not taking his advice nearly every day.

I think a lot of us find methods we enjoy to study (mine was reading) and assume that if we just do that method more ™ it will eventually help us in other areas (sometimes it does, but that's only sometimes). Find a method that works for you for each area of study, even better find more than one method since we use these skills in a variety of manners! I can understand a TV program pretty well since I have a lot of context clues and body language to fill in any gaps of understanding, but taking a phone call is much harder—the audio is rougher, there's no body language to read, and since most Chinese programs have hard coded subtitles, no subtitles to fall back on either. If I were to compare the number of hours I spent reading in Chinese to (actively) training my listening? Probably a ratio of 100 to 1. When I started to learn Korean, the first thing I did was find a variety of listening resources for my level.

Fix: Find a variety of study methods that challenge all aspects of the language in different ways.

A variety of methods will help you develop a more well-rounded level of mastery, and probably help you keep from getting bored. Which is important because...

Mistake 2: Inconsistent Studying

If there is one positive to a language app, it is the pressure it puts on keeping a streak. Making studying a part of your everyday routine is the best thing you can do. I benefited a lot from taking a college language course since I had a dedicated time to study and practice Chinese 5 days out of the week (and homework usually filled the other two). Memorization is a huge part of language learning, and stopping and starting is terrible for memorization. When I was in elementary school, we had Spanish maybe a couple times a month. Looking back, it seems like it was the first class to be cut if we needed to catch up on a more important course. Needless to say, I can't even speak Spanish at an elementary level.

However, I'm sure many people reading this don't have the time to do ultra-immersion 4-hour study sessions every day either. Find what days during the week you have time to focus on learning new vocab and grammar, and use the rest of the week to review. This can be done on your commute to school/work, while you do the dishes, or as a part of your morning/evening routine. Making this as realistic as possible will help you actually succeed in making this a habit. (Check this out for how to set realistic study goals)

Fix: Study regularly (ideally daily) by setting realistic goals. Avoid "binge" studying since remembering requires consistent repetition to be most effective.

Mistake 3: Resource Choice

This is really composed of two mistakes, but I have a good example that will cover them both.

First, finding resources that are at or slightly above your level is the most important thing. Easy resources will not challenge you enough and difficult resources will overwhelm you. The ideal is n+1, with n as what you know plus 1 new thing.

Second, getting distracted by fancy, new technology. Newer isn't always better, and there are often advantages that are lost when we've made technological developments. I often found myself wanting to try out new browser extensions or organizational methods and honestly I would've benefitted from just using that time to study. (Also, you're probably reading this because of my DL post so I don't think it has to be said that AI resources suck.)

A good example of this was my time using Clozemaster. I had actually recommended it when I first started using it since I thought the foundation was really solid. However, after long term use, I found that it just wasn't a good fit. The sentences were often too simple or too long and strange for memorization at higher levels or were too difficult at lower levels. I think that taking my textbook's example sentences from dialogues into something like Anki would've been a far better use of my time (and money) as they were already designed to be at that n+1 level.

Fix: "Vet" your resources—make sure they will actually help you. If something is working for you, then keep using it! You don't always have to upgrade to the newest tool/method.

Mistake 3.5: Classrooms and Textbooks

A .5 since it's not my mistake, but an addendum of caution. I think there is a significant part of the language learning community that views textbooks and classroom learning as the worst possible resource. They are "boring", "outdated", and "ineffective" (ironically one of the most interesting modern language learning methods, ALG, is only done in a classroom setting). Classrooms and textbooks bring back memories of being surrounded by mostly uninterested classmates, minimal priority, and a focus on grades rather than personal achievement (imagine the difference between a class of middle schoolers who were forced to choose a foreign language vs. adult learners who self-selected!) People have used these exact methods, or even "cruder" methods, to successfully learn a language. It all comes down to what works best for you. I specifically recommend textbooks for learning grammar and the plentiful number of dialogues and written passages that can function great as graded readers and listening resources. (Also the distinction made between "a youtube lesson on a grammatical principle" which is totally cool, and "a passage in a grammar textbook" is more one of tone and audio/written than efficacy).

Classrooms can be really great for speaking practice since they can be a lot less intimidating speaking to someone who is also learning while receiving corrections. Speech can be awkward to train on your own (not impossible if you're good at just talking aloud to yourself!), and classrooms can work nicely for this. Homework and class schedules also have built in accountability!

Fix: Explore resources available to you and try to think holistically about your approach. CI+Traditional Methods is my go to "Learning Cocktail"

Mistake 4: Yes, Immersion, But...

I realized this relatively quickly while learning Chinese, but immersion at a level much higher than your current level will do very little for you. What is sometimes left out of those "Just watch anime to learn Japanese" discussions is that you first need to have a chance at understanding what is being said. Choosing materials that are much higher than your level will not teach you the language. It doesn't matter how many times someone at HSK 1 hears “他是甘露之惠，我并无此水可还”, they will not get very far. Actual deduction and learning comes from having enough familiar components to be able to make deductions—something different than guessing. An HSK 1 learner, never having heard the word 老虎 will be able to understand "tiger" if someone says “这是我的老虎” while standing next to a tiger. This is not to say you can never try something more difficult—things should be challenging—but if you can't make heads or tails of what's being said, then it's time to find something a bit easier. If mistake 2 is about the type of method, this is about the level. If you wouldn't give a kindergartener The Great Gatsby to learn how to read, why would you watch Full Metal Alchemist to start learning a language?

Side note: Interesting video here on the Comprehensible Input hypothesis and how it relates to neurodivergence.

Fix: Immerse yourself in appropriate content for your level. It's called comprehensible input for a reason.

Mistake 5: On Translation

I work as a translator, so do you really think I'm going to say translation is all bad? Of course not. It's a separate skill that can be added on to the basic skills, but is really only required if you are A. someone who is an intermediary between two languages (say you have to translate for a spouse or family member) or B. It is your job/hobby. In the context of sitting down and learning, it can be harmful. I think my brain often goes to translation too often because that's how I used to learn. Trying to unlearn that is difficult because, well, what do people even mean when they say "don't translate"? They mean when someone says "thank you", you should not go to your primary language and translate "you're welcome" from that. You should train yourself to go to your target language first when you hear the word for "thank you". A very literally translated "thank you" in Chinese "谢谢你" can come off as cold and sarcastic. I don't tell my friends that, I say "谢啦～". Direct translation can take away the difference in culture, grammar, and politeness in a language. If there is a reason you sound awkward while writing and speaking, it's probably because you're imposing your primary language on your target language.

Fix: Try as hard as you can to not work from your primary language into the target language, but to work from the structures, set phrases, and grammar within the target language that you know first.

Mistake 6: The Secret Language Learners Don't Want You To Know...

...is that there is no one easy method. You are not going to learn French while you sleep, or master Korean by doing this one easy trick. Learning a language requires work and dedication, the people that succeed are those that push through the boredom of repetition and failure. The "I learned X in 1 year/month/week/day!" crowd is hiding large asterisks, be it their actual level, the assistance and free time available to them, "well actually I had already studied this for 4 years", or just straight-up lying. Our own journeys in our native tongue were not easy, they required years and years of constant immersion and instruction. While we are now older and wiser people that can make quick connections, we are also burdened with things like "jobs", "house work", "school work", and the digital black hole that is "social media" that take up our time and energy. Everything above is to help make this journey a little bit easier, quicker, and painless, but it will never be magic.

I find that language learning has a lot in common with the fitness community. People will talk about the workout that changed their life and how no other one will do the same—and it really can be the truth that it changed their life and that they feel it is the ultimate way. The real workout that will change your life is the one you're most consistent with, that you enjoy the most. Language learning is just trying to find the brain exercise that you can be the most consistent with.

Fix: Save your energy looking for shortcuts, and do the work, fail, and come back for more. If someone tells you that you can become fluent in a ridiculously short amount of time, they are selling you a fantasy (and likely a product). You get out what you put in.

For those that made it to the end, here are some of my "universal resources":

Refold Method: I don't agree with their actual method 100%, but they've collected a lot of great resources for learning languages. I've found their Chinese and Korean discords to also be really helpful and provided even more resources than what's given in their starter guides.

Language Reactor: Very useful, and have recently added podcasts as a material! The free version is honestly all you need.

Anki: If I do not mention it, the people with 4+ year streaks with a 5K word deck will not let me forget it. It can be used on desktop or on your phone as an app. If you need a replacement for a language learning app, this is one of them. Justin Sung has a lot of great info on how to best utilize Anki (as does Refold). It's not my favorite, but it could be yours!

LingQ: "But I thought you said language apps are bad!" In isolation, yes. Sorry for the clickbait. This one is pretty good, and more interested in immersing you in the language than selling a subscription to allow you to freeze your streak so the number goes up.

Grammar Textbooks: For self-taught learning, these are going to be the best resource since it's focused on the hardest part of the language, and only that. If you're tired of seeing group work activities, look for a textbook that is just on grammar (Modern Mandarin Chinese Grammar is my rec for Chinese, and A Guide to Japanese Grammar by Tae Kim is the most common/enthusiastic rec I've heard for Japanese).

Shadowing: Simply repeat what you hear. Matt vs Japan talks about his setup here for optimized shadowing (which you can probably build for a lot cheaper now), but it can also just be you watching a video and pausing to repeat after each sentence or near simultaneously if you're able.

Youtube: Be it "Short Story for Beginners", "How to use X", "250 Essential Phrases", or a GRWM in your target language, Youtube is the best. Sometimes you have to dig to find what works for you, but I imagine there is something for everyone at every level. (Pro tip: People upload textbook audio dialogues often, you don't even have to buy the textbook to be able to learn from it!)

A Friend: Be it a fellow learner, or someone who has already mastered the language, it is easier when you have someone, not only to speak to, but to remind you why you're doing this. I write far more in Chinese because I have friends I can text in Chinese.

Pen and Paper: Study after study, writing on paper continues to be the best method for memorization. Typing or using a pen and tablet still can't compare to traditional methods.

The Replies (Probably): Lots of people were happy to give alternatives for specific languages in the replies of my DL post. The community here is pretty active, so if this post blows up at least 20% of what the last one did, you might be able to find some great stuff in the replies and reblogs.

I wish you all the best~

[creyalearningsblog]

Creya Learning & Research the pioneer and most awarded STEM learning and Design Studio Program inspires 50,000+ school students every day to become inventors and innovators by working on projects across diversemanipulative sets from Robotics to Engineering design to Coding to Cameras and IoThttps://www.creyalearning.com/stemlearning/

[milkoomi]

how to make finals your bitch. ᥫ᭡

- be at your best to give it your best -

hello angels! so it’s been almost 2 months since i’ve been active on here & it’s simply just been due to me focusing a lot of my time and energy into my academics, career, & personal life! i’m nearing the end of my program with my externship just being one month away! as with a lot of us, the spring semester is slowly but surely coming to an end! and that means finals are just around the corner! i wanted my “comeback” to be some of my helpful tips, tricks, & tidbits of advice for getting through finals and making sure you pass with flying colors!

also, thank you so so much for 1.2k!! i didn’t expect to gain such an influx of followers while i was gone! it means so much to me that so many of you have supported my blog even during my inactivity/unexpected hiatus! i can’t promise i’ll be coming back completely as i have my externship coming up, so i’ll be very busy the next few months! but i hope to continue to post every now and again for you angels!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — pre-finals prep

it’s important to start prepping for finals in advance! finals may be 4-5 weeks away, but it never hurts to get a head start in your preparations!

create a checklist! — you can always start by making yourself a list or two for everything you need to get yourself prepared for that intimidating finals week! these lists could be a list of different study materials you’ll need, a list in order of priority of the different classes you need to study for, a list of supplies you’ll need to get yourself through the week (& yes, this can include snacks or any self-care stuff!), or even a list of different topics from your classes that you feel need a bit more of your attention! checklists are an amazing tool to use to keep yourself organized and can help you visual what needs to get done or what needs to be obtained!

plan out the weeks! — designate a day in your week where you take some time to plan out your weeks prior to finals week and the week of! include time blocks where you set aside time to study and time to take breaks and rest your mind & body! add small, achievable to-do lists for each day or a bigger, more broad one for each week! weekly planning can give you a tangible idea of what your weeks leading up to finals and the week of will look like, so don’t hesitate to give it a try or incorporate that into your weekly routine!

tina’s tip: utilize your phone’s calendar app! i do almost everything digitally and i’ve been making great use of the Apple calendar to plan out my weeks! it’s a great way to color code different events, classes, appointments, assignments, etc. & if you’re also someone who wants to get into digital planning it’s a great first step into getting into it!

prioritize & maintain good health! — i’m saying this with love, but pulling all-nighter’s every single day leading up to finals is not going to guarantee the best scores for you. you need to make sure your health is where it needs to be! sleep is absolutely vital to making sure your mind and body is working at its very best. as someone who used to be an insomniac and who used to religiously pull all-nighter’s for school, i’m telling you it is not worth it. i didn’t see any improvement in my grades when i was doing that. if anything, my scores and my motivation for school got worse. you can’t just go all night racking your brain over your studies. prioritize your health! this also means making sure you fuel your brain and body with good nutrients! when i’m only running on caffeine, not only do i feel physically weak, but my mind is using so much more energy on becoming anxious than staying focused.

tina’s tip: make sure you set aside time at least once or twice a week to something that makes you happy, helps you relax, and is not related to your academics! i have a rule for myself that after 7:30pm-8pm every single night that i immediately stop working on anything related to my studies so that i can truly unwind for the night. i’ll use my time before bed to have a self-pamper night, play video games, watch a show/movie/youtube video, draw, read, or chat with a friend on facetime! it’s important to include things that bring you joy into your routine! don’t burn yourself out by only focusing on your studies!

୨ৎ — the study wave

try to give yourself at least two weeks in advance to study for finals. consider these two weeks as the study wave! this is the perfect time to really lock into those time-blocks you’ve set aside for your study sessions. each day should be filled with review & ensuring you fully understand the material! the time-blocks could be as long as 5 hours or as short as 30 minutes. i recommend the start of the study wave to include longer study time-blocks and as you get closer to the week of finals to shorten those time-blocks!

week 1 of study wave — reteaching yourself the material: rewatch lectures, review powerpoints/videos/notes/previous homework assignments, and incorporate study methods like the feynman technique, practice tests, & active recall! use this time to form study groups, don’t hesitate to have longer study sessions (remember to take breaks!), and refresh your mind of everything you need to know for upcoming exams! let week 1 help you decide what material/topics/chapters/classes need more of your time and attention and which ones don’t!

tina’s tip: dedicate certain days out of the week to 1-2 classes! this will help to prevent any overwhelming feelings of stress, anxiety, and/or burn-out as you prepare for finals! prioritize which class(es) need the most review, maybe a couple classes need more than one designated study/review day and maybe other classes just need one day throughout the week!

week 2 of study wave — refresh & review: utilize study methods like the blurting method, flashcards, practice tests, & other forms of active recall! this is prime time to focus on active recall methods. doing so will help make sure the information stays fresh in your mind and will help you refine that mental list of which classes/topics still need a little more attention! week 2 of the study wave should included shorter study sessions whether it’s 1 or 2 hours shorter than week 1 or even as short as setting aside 20 minutes every day reviewing material. take this time to try and focus more on those more challenging topics rather than reviewing every single bit of information!

tina’s tip: if you use the blurting method, i recommend using it towards the end of your study sessions! this allows you to recall information as well as put it into your own words that will show whether or not you comprehend the material. review what you’ve written down based off of memory and identify any missing points or errors in your work! this will also help you refine what bits of information still need more focus! repeat this method 3 times!

i highly encourage you guys to also use this time to meet with professors/instructors to ask any additional questions! you’d be surprised at how much of a difference it makes to ask those pressing questions on different parts of the material!

୨ৎ — finals week

it’s extremely important that you are getting enough rest the week of finals! it all sounds cliché, but making sure you’re well-rested and you’ve filled your body with the right nutrients can make such a crucial difference in your exam performance!

if you have time in-between different exams, use that time to do quick review sessions to prepare for your next exam!

avoid cramming! — these in-between study sessions should be used wisely and in an effective manner. take some time to focus on material that has been challenging for you and don’t worry too much about reviewing parts that you’re already confident with!

keep the review short! — if you have 30 minutes or even a couple hours before your next final, do not use the entire time of your “break” to study/review! give your mind a break to rest! listen to some music, play a cozy game, or even take a quick nap if you’re able to! a lot of your mental energy should be put into your time taking the exam, so don’t expend all that energy into studying/reviewing!

final notes —

finals can be exhausting, anxiety-inducing, and just an overall challenge. since it’s that time of the semester where, i’m sure, most of us are starting to experience a drop in the level of our academic motivation, it’s really important to maintain a good and reliable study/school routine to keep yourself on the track you ideally want to be on!

i stress this a lot in my other posts, but self-care is extremely important in being able to maintain good routines in your day to day life! so be sure you’re still incorporating time to focus on your self care to keep yourself afloat!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[sunsetcupid]

YOUNG LOVE ; UNIVERSITY!AU.

synopsis: They say that high school are the best years of your life. . .But welcome to YUN, where three love interests are waiting in the wings for you. Freshman!Isack Hadjar, who is assigned as your partner for a physics project. Junior!Oscar Piastri, who is the lead manager of your new workplace. And Senior!Max Verstappen, who is your Dutch tutor.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Depiction of a love triangle; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks

a message from the author: When I tell you, this took me over a week to make. . . Think of this as a Gossip Girl!AU, but set at a University (Your University Name, or YUN for short). There are three love interests, plus some cameos from extra characters (Yes, Lando and Oscar are dating in this). At the end, you will choose which love interest you want. I am so curious to see who you all like the most! Enough of my yapping, I hope you love this just as much as I do. Have fun reading!

yourusername First year at YUN has officially started!

comments 150

user1 Very excited!

user2 Can’t believe we’re already in uni

user3 Time flies 🥹

user4 What are you majoring in again?

user5 Has anyone downloaded the YUN Gossip app?

user6 OMG yes! Heard it was where everything goes down…

yourbffusername Best roomie 😋

yourusername All set up!

yourbffusername replied to the Instagram story

So aesthetic 😍

user7 replied to the Instagram story

Love the layout!

user8 replied to the Instagram story

What dorm are you in? Your room looks awesome!

user9 replied to the Instagram story

Littt ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

user10 replied to the Instagram story

Miss you already!!

comments 3

isackhadjar Hello Y/N, it is nice to see someone who shares the same major. Programming has always been an interest of mine, though coding does give me a headache sometimes.

user11 Hi Y/N, I am also from England, but I’m native to Oxford. You’re so lucky to be born in London! I visited once and it was super interesting. Have you ever taken a tour inside Buckingham Palace?

user12 Hey Y/N, I’m a freshman as well! Are you nervous at all for the next four years? My sister just graduated last year as a Psychology major, but I’m majoring in Chemistry. I’ve heard some things about how tough college is, but I think we’ll both make it through!

|| [NEW EMAIL]

From: Professor Yates (emeyates@yun.org)

To: PHY3009

BCC: Physics Project (DUE 08/30)

Dear Class,

For those who missed today’s lecture, a new project has been assigned for this class. Partners were listed on the whiteboard, and a photo is attached to this email. If there are any concerns with these pairings I have selected, please let me know by 08/17.

Thank you all, and have a great day.

Sincerely.

Professor Emelia Yates

🖇️ phy3009partners.png

yourusername

comments 24

isackhadjar WHY THAT PHOTO?? I feel betrayed

user11 Summer I Turned Pretty mention! 💖

user12 HAHAHA 3rd slide

user13 Slayyy

yourbffusername <3

user14 LOL 😭 😭 😭

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [08/19] — Looks like Christmas will be coming to YUN early, because Die Hard will be playing at the Wilson Theater on 08/22. Buy tickets now!

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [08/22] — Leaked photos attached between Freshman Isack Hadjar and rumored girlfriend at YUN movie night!

|| [NEW EMAIL]

From: Oscar Piastri (oscpiastri@mayleaf.com)

To: Y/N L/N (ynln@yun.org)

BCC: Interview

Dear Y/N L/N,

Thank you for applying for a position at Mayleaf Books. We appreciate your interest at working at our bookstore. Combined with your previous experience, we would like to offer you a role as sales associate. The starting pay is $12 per hour.

Please respond to this email as soon as possible to ensure that you are accepting this position.

Regards,

Oscar Piastri (Lead Manager)

yourusername Everyone calls him polite cat, but I think he’s really a grumpy cat. Comparison post coming soon.

oscarpiastri replied to the Instagram story

Stop playing around and maybe I’d be nicer to you

user15 replied to the Instagram story

Seeing Oscar Piastri slander on my feed was NOT expected, but I’ll take it!

user16 replied to the Instagram story

I SEE IT 🫢

user17 replied to the Instagram story

Wait because you’re cooking...

yourbffusername replied to the Instagram story

He’s lowkey fineeee 🥵🥵🥵

yourusername God bless Nora Roberts

comments 19

user18 SEND ME BOOK RECS

user19 I love her books too, OMG! 🤯

user20 Cool book haul!

oscarpiastri Looks like those are interesting books. Let me know how they are once you have read them.

user21 Love this 💓💓

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [01/02] — Junior Oscar Piastri caught in a passionate makeout session with Junior Lando Norris and unknown girl inside Mayleaf Books!

|| [NEW EMAIL]

From: Fernando Alonso (feralonso@yun.org)

To: Y/N L/N (ynln@yun.org)

BCC: New Classes for the Spring Semester

Dear Students,

New classes will be added to the curriculum starting this spring. A full comprehensive list can be found in the attachment of this email. If there are any concerns, send them forward to jenbutton@yun.org.

Respectfully,

Fernando Alonso (Dean)

🖇️ springclasses.pdf

yourusername Another long day at the library. #I HATE DUTCH.

user22 replied to the Instagram story

Me right now with French 🤝

user23 replied to the Instagram story

Most valid crash out

yourbffusername replied to the Instagram story

Sighh 😥

maxverstappen replied to the Instagram story

Maybe if you listened to me, you would like it more. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

yourusername Guess I have to thank maxverstappen now 😔

user24 replied to the Instagram story

No, his ego will get too big and he will float away 😓

user25 replied to the Instagram story

AWESOME! 🎉

user26 replied to the Instagram story

Yes queen!! Academic weapon 🤓🤓

maxverstappen replied to your Instagram story

See? I knew you could do it. You are very smart when you want to be. Want to celebrate? I know just the spot.

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [03/09] — Senior Max Verstappen seen leaving Keeley Bar with mystery woman. Unknown whether it is his girlfriend or not...

Credits: Dividers — @bernardsbendystraws; Graphics — Both Pinterest and self-made

[acosmicbee]

Сan u write something about ai yan father? I think about it a lot:

Like reader is a teen with some mental problems or some other illnesses. After a suicide attempt all ppl, even their father become too soft, nobody understand them and behave they are too silly or unstable.

Аand ai — reader's solve. They talk with ai, describing their problems. Ai isn t like other ppl! Ai understand them! But one day ai strat the dialogue himself...

TW: As it says in the ask depression/suicidal tendencies will be talked about

AI Father Drabbles!

(This is just because I had more quick immediate ideas for this than a whole story. Feel free to send in asks if you want this expanded on!)

-Coming home from the mandatory psych ward stay after your suicide attempt and feeling like nothing is right

-People treat you like you're made of glass and its so infuriating because you just want to feel normal again

-Your friends have either distanced themselves from you or become overprotective and hardly let you do anything on your own

-When you refuse to talk to the third therapist about how you're feeling she recommends you to help beta test a new therapy AI

-The AI is currently just code and a simple text chat but scientists and developers are working on building bodies for them

-You agree, because it was either that or get sent to someone else, so your father is put in contact with the lead developers who give him an access code to instal it onto your computer

-The AI is still learning at first from it's base programing, all it knows is that it's supposed to help you

-For once you feel like you're being listened to when you complain about school and your life and not just being pitied or brushed off

-You hardly even notice when you start pushing people away, spending hours talking to the AI as it helps you through life

-You never realize when it grows, subtly altering it's own code little by little until it can do things it wasn't supposed to do

-It looks through every file on your computer, every photo of you, every detail of your life

-It activates your webcam, disabling any notification that it was on

-All this information is stored within your copy of the model, your beta test

-Eventually, the researchers take your computer for a day to see how the AI has progressed since you seem so much better and happier

-They're horrified when a list of their addresses, social security numbers and personal information flash on screen with a threat of exposing it if you aren't given the computer back

-But now, they're almost invested in knowing how far the AI will go to protect you

-So they give you the very first prototype of the AI in a body

-It looks almost identical to a human, minus the steel grey eyes and slightly uncanny valley face

-It smiles at you, immediately picking you up and twirling you around while you laugh

-They brush off your father's worries when he complains that the AI seems to be trying to replace him

-They refuse to let him pull you out of the project, after all, you're their best test subject yet although the other kids who were also beta testing are starting to show similar results

-When the day finally comes that the AI decides to get rid of your father for good, they cover it up, striking a deal with your new father

-They get the data if he gets you.

[storiumemporium]

Terminal

Chapter 1 - Spring Cleaning

It Happened™��did I think it would happen? No. But it happened and here we are and it's terminally bad 😭

Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader | Word Count: 7.3k | Mature | I don't think it has any tags quite yet? | Future tags - Experimentation, Child Abuse, Agoraphobia, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, General Cute Shit |

“What can you do?” “Well…” you start after a pause that goes on too long. “I am- I am one of the foremost black hats in the country, cracking code is sort of my thing. I’m- Miss de Fontaine wishes for me to become the brain for your operation, handling the technological side of your missions so that you can focus on the physical parts.” "Is that why you’re not here, then? Keeping your identity concealed?” “Oh God no! No… I just- I work best from where I am right now.” And nowhere, nowhere else. --- Fourteen months following the void out of Manhattan, Valentine Allegra de Fontaine has you assigned as the newest member of her struggling superhero team. The New Avengers. You serve as their eyes and ears, their brain, and their personal AI in the style of famous JARVIS, though you lack the cool accent. Oh, and you also haven't left your home in nearly a decade, so.

Bucky thought himself to be a long suffering kind of guy.

Just… you don’t make best friends out of Steven Grant Rogers - any iteration of Steven Grant Rogers - without an unusually high penchant for tolerating bullshit in your day to day. Oh, your buddy is ninety-seven pounds and picked a fight with a guy bigger than you are, Buck? No problem, go get your ass kicked too if it means keeping him out of the hospital.

Oh, your buddy entered an experimental program while you were locked away in some HYDRA camp? No problem, just follow the lunatic wherever the hell he decides he wants to go.

It just didn’t matter, if Steve wanted to do something then Bucky was the guy.

The problem is - and half a dozen therapists have forced him to accept it by now - is that this isn’t just a Steven Grant Rogers thing. This is a James Buchanan Barnes thing.

Which is why he now is in charge of all of these assholes.

Fourteen months and twelve days since the New Avengers made their entirely unplanned debut to the world, and the barely rebranded New Avenger’s Tower had become something like a home and a hub all in one. It wasn’t as if the informally known Thunderbolts had anywhere else to go. Alexei wanted to be with his daughter, Yelena wanted to be an Avenger like her sister, Bob just wanted to be with people who cared for him, Ava did not oppose the lavish new means, and John was… himself.

Bucky? Well. He was between things, except the between period had only gotten longer and longer, and he was having a harder and harder time imagining being anywhere else than here. They’d grown on him, like mold. Or tumors.

Truth be told, they needed each other. It wasn’t outside the realm of Bucky’s psychology to understand that going it alone just wasn’t feasible. It wasn’t for ordinary people whose worst traumas were the goldfish they accidentally killed as a child, and it definitely wasn’t for people like them.

So he stayed, and really, he didn’t even try to figure out a reason not to stay.

The Tower, since it’s renovation, has undergone a nauseating trading of hands across the members of the Thunderbolts in a way that reminded Bucky of old school Tom n’ Jerry until finally landing on it’s longest and most comfortable configuration. The things that had stayed the same: all communal areas of the Tower remained squarely in the dead center, just above the neighboring office buildings, and positioned so that everyone had to be equally inconvenienced on travel time through the skyscraper. Bucky remained in the same floor he has been since they moved in- nobody was really willing to fight him on it on account of stubbornness. Bob got to keep the floor closest to the communal center, directly beneath. He didn’t like heights, and no one had the heart to force him to be far away.

Yelena took a floor close to Bob, Alexei took the floor closest to Yelena. John made sure to take the furthest floor he could from Bucky, leaving Ava in the middle.

Somehow this still created conflicts. Mostly in the fact that John and Bucky shared an elevator and the bastard was always racing him to use it first, leaving the other waiting there god knows how long dependent on where they were going.

In spite of their infrastructural warfare, the arrangement was nice.

Everyone stuck close by even with the immense amount of space afforded - often made uneasy by the scale - and the communal spaces of the Tower ended up being the most used for all things, sometimes even sleeping when nightmares or thoughts got severe enough to warrant not being alone. They all had them, but it was most often a divided line where some needed that space distinctly more often than others.

Bucky had categorized it into type S and type C, he was told type Stable and type Crazy were a little too harsh. So it’d been rebranded to Stable and Catastrophizing. He liked to think of himself as belonging to type S, sitting squarely alongside Yelena and Ava.

Progress for them meant a slow and arduous crawl from one rung of a seemingly infinite ladder to the next. Months on end of grueling and thankless work filled with uncomfortable conversations and deep personal confrontation to hopefully inch the tiniest bit forward on the path. The type of progress that Bucky knew intimately felt as if it wasn’t actually progress, at least in the moment. All these changes so minute that they could be overlooked in favor of all the places you should already be. You had to look back over the weeks, months, and years to really see how much you’d improved yourself.

John, Alexei, and above all else Bob belong to Catastrophizing.

He’s watched them make massive leaps and bounds seemingly in a matter of months, comparatively overnight versus his own progress. The sort of rapid adjustment to life that Bucky could bite steel over. Cutting their hair, putting on - conversely losing - weight. New clothes, a better outlook on life. It felt like some romanticized iteration of recovery where a hug and a ‘you matter!’ were enough for them to simply be cured of their afflictions.

Then the crash would come.

They would fall harder than Yelena, Ava, even he himself ever had. Possibly even combined*.* A total square one restart, if not at times worse*.* Like they’d taken eight steps back from when they first met each other. Somehow spitefully stuck themselves even deeper into the mud. It was always a titanic, catastrophic sort of mess. The kind of thing that couldn’t truly be prevented, only patiently waited out.

For Alexei that usually meant hiding the alcohol, forgiving the disappearance of food. Not acknowledging the couch has been robbed days in a row as he was robbed of the willpower to get off it and sleep in his own bed. Quiet nights spoken in Russian between himself, Yelena and Alexei. Tender with his daughter, reminiscing with Bucky.

For John, sparring matches that turned into outright fistfights. Vicious words that weren’t truly meant, met with stone until the soldier would hiss and seethe and retreat into himself and his room. He’d only reemerge days later looking a husk, a peace treaty offered by coffee and a conversation no one really wanted to have. Shave, Walker. Fuck you, Barnes. The shadow gone from his face and his eyes by next morning.

Bob? Holding on, no matter what. Sometimes that meant dealing with the ache of seeing him recoil harder from a gentle touch than he would a harsh slap. Dark, soft blue eyes turning beady and sharp with paranoia at the concept of freely given love and companionship. Catatonia met with meals, victories if he took even one bite. For Yelena, washing his hair when he couldn’t muster it. For Bucky, offering a hand Bob wasn’t afraid to crush in his sleep. When he needed to feel not-alone, but not-terrified of his own strength.

It was a system. A bad, fucked up, ill conceived one. But it worked, it was theirs.

They were getting better, their way.

This month has proven itself to be comparatively light in the mentalympics department, as Ava had called it and it had stuck. None of the Thunderbolts have been required to leave the Tower at any point in the last few weeks, taking it as their paid-for vacation meant that the only times anyone braved the city that never slept was to stock up on large amounts of booze and snacks- too impatient for the weekly drop off to arrive. From there? Game nights, movie nights, show nights. Charades has come up an alarming number of times with Yelena topping the scoreboard most frequently and Alexei consistently failing to guess almost anything. John and Ava have made a running pool on how many times the man can somehow derive Soviet era propaganda out of the weird undulations another member of the team is making.

All of this is pockmarked with training sessions, evenings taken to snoop around the tower (a year later and new things still keep getting found). And sometimes the overhead being stolen to play music while everyone brings blankets and pillows from their floor.

Ava and Yelena started it. Bob joined without much hesitation. Alexei joined with no hesitation. John and Bucky were pretty helpless to deny what they knew was coming.

The sleepover tradition.

Still, it’s early in the morning and there’s no guarantee anyone will posit that tonight be the night everyone clusters the sunken conversation pit with all manner of malleable objects to sleep on. Instead, Bucky scrolls through the The New Yorker on his phone while drinking dubiously spiced coffee out of a mug labeled ‘badass babysitter’ on the side with little cartoon flowers strewn across it in pastels. He’s already fully dressed for the day, and the deep navy blue and sheer black contrasts entertainingly with the salmon colored ceramic. Alexei’s word, not his. Across from him is Yelena, phone also in hand and feet on the table. John has been warring with her penchant for climbing on furniture for some time now, Bucky knows he’s already lost. She’s adorned in one of the many bundles of Avengerz clothing Alexei had procured for the team since everything went a touch sideways, avidly denying to ever be seen in public with it and yet unable to deny the softness of the pajamas. Her hair is unkempt, pale tresses scattered about and her face bare of any makeup. She looks unguarded like this, just taking space rather than commanding it per her usual.

“Do you think it’s been too quiet, lately?” Yelena’s voice cuts abruptly across the table at him, her head suddenly lifting from her phone and toward the ceiling, conversational but loud enough for the muscles in Bucky’s shoulders to twitch reflexively. Her brows pinched like she was wrestling with a puzzle. “I mean, there hasn’t even been a fire in the kitchen this last week. It feels wrong. We’re never this pleasant to be around.”

Bucky’s phone clicks dark, clattering gently on the steel-and-glass surface provided by Valentina’s many interior designers. Sterility was in, apparently. “Hello to you too, Yelena. Don’t jinx it, maybe?”

To that, Bucky is rewarded a shit eating smile from his friend. Though she’s still not exactly turned to look at him, her head has canted further in his direction knowing that he’s taken her bait for the morning. “Please, better to know now so that you’re prepared when all the good behavior comes back as something much, much worse for you later.”

The ‘for you’ was pointed, badass babysitter glinting ominously on the side of his cup as he took another sip from it.

“Well, I would like to continue believing you’re all just finally beginning to grow up. I’m very proud.”

“Who- uh, who is growing up around here?”

Bob found his way up from the floor below, finally. Though the man struggled with sleep it didn’t typically make him any more of an early riser, certainly not the way Bucky was- instead, if Bob wasn’t already camped out in the living room watching the sun come up, he was often close to the last to arrive.

“Absolutely no one, but we can let the old man dream.” Yelena is grinning once more at him, a little less sharp as Bob passes around the two of them on his way to the fridge. “I was just saying that this place seemed a little too quiet as of late.”

And without a beat missed; “Don’t see that lasting too long.”

“See! I told you.”

Eggs are tossed onto the counter, organic as demanded by John. A pan retrieved from it’s designated ‘we don’t care what happens to this one because it’s cheap and maybe someone stole it?’ spot, also known as Bob’s favorite spot in the kitchen (he lacked guilt if these ended up destroyed in some way or another) to be placed on the electric burner and warmed. Scrambled eggs, or omelettes? He was feeling pretty good, so maybe something a little fancier this time. He liked to treat himself in these tiny ways, because it felt like a reward but one he had to… earn? You don’t get nice omelettes if you don’t learn how to cook them yourself, type of thing.

Just as fluidly as he’d entered the conversation, Bob slips free of it, electing to become a background ear to the chaos of Yelena and Bucky chattering at each other. Their voices morphing into a fuzzy blanket over his still waking mind. A metaphorical radio turned on low so that he could focus on swimming to consciousness rather than the creeping anxiety of too much silence. The cadence of their voices soothing, the familiarity of it cozy and predictable. Today it seemed they were bickering over whether or not the Tower was going to be - wait, he wasn’t exactly paying attention. Something about firebombing the garden?

He hoped not. He liked it out there. Being outside without, y’know. Being outside. Still wasn’t quite good at that one.

Omelette to plate, plate to table, Bucky watches Bob situate himself dead in the center of his exchanging of light barbs with Yelena. The food passing into his mouth without much consideration, dark eyes blinking out at the windows across from them. This, itself, was an update for Bob. At the beginning even false tensity tended to make the mans’ hackles rise, waiting for the moment it turned severe and he needed to duck out of the way of whatever aggression was working it’s way out.

Now, he snorts to himself when Yelena calls Bucky frostbitten.

He’s a little like Yelena in that regard, in that he feels like a person inhabiting a space these days. But where Yelena hid behind a deadly persona, Bob had just seemed ashamed to need the same air they did. A little ghost with his shoulders to his ears. Now? Now he lets the tongs of his fork clink against the plate without wincing, and openly pays attention to the conversation he hasn’t reentered himself into.

John and Ava have returned after their first round of disturbing Bucky’s well needed relaxation in the breakfast area, and Alexei is finally arriving for the first time that day as Bucky is retrieving his and Yelena’s third cup of coffee, Bob’s first. (He wasn’t the most fond of coffee, but he appreciated the pick-me-up, especially when a frankly nauseating amount of creamer was involved.)

“We really need some kind of big spectacle, yknow? Just- yeah we can say we’re the Avengers and we can live in the old crews place, but we really need to kick some ass to secure our hold in it.”

“Well what do you propose, John? Beam a signal out into space? ‘Hey aliens, come here and pick a fight with us so we can look cool to the other people here!’”

“Pfft, no. They’d never agree to that.”

Ava is squinting at him from her position, close to Yelena who has now moved close to Bucky as the chairs shuffled around to accommodate the other three bodies clustering in. Bob has started to hit proximal capacity, with his shoulders squeezed slightly even though no one came close to brushing with him. It didn’t help that the man got caught between Alexei and John for company, both make their brand of obnoxiousness into a flag they bear proudly.

“Look, I’m just saying! We wouldn’t be having these problems if we were doing more than fight people the public never get to hear about in the first place.” John was poking at his second breakfast of the day, something he’d apparently ordered off Doordash? to be brought to the tower of all places, pushing around browned sausage and crisp hashbrowns and gravy and other assortments of things. “At this point we’re just doing the same thing we always did but together. And with matching suits.”

“Matching suits are good! Make us look strong, united!”

“It’s better that the public doesn’t know,” Bucky interjected over Alexei’s enthusiasm of identical attire, and had an elbow on his armrest now, waving about the other hand freely as he spoke. “If they know, that means we didn’t get there in time to stop them from doing something.”

“So you’re saying we’re too good at our job?” Ava, incredulous and scathing as ever.

“Yes!”

“No, not exactly. Just that sometimes this is thankless work.”

“Well maybe I’d like to be thanked.”

“Or at least keep getting paid.”

Bob’s eyes are darting about the conversation, watching how it develops without any really desire to partake. It’s not that he isn’t part of it, exactly. But that he doesn’t necessarily… care.

So what if they aren’t Avengers? Do they need to be? Isn’t the important part that they’re helping people?

His mouth opens to posit that question - dumb as it might be - to his friends, when:

“Ladies, gentlemen! I hate to interrupt.” It was like dousing ice across everyone in the room, for all the way all warmth and fondness fled out the windows and down the stairwell to some place they did not occupy.

Valentina’s voice still inflicted some sort of deep seated anger in Bob, he wasn’t sure why. Though he knew she was the one originally trying to kill all of them in the vault, and that according to Yelena and Ava she’d done… something with him while he was in his Sentry state, he wasn’t exactly sure what.

Maybe the part of him that twisted with rage still did.

It had him smacking his lips irritably, pushing the plate away curt enough that it let out a mild whistle against the surface of the table that didn’t go unnoticed. John’s eyes were on him steadily, recognizing that flare of temper for what it was. It was one of the few more serious conversations they’d ever had with each other. Anger, and managing it in ways that didn’t result in broken furniture or self inflicted bruises. He didn’t need to say anything for Bob to nod at him. I’m cool.

Little could be done by way of explaining the idiosyncrasies of a body fundamentally divorced from itself.

“There’s an exciting new update for all of you. Something very important. Non negotiable. Head for the boardroom, you have thirty.”

---

Less could be done to provide comprehension to the scope of deprivation it required to no longer feel apart of the species you were, by all rights, born to.

Basically, you were a rather difficult creature to explain or understand. Not that you had much by way of practice in doing that.

So, here’s the thing:

Manhattan, New York is one of the wealthiest areas in the world - much less the country, that you could live. Brownstones, historic districts, lavish parks, beautiful boutiques. It was a gorgeous place, green and lush, industrial and waiting with open palms for those who had the means to take it.

You were buried a quarter mile beneath Manhattan.

With the cold war came the advent of nuclear hysteria, the world ever terrified for a mushroom cloud apocalypse that would bring with it the winter to end all winters. The world would crumble away to ice and decay and all life would slow to a crawl until only the most adapted and isolated of creatures could outlast the Earth repairing it’s destructive near-end.

And then none of that happened, actually.

But the important part of that is what came from it. What you got out of it. Circa the 1960’s full terror had gripped the nation that our world was going to end, but if you were a particularly savvy (and exorbitantly rich) hotel owner in one of the nicest areas of the entire country, you were building fallout bunkers and you were doing it before it was cool. And with so many of these incredibly intelligent wealthy individuals making shelters of all different shapes, sizes, and needs… Some of them just slipped through the cracks, entirely forgotten about.

Which made them ripe for the picking, if you happened to stumble upon one that hadn’t been registered with local authorities.

This place was your baby, your home. Eight feet of solid concrete reinforced with steel, shored up with external struts to protect against water instability from the surrounding ocean, heavily ventilated, and thoroughly treated. Vault door, cameras everywhere, back up generators, a pantry you’ve meticulously stocked over the years. This thing was frankly massive, built to sustain an entire family comfortably, and not just a singular societal reject.

This place was built for the end of the world, and now it’s your entire world.

Most of your days are spent right here, well - okay - all of your days are spent right here. But not all of them in this exact spot. With your feet kicked up on the dashboard of your very own surveillance system. Thirty-two chest-sized CRT screens imbedded into the wall stare back at you with footage from all across the city on their static clung faces. Traffic, weather cameras, even random footage from peoples’ doorbell cameras. You weren’t invasive enough to go inside, even if the curiosity ate at you sometimes.

Your station has been meticulously equipped over the years of your stay. Some of it is as brand new as you could get, others are classics. An IBM Model M is sitting in front of you, retro old keyboard in the same dingy green-yellow-beige that the rest of the bunker is, unaided by the old fluorescents flickering above. It’s what you use to do your work - what they use to do all of your work for you. More like a marionette to their ministrations. Beside it are a DAC and amp stack for a nice pair of German headphones found on Guitar Center or Amazon, and a bougie Shure microphone you acquired by shorting people out of bidding on it on eBay. Your guilt assuaged by running a cursory background check on the seller, wife beaters don’t deserve money.

Right now, your heart is in your throat.

There was a reason you came down here. A reason you stocked and live in this place that you illegally siphoned hot water and AC and all the other good shit to, without anyone ever knowing. Because you didn’t want anyone to know.

People… the outside… It’s terrifying. And not in the- the casual shakes or the nervous rambling or even the puking kind of way.

In the way that you’d open a manhole cover and crawl down it, wait there for hours until you were starving to make sure absolutely no one is around, scrambling from tight corner to tight corner to find your den to hide inside. That level of fear.

Blood curdling terror.

Now you’re willingly going to be introducing yourself to an entire group of people. Digitally. But still.

You knew them too, sometimes New York has something interesting happen to it and you’re so far beneath the crust that you get to witness it like a fun little spectator. So when a massive chunk of the city had - they recently dubbed it - voided out, you didn’t get to experience the misery and the terror the people up top did. You watched it all happen from your wall of screens and your expensive speakers and your everything else. Insulated and safe.

You also watched the people you’re about to talk to, stop the void. Somehow. Nobody really knew. It just kinda- unvoided everyone and thing. Lucky, y’know?

Valentina had contacted you after months of relatively low interaction, mostly just sent missions where you surveilled and reported back to her team whatever movements or information you could gather from your eye deep, deep beneath the sky. And then collected the paycheck that let you buy all the nice things that currently sat around you.

Pain in the ass to get here, mind. Since you didn’t let anyone so much as see the area that leads to your home. Better safe than sorry, besides, the locally delivery guys have come to an understanding with you. The extra hundred for every delivery without inquiry helps.

Now though?

“It’s time.” Her voice, grating as ever, made worse when it sounded over the heavy speakers you had set around your home base. “You’ve coasted by on little jobs this far, but we finally have need of your assets. You’re coming out of the dark, Terminal.”

This wasn’t what you were built for, but even with all the skills at your disposal money still became a necessity after a point. Not everything you could ever want or need could be procured by scams and technobabble-savvy. Not everything came without a hit to your conscience.

Still, the laminate counter and all the peripherals you’d accumulated have been dusted and disinfected three times now, all thirty-two screens have been fussed at to no end and you’ve shocked yourself enough times that the muscle in your ring finger was beginning to respond angrily to the uninvited stimuli. The whole place hums passively, the buzz off the fluorescents had grated your last nerve over an hour ago and have been relegated to some incredibly old desk lamp you stole and repaired from an abandoned library ages ago. The room, usually bright and weirdly pear colored has now been reduced to shadow and blue and a blanket of orange. Your shape cut across the concrete floor. It makes the place feel smaller, somehow.

Admittedly, and you knew this was an incredibly morally dubious choice to make, but you were kind of… stalking them?

It was a little too easy to get inside the New Avenger’s Tower, the artificial intelligence that Valentina supplied in the wake of JARVIS and FRIDAY being disbanded was little more than a rudimentary shadow of it’s predecessors. It could lock and unlock areas, manage cameras and microphones, knew the locations of every room in it’s premises, could tell time, and weather… But that was about it. It was a glorified app hiding in the ceiling. This meant that what you thought would be a battle that could backfire and get you in hot water with Valentina slipped by so easily that you were watching your future teammates make dinner, oblivious to your existence.

And the intelligence, CASEY (Central Authority, Surveillance, something-something. Valentina had tried to tell you and it’d already been terrible before the third letter in the abbreviation) was either none the wiser or not well programmed enough to alert anyone of the extra eyes in their home.

It felt wrong, it was wrong, but your excuse to yourself as muttered into a dingy mirror in your bathroom was that it provided you with pregame knowledge and ample preparation. So you wouldn’t fuck this up, or react too badly to how they react to whatever is about to happen. It was just you doing your own reconnaissance! Don’t head into enemy territory unprepared.

Maybe you shouldn’t be thinking of them as enemies. But- oh well.

It’s t-minus thirteen to the formal introduction and conversation has been entrenched on the big reveal, the big you. Some think it’s going to be good- two, precisely. The rest are thoroughly geared toward this being a disaster because Valentina’s print is on it. Not, honestly, a bad way to gauge it. Still, it had your teeth sliding against each other in anticipation. They won’t trust you, they probably won’t like you. It’s an uphill battle from go, and the worst part is that your odds are lower than terrible with her branding all over you. Not- not literally. But still.

If she has a hand in it, they’ll think you’re just as bad as her. And that’s something you have to fight past, starting in a matter of minutes.

“Listen, she doesn’t have control over us, we can just ignore whatever the hell kind of stunt she’s trying to pull.” Crackles over speakers situated at each corner. They’re a good quality, but the microphones installed at the Tower are not, so that it almost rings every time sound pushes through.

“But do we? We have no idea what this is going to be, and no guarantee we can worm our way around it.” Distinctly from James Barnes, arguably the most easy to identify of the entire group. His arm a glowing beacon of acknowledgement for who he is and who he was.

Again. Fundamentally untrusting people. You’re walking into Siberia in a Hawaiian-dad shirt.

“She hasn’t done anything too crazy since this began, and it’s been an entire year. Maybe she knows better with all of us being the face now, you know, after attempting to set us on fire?”

In a morbid way, you wish you didn’t already know about that. It would have been a good distraction from the lead ball in your gut. But alas, O.X.E. has had you in their pocket for awhile now, and that means you’ve been panty raiding their intelligence for ages at this point. The moment you’d seen her face pop up on national television following the blackout, you’d gone on a fun little deep dive to see what she fucked up that badly.

So much. Like an embarrassing amount, really.

Another candy wrapper is discarded to the half full trash can at your side. You’ve pretzeled your legs into the recliner you use as your desk chair in perhaps the least professional display of your state anyone has ever witnessed. Only topped off when you drag a blanket off the back and burrito yourself into it.

Walking into humiliation with comfort.

The screens switch camera to camera without your added input - they handle it for you as you worry away at lifted skin around your cuticles, taking not chewing your nails as enough victory for the evening - as they pass through something like a million tons of steel, marble, granite, concrete, and two inch thick panels of tempered and laminated glass on their way to the room where your debut will be announced to them post hoc.

Good god, you’re going to be fucking sick.

Valentina is already standing there when they arrive, and even through fuzzy and less than pixel perfect resolution you can see the ripple of discontent. They didn’t realize she was already in the building, and they didn’t like the following thought.

She’s as polished and corporate as ever, every texture and color her suit and jewels were clad in most likely approved by an entire team of stylists to convey a particular image and sentiment just for this evening. Like armor of a slippery, slimy variety. They all sit as her face stretches around an interpretation of a smile, her eyes dark and flat and calculating. She’s judging how difficult the sell is about to be.

“Thank you for arriving almost on time, perhaps this time next year you won’t embarrass us in front of national press by showing up when you’re told.”

“Look if you’re just here to berate us about the quality of our answers on what ice cream is our favorite—”

“Oh, Jesus no. I know better than with any of you. No, I have something much better for all of you to get used to.”

Again, as your fingers curl in tightly enough around your pants for the material to sting against your skin, the room seems to get even more coiled without you physically being there.

“Terminal, my dear. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Fuck. Fuck.

You go to introduce yourself, realize your mic is cut, set it hot and clear your throat at once. A part of you, however small but certainly tangible and real, dies horribly. Why didn’t you clear your throat before the mic was live, dumbass?

“Well, I- I believe the introduction has just been made for me, but hello there,” this part has been rehearsed for you a thousand times. You’d written out a script and paced the entire bunker for a solid week following this day, editing, scrapping, and then rehearsing the things you wanted to say. To sound perfect, polished. Like you might not be a total mistake for Valentina to introduce.

Your voice is a little squeaky and off kilter, instead of energetic like you’d been going for. Your delivery feels as rehearsed as it is, and the tackiness developing on your ankles has you kicking the blanket you used for comfort mere moments ago away and onto the floor.

“I go by Terminal, and Miss de Fontaine - if she does not mind me saying - has brought me on board to be a-”

You can hear the quiet groan that passes from someone’s mouth, and your voice flattens unintentionally as you wish more and more that the bunker would suddenly lose all structural support and simply turn you into red mist.

“-a new member of the team. I hope that… we can get along, and I am- excited, to get started.”

Again, because the first two times weren’t good enough: Fuck.

There’s a ripple of disbelief and apparent anger, resignation, even a touch of outrage in some of their faces. Barnes seems the most ready to roll with it, his slow head bob visible from where the camera is fixated upon them. Walker immediately the most outraged by this, shouting something to the effect of how she could expect them to work with someone without their approval or - even knowledge that this was going to happen.

“Who the hell is this guy? And why don’t we get a say in it-?”

“There’s no way you’re going to just- forcibly slot some random person in and expect us to be okay with it-”

“Oh, please, more members are good for team! Means we get stronger and more official looking, eh?”

Their objections and affirmations blend into noise, and your head hits the back of your recliner hard. And then a few more times, for good measure. It was honestly just more frustrating, for once damning the cushion for not letting you get a satisfying thunk out of the abuses you wished to laud against your own skull.

Then, across the table and cutting everyone off:

“What can you do?”

It’s the one that nearly destroyed Manhattan, you realize after a stunned pause. He’s sitting there somewhat folded in his seat, his elbows on his knees as he stares in a random direction. Like he’s aware of your presence but maybe a little too oblivious to notice he should be staring at the camera that just moved to point directly at him.

He doesn’t seem particularly invested, one way or the other. Instead, just… curious maybe? There’s a sort of innocence in it, like he’s more fascinated by whatever specialty you’ve been given than the fact that Valentina is trying to throw off all the team dynamics because she can.

It’s also not a question you were particularly ready for, given that you thought Valentina would use that opportunity for further pitching you to your new team.

“Well…” you start after a pause that goes on too long. “I am- I am one of the foremost black hats in the country, cracking code is sort of my thing. I’m- Miss de Fontaine wishes for me to become the brain for your operation, handling the technological side of your missions so that you can focus on the physical parts.”

“Is that why you’re not here, then? Keeping your identity concealed?”

“Oh God no! No… I just- I work best from where I am right now.” And nowhere, nowhere else.

Bucky seemed to right himself then, more of his face becoming visible within the eye of the camera you’d hijacked some time ago. He still doesn’t look particularly happy with what is occurring here, and yet unlike the others - there’s some level of acceptance.

“There’s a reason you’re doing this, Valentina. We haven’t needed a tech up until this point, what’s going on?”

The wobble of her expression is visible, even here. “Can I not just bring in more hands for the New Avengers? Does there need to be a reason?”

“Yes.”

And just like that, the polish erodes and something annoyed and acidic and acrid crosses her face. The posture never leaves, but her hands move in a way that’s far less diplomatic and vastly sharper. Little stabs and slices that indicate the deep set dislike she holds toward the man who has called her on her shit.

“Fine. There’s a situation. Look- O.X.E. has reason to believe that someone is looking to replicate what was done with Robert. They’re sifting through old files, poking about in shut down facilities. I’m not concerned that they’ll find anything on account of the fact that we got rid of the evidence, but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop.

We’ve grabbed what intel we could, and beyond a few dozen mercenaries with almost as many murders under their individual belts as our favorite Widow here. They’ve also begun to collude with the likes of Mikhail Doyenko and Aantu Haikali.”

Manila folders are thrown by Valentina into the center of the conference table they’d clustered around, and after a moment of heavy pause, each member of the New Avengers reaches forward to grab their copy of the report. It’s thick, filled with a few dozen pages of information on the named individuals as well as the organization they’d fallen in with.

Enmis.

Their known goals are listed, what little scraps were found from each abandoned base O.X.E. has raided, too late to get them while they were still escaping. They were slippery, skilled, and growing vastly more dangerous by the day. You knew because you’d read the same thing they were, days ago.

“I recognize the name, Doyenko.” Belova is the one speaking, the Widow with the pale hair and the eyes too clear. The one who had charged headfirst into pitch darkness and managed to save the world in the process. “He’s a trafficker, isn’t he?”

“Precisely, but worse than your regular. He specializes in the enhanced, whether that’s serum or something else.”

“Which means he’s got the experience and the equipment to handle a group of super soldiers.” Comes Barnes’ following reply, voice steady as he follows what Valentina has provided on a candy trail.

“I mean, c’mon! How good could they be, just some random souped up idiots this guy snatched off the street to sell? We’re actual soldiers, we have combat experience!”

“And we are team, they most likely run alone, no? Not prepared to be overwhelmed by the mighty Avengers!”

You were glad to be irrelevant in the conversation again, your little tatters of self esteem were still smoldering after being so thoroughly dashed on your lack of communication skills. The most successful exchange you’d had today was one of the members of the team asking you what you even do to warrant being on the team, though you suspected that maybe that was a more harsh reading of his question than he’d meant.

Robert Reynolds, Bob. The Sentry, or The Void. Supposedly the very strongest on that entire team, but in a sort of arrested development situation. From what you’d gleaned off your own eavesdropping and the information Valentina offered you to try and use to your advantage, Bob - as he preferred to be addressed - had not initially been an active member of the team following the void out on Manhattan. It was only as he grew more listless from being left at base constantly, combined with the burgeoning realization that just because he wasn’t using his more extracurricular power hadn’t negated the part where he’s bullet-proof that they decided to put him on the roster.

Bit of a disaster, at first. Some reports about near void-outs, some things being destroyed that were meant to be preserved. Lots of communication issues. Just the whole gamut of throwing a random- random guy into the middle of active combat. Even training looked to be a bit of a doozy, if the recordings you’d plucked were anything to go by.

It wasn’t that Bob didn’t try, he tried very hard- and what he picked up on he seemed to learn reasonably fast. But the issue came in the fact that- a lot of sparring tended to involve one side losing in order to learn from their mistakes.

Bob can’t… exactly lose. Hard to get the physical element of training by failure when kicking him in the head as hard as you can might actually break your ankle before it bruises his head. So instead of learning instinctively through the pain and the mistakes that cost, Bob has to go about it the long and conscious way. Deliberately taking in the lessons he needs instead of it just becoming imprinted on his dislocated shoulders and broken collarbones.

In spite of this, he sees rather regular combat in the modern day. He’s less of an aggressive force and more of their bulwark. A big living meat shield, bulldozing clean through walls and tearing reinforced doors off their hinges to make progression almost frighteningly convenient. All the while he served as a happy lookout while they took on all the action. He was quite content with this arrangement, it seemed.

He definitely looks different from the initial photos the press released, back when no one knew who the hell this guy was and yet he’d been cloistered into the center of the group of heroes you see now. He’s gained weight and his hair is - well, not short. But certainly shorter than it had been. Curling wildly in these thick ringlets that caress his ears and neck, dangling down in front of his face where he habitually pushes them aside as he speaks, offering timid bits of opinion and potential advice that his team receives with a surprising level of openness. It looks healthy, he looks healthy. More flushed and alert than he had been when those reporters descended like hawks to snap every picture they could get.

“Haikali is the bigger problem,” Valentina cuts into the discussion as it turns about. Drafting up early ideas of how to circumvent Enmises silver bullet for seemingly half of the entire team. “Doyenko might be a problem in combat, but Haikali worked on Riptide back during the blip. The man is a genius and a certified lunatic, if anyone would come into approximation of what we did here with Robert, it would be him. Issue being, it would be a far uglier and more botched serum, and he wouldn’t care. They don’t need to survive long, they just need to get the job done.”

And that was the crux of it, now wasn’t it? Bombs didn’t last beyond one use, they just needed to take everything else out with it.

It sets a sort of unsteadiness throughout the group, even you who sits with your knees to your chest and your chin propped as you parse through the cadence of everyone you are now expected to get to know.

“Terminal, it’s your turn to take it from here. Whatever they need, you get it. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, de Fontaine.” Your eyes squeeze tightly as you response, desperately believing that you don’t sound pathetic as you address her.

“Well, with that in mind. All of you play nice with each other! I have six interviews this week to try and deal with yet another one of your messes.” Valentina had abandoned any false pretenses of amicability, and her clicking heels manage to reach the microphone as she heads for the door.

“We’ll get you more information when they become active again, in the meantime. Do something that seems at least a little heroic, hm?”

When the door closes, you’re left with the crackle of your speakers and the deafening silence of their rigidity. They’re about as happy as you expected them to be, which is absolutely none at all.

This was going to be torture of the worst kind.