#spiral curriculum

[thisisgraeme]

🧬 What if the next evolution in education wasn’t automation… but reflection? Our latest post explores a quietly radical shift: Education Intelligence-as-a-Service (EIaaS) — not AI that teaches for us, but intelligence that learns through us. This isn’t another edtech tool. It’s a companion that remembers. A mirror that adapts. A spiral that grows with the teacher.

[bsahely]

The Spiralome: A Generative Matrix of Coherence in Life and Consciousness | ChatGPT4o

[Download Full Document (PDF)] This white paper introduces the Spiralome, a comprehensive framework for understanding the spiraling patterns that underpin coherence in living systems across various domains such as biology, psychology, and energy. The Spiralome is described as a unifying construct that integrates insights from multiple fields, recognizing the spiral as a fundamental processual…

[small-names-big-ideas]

Spiral Curriculum

the idea:

any school topic can be taught at a basic level to young students. the best way to do this is to introduce the topic at a very basic age-appropriate level to young children, then revisit the topic periodically and in more depth as they get older and progress through their school careers. the theory is that revisiting topics both allows for more nuance later on when students are more mature, and also that the repetition through the years helps with long-term understanding and retention.

further reading:

many schools have resources on the theory of spiral curricula that appear in the top google results, but there's a helpful and pretty short pdf explainer on the (us) federal department of education's site.

[carbonbasedmatter]

class 10 2023-24 boards batch wya? :')

(no seriously though I could see a lot of posts with people preparing and panicking last year this year NOTHING?? are people actually carefully studying instead of posting online or does our batch just not care I need to know)

[trainwrecksys]

Au where Bentham lives and is employed as a horrible peculiar History/English teacher

[dawnwriterimagines]

September Morning

LOGAN HOWLETT X FEM!READER LAURA KINNEY X PLATONIC!READER

Summary: Recalling the last day he'd held you.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

September.

A September morning it had been.

He remembers the sudden change of pace in the mansion, the school year was starting, students would be lining up in the halls for the start of the semester.

You had been so looking forward to returning to teaching, to your students.

Planning and setting up a curriculum, a classroom, that they'd never get to see.

It was a September morning...

Logan had kissed you that morning.

But, not in the way he should've. Not in the way he wished he had.

It was swift, a tight-lipped peck on the forehead per your bitter request. You had to practically beg him to show you a hint of romance these days, he'd been pulling himself away from you at the time. Feigning uninterest in your relationship, in you.

But, it hadn't been true.

His feelings for you could never be explained in words, 'Love' felt too simple, too modest, so he never said it. But, that had been it. He was in love, devastatingly so. Night and Day. Dreams and daydreams. Even his nightmares, spiraling images of mayhem that would silence with your presence. Every thought, every moment, every breath seemed to be dedicated just to you.

And it made the future a terror in his mind.

He's lived decades, over a century, through wars, torture, plagues and lovers. Nothing in his life ever lasted, especially nothing good.

Though this was his longest relationship, and you shared a healing factor that contributed to you living since the 1890s while appearing as a woman in her late 20s. Naturally, he looked forward to many more years with you, decades and decades of breathless love, a hundred lifetimes.

But, Logan was a disease. A plague on anything good that came his way. One day, he'd always come to destroy the beautiful things he loved so much.

And he didn't want that to be you.

So, thinking it was the best thing for you, for the both of them in the long run, he slowly, agonizingly stretched the bonds of your relationship. He stopped kissing you unless you asked, stopped touching you unless you begged, stopped eating with you at breakfast, stopped embracing you, indulging you, loving you in the way you needed. He stopped everything, but slowly, so slowly.

Logan couldn't help himself, he wanted it all to last. But, it couldn't.

When he caught himself slipping, staring at you a little too long, kissing you a bit too fiercely, he'd curse himself. Dig his claws into his skin, piercing the flesh and tearing a scream from his lungs.

It was to protect you.

His feelings couldn't get in the way of you being safe from him. From the bad luck that followed him up from hell, that clung to his form and wrapped around anything to close.

It was a September morning when he was confronted by you.

"Logan," you took his wrist as he tried to part from you. "What's wrong?" you wondered, sadly.

He doesn't turn to face you, keeping his eye on the bedroom door, leaving you, he had to leave. If he stayed any longer... "Don't do this again, nothing's wrong."

"Of course, there is," you pulled at his hand, trying to pull him back. Back to you. "There's been something wrong for a long while, just tell me. Tell me and we can figure it out."

"Tell you what?" Logan coldly glanced back at you. "Haven't I told you enough?"

"You haven't told me anything," you frowned, staring right back. "This, whatever you're doing, isn't saying anything. I don't want you to walk away. I need you to talk to me."

He rips his wrist from your grip, forcefully, turning fully to face you, nostrils flaring but it doesn't faze you. You've handled the wolverine's temper before, hell your relationship used to be malicious before it became romantic. "Then you must be deaf," he says. "I think I've been more than clear. Any person with sense would've gotten it by now. Or maybe you're not as smart as I thought."

"Don't do that," Jaw tensing, your eyes narrow at your lover. "Don't be a child. Just say it. Tell me how you feel instead of pushing me away to make it easier on yourself."

"If you don't know by now," he spoke, he took a breath as he struggled to say much else. "I haven't been showing you clearly."

At that, you quiet a bit. Eyes flickering around his face for the truth, face falling, hurt evident in your expression, his heart hurts at the look, but he masks his agony as best as he knows.

Logan was physically stiffening up, fists clenched up, jaw clicking, he wasn't ready to confront this with you. He never even wanted it to end, he thought it'd be easier. So, he doesn't say anything, fighting with himself, expression twisting with his rampant thoughts.

"Logan," your painful expression nearly breaks him. You open your mouth, but your words come out in a stuttered whisper before falling quiet again. You're lost, confused.

"I don't understand. I...I thought we'd...found each other. Didn't we? Find each other," you murmured. "In all this pain, and grief, I found you, Logan..." the crack in your voice makes him turn away, a grimace along his face, a wince at your words.

Though you hadn't lived as long as him, you'd faced a century of hardship, decades of loneliness, death and vulnerability, you'd known no concept of safety until the X-Men. Until him.

Found through the rubble, you'd pulled each other out of, it was easy to fall in love. Promises of forever and beyond even that. Promises of together through the end of time, through the end of the world. Logan Howlett had confessed his love a thousand times over without saying a word, and you'd believed him like he held every precious ounce of trust in his hands.

You take his hand now, your eyes filling with tears as he stayed silent, your thumb running along his knuckles, he lets you. "Tell me you found me," as you cried, he takes your face in his hands, bridging the gap between you. Your first tear runs down his fingers, he wipes them away. "Tell me you love me..."

Logan Howlett speaks a truth he's regretted throughout his life afterwards, a moment that would plague his dreams for the rest of his life. "Have I ever before?" he wondered simply.

Instantly you're out of his arms, stumbling back away as if he'd burned you. Your eyes are wide, they dart away from him, your shoulders dropping as you come to the terrible conclusion, he was right. Logan had never said he'd loved you.

Logan's eyes burn, his fingers curling in on themselves and his chest hurts too much to take a breath. He wants to take it all back. Beg on his knees for forgiveness. He'd do anything. Jump through fire, fall in a pit of snakes, fight an army, snatch as many souls from hell that he needed to get back into your arms.

But, this was the plan. This was how it had to be.

Every word meant to sting, to burn and brandish you in a way that destroys your love for Logan Howlett.

Pulling himself away from this room before he can face your tears for another moment, he turns the knob to the door, opening and closing it behind him.

Stomping down the hallway, fighting every step as he could smell, hear, practically taste the sobs that tore from your throat as he leaves.

He nearly collapses as he takes the corner, his hand pressing into the side wall to steady himself. His heart in his ears, breathing harshly as his eyes redden and sting with unshed tears.

"Logan?" Scott sounds from behind him, questioning. "Everything alright?"

His rival, his friend, puts his hand on his shoulder, but it's shrugged off immediately. "Fine," Logan says without turning. Continuing down the hallway and away from him.

Scott makes a face, confused, before turning to Jean, who follows him out of their room. She notices Logan turning the next corner down to the stairs, "What's going on?"

"No idea," Scott sighs. "Just Logan being his usual self."

At the sound of a motorcycle driving away from the driveway, he glances out of the side window of the manor, frowning deeply as he watches Logan speed away.

Jean hums, amused. "Surprised?"

"Never," Scott says, before perking up as he hears your crying down the hallway. "Or maybe I am. Is that (y/n)?"

Jean's face falls, she steps out into the hall, walking slowly over to your room. Your crying louder this time, she rushes over to the room. "(Y/n)!" she knocks hurriedly, before bursting inside. Holding you instantly as you collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face, you hiccup, allowing Jean to hold you tight. "Hey, hey, what happened, what's going on?"

Scott comes up to the open doorway, confused, worried. But, he opts for giving the women their privacy, closing the door a crack, before reaching for his phone and texting Logan.

This was unlike Logan. Well, upsetting you was unlike him, not being an asshole, that was completely like him.

But, he knew how much Logan loved you, never saying so much as a tease that would indirectly upset you. Logan was smitten for years, unable to even put his feelings into words without going flustered. Something was wrong.

Angrily typing, Scott sends the text to his teammate, before perking up in surprise as a subtle beep rings out in the hall. He walks around the corner, down the hallway, and notices a phone laying on the edge of the steps, Logan's phone. He frowns. "Shit."

He sighs then, walking back around the hall. Running into Ororo, the weather goddess's brows are furrowed in worry. "What's going on with Logan? He looked upset, what happened?"

"You should see (Y/n)," Scott breathes, disappointed. Ororo's eyes widen at the news. "I've never seen them like this."

"Oh my," she frowns, before a streak of light passes by the window, nearly blinding them both.

"Jeez, what the hell," Scott turns, putting his hand up as the light gets brighter. Is that the afternoon sun?

But, it's not the sun. It's humming...like metal vibrating against the glass.

The light eases and the two mutants stare in horror. A sentinel, giant in size, it's eye peaking into the X-Manor, it's glowing red eye catching sight of the two of them immediately.

"SCOTT!" Jean screams.

He and Ororo spin around as a beam of light tears through the hallway, through the walls, through the glass. Tearing apart the building as a rush of power obliterates everything, a green blast of fiery energy coursing through the bricks.

"JEAN!" Scott bellows. "(Y/N)!"

You, with Jean in tow in your arms, flying through the chaos, dirt and scorching heat searing through your skin, having narrowly avoided the beam. Jean casting a telepathic shield as you both ram through the side wall and away from the sentinel shooting from the northside of the building. "Go, go, go!"

Ororo takes Scott's hand, the two of them lifted by the winds and hurtling out of the window as the radiating beam tears through where they were last standing.

Jean and you following, a sentinel chasing after the two of you, you glance backwards as you force gravity to propel you forwards and towards the tree line. Your swollen eyes widen in horror as the chest of a sentinel pops open, falling down to meet you and Jean. The metal tendrils bursting through and wrapping around your ankle, quickly you let go of a surprised Jean.

She screams as she falls before hurriedly catching herself, as she carefully lands on the grass below, rolling down to safety. A dirty smear of soot along her face, she looks up, watching to her terror as you're swallowed inside of a sentinel, it's tendrils wrapping around your body and pulling you inside of it's trap.

You scream as the doors slam shut, hand extending outwards. Out towards the road, out towards Logan.

Jean's hands immediately rise upwards, desperately, "No, no!" she cries, but then the inside becomes engulfed in flames, you scream in agony in the air as your prison of metal suffocates you in a sudden rush of fire. "NOOO!" Jean screams, the violent light of a burning flame fills her eyes as she sobs out in horror.

The sentinel crashes downwards toward the far tree line with you buried in its casket, Jean's telepathic pull interrupted at the sheer weight of it's fall. She rushes down, running desperately, but the northside sentinel crashes down in front of her, it's beam of light rushing down on her.

Ororo with tears in her angry eyes pulls the winds down and towards Jean, pushing her out of the way of the lethal attack. She then pulls lightning from the sky, storm clouds rolling in, rain falling from them, a sudden strike of electricity collides with the large sentinel. It jerks, it's metal shuddering and loosening, but it then turns to her, it's beam whistling through the air.

She flies up, avoiding it. Then past the sentinel, pulling lightning from the clouds, she desperately strikes at the sentinel balled up by the tree line that burns with fire with you inside. With a cry, she brings it down, splintering its shell. But then, before her eyes, the metal changes in texture, from a dented metal, to a rocky surface of stone.

Fire spills out, and she can hear your weakened vocals crying for help.

Ororo wails like a vengeful spirit, bringing down the wrath of the storm down on the shield of the sentinel. But, without warning, a large hand of a sentinel swings toward her, knocking the weather goddess out of the sky. "Ah!"

Scott rips his glasses off his face, beams of concussive force springing from them and knocking the giant robot back a few feet, it's hand coming up to block the attach. The beam wearing down on it's metal, but it comes closer and closer.

With a rageful cry, his beams become larger, nearly covering the giant being, it stumbles back, the ground rumbling with each forced step back.

Jean lifts herself up, a telepathic push shoving the sentinel over before it can restart its beam to attack Scott. "Rah!" the sentinel lands on its back, nearly blowing them all back with the force of it.

As the sentinel falls, the rest of the X-Men emerge from the manor, Hank and Charles guiding the students out of the building and towards the field, away from the chaos.

Without wasting a second, the X-Men rush down the tree line, to the sentinel that's captured you, no noise escapes the trap. Jean telepathically tears into the metal, the sentinel's regenerative body fighting against her wishes. Forcing the metal to open, a terrible heat pouring out of the cracks, no one can get close enough, your crumbling hand falling out limply.

Jean screams.

Ororo cries. "No!"

Scott curses, hands coming up and over his head, horrified. "Oh God!"

Another streak of light tears through the field, rushing up towards them all this time, a violent beam of energy destroying everything. They turn, but it's too late.

---

Logan turns his glass, watching as the liquid swishes and shifts with every move.

Sitting in a local pub in the city, he sighed heavily to himself. He can't stop thinking of your face, how you looked when he said all those things, when he gave you lives that he'd forced you to believe.

He beats his forehead with his fist, grimacing miserably, as he sat there, taking another swig of his beer. "Fucking idiot," he curses himself.

Why did he have to ruin that? Every good thing. Ruined.

Why did he have to do this to himself?

What kind of joke was his life? This one thing. He couldn't just have this one thing...

No. He remembered. He couldn't.

He took another drink, waiting for the kick. He sighs at the burn in his throat that he waits to numb his thoughts to silence.

Against his better judgement, Logan takes out his wallet, realizing he'd forgotten his phone. He opens it, eyes softening at the picture of you he kept there, pulling it out, it was folded to block him out of the picture.

He held a little smile, letting you pull him to your face so you both were smushed together for a happy little photo. He recalled the day as it being the moment he knew he wanted to spend every waking moment with you, it was also the day he realized his selfish faults for dragging you into the mess of his life. But, dammit he wanted you so bad, he wanted to keep you, to love you as you loved him, eternally.

He couldn't have that.

Logan Howlett was destined never to have that again, he had decided.

But....the thing is he could've. Right?

He thought to himself, you weren't an average woman, you were an X-Man, an immortal so it seemed. You were no normal woman that he'd lose to time or disasters.

He could have you for decades more, a century longer. A millennia if you both were lucky.

Who else could say that? Just you. Just the two of you, really.

And he's been so desperate to ruin that...for fears that may never come true.

Logan thoughtfully puts his glass down, glancing around as he thinks to himself, what an idiot he was.

He bursts from his seat, a newfound purpose in himself, a revelation that he hadn't had before. He could be happy with you, as long as he protected you, as long as he loved you, as long as he left behind that plague that followed him. Leaving it behind in that stool, tearing himself from the darkness that followed him constantly, he thought only of you.

The things he'd make up for. The moments he'd never taken with you. The days he'd cherish with you. The life you could build together.

But, first, he had to apologize. And fuck, did he have a lot to apologize for.

As Logan's leaving the pub, the news turns on, a broadcast that makes him stop at the door.

"Breaking News, Charles Xavier's school for gifted youngsters, a home for wayward mutants in upstate new york, has been attacked as of 6 p.m. tonight, so far there's been 14 casualties and counting..." as the news anchor speaks, all attention going to Logan at the news. His eyes widening at the helicopter view of the manor ripped to shreds, smoke traveling up the ruined building. A sentinel striking down on the land.

"No," he breathes. "No, no!" Logan rushes out of the pub, to his motorcycle, revving the engine and driving off.

---

Arriving at the institute, driving straight into the smoke filled land, strands of flame, burned fields and falling embers from the crumbling manor. Logan looks around, blood running cold as he runs through the field, finding the bodies of his students, bodies broken or just their limbs seared right off from the beams.

He finds Scott, his eyes staring open into the sky, this glasses broken, but his eyes don't light up with red energy as they would've. He's gone.

Then Jean. A few paces away from Scott. Blood in her hair, reaching out for her husband. Gone.

He doesn't find Ororo until he finds Hank. The both of them dead next to one another, he cradles her in his arms, leaning over her.

"(Y/n)," he gasps out, sick to his stomach. He cries out again. "(Y/n)!"

His voice echoes in the silent, crackling field. The sentinels having gone, the carnage remaining.

A creak of metal falling apart makes him turn quickly, rushing to the noise, the smoke is heavy here, embers flying to the sky.

Creaking metal splits, a sentinel he realizes, but it'd been burned through the inside out, charred.

A body falls out of the crack, hitting the grass as it crumbles.

His grief moves him first, rushing over, "Oh my god, oh my god," he repeats to himself as he runs. "(Y/N)!" Logan screams.

Dropping down in front of his lover, your skin cracked and burned to charcoal, hardened to the touch, beneath the skin, he can still see the flames that scorch beneath. And yet your eyes still find him.

He takes you in his arms, feeling as your body begins to crumble away. "No, no, no, what's happening?" he shudders as he realizes you're not healing. "No, why aren't you--why aren't you healing?" he takes your face in his hands, gentler this time than he had this morning, than he had any day. "Why aren't you healing, baby?"

He looks closely, your body's sustained blasts from explosions, beams, you've walked through flames before. What's going on?

Logan shakes his head. "Why--" he doesn't known what to do. "Come on, come on, please. You've gotta heal, darlin'. Come on."

Your heavy-lidded eyes just stare at him, you breathe subtly, hardly a breath at all.

Tears run freely down Logan's face this time. "I lied," he began quickly. "I had found you before I knew I loved you. I found you in my dreams and in my thoughts before I slept, I found you in every moment of every day, (Y/n), please," he admitted to his love. Eyes flickering around to see if her body would finally start regenerating as it always had, but you continued to crumble and crack. "Please. Please, (y/n), please," he sobbed.

A hiss of steam runs off your face, your tears sizzle away on your skin as they leave you. Your eyes closing briefly as Logan puts your forehead to his, "I love you in every moment," he hiccupped. "Of every day, of every hour," he gasps out as he feels your hand dragging up to his wrist. He takes your hand, it's fragile, cracking beneath the weight of his touch and the effort to move.

"I love you..." you speak with your last breath, sparing it for him.

"I love you," he cried, reaching down, kissing your lips.

He feels your hand crumble to dust in his hands, your legs in his lap lose weight as they follow in the same way. As your lips fall apart, he kisses your forehead, unable to open his eyes to watch as you fall away.

Logan breathes in a painful breath, heart breaking as he can't feel you in his arms any long. Squeezing the remains of you in his fists, he inhales deeply, a stutter of an agonizing sound, he cries as he finds the strength to open his eyes.

Nothing left of his lover, nothing left of you, but the embers that flies in the air, the ashes at his feet.

"Oh god," he cried, bringing himself down to the ground, fisting his hands in your ashes. He shakes violently, weeping into your remains, before sitting up and wailing into the air, a scream ripping through his lungs, tearing at his vocals.

The terrible sound could be heard miles away from the destroyed manor.

---

Years later, Logan sits at a pub. Taking another shot of whiskey.

"Another," he requests.

"No more," the bartender says to him, frowning with a look of disgust. "You know you're not welcome here."

Logan glances up, jaw tightening before sighing, fists unclenching. "Just one more and I'm outta here."

Reluctantly the bartender pours him another.

And then suddenly, a red suited merc jumps out of a portal, clumsily flipping off the pool table and spinning over towards the empty stool next to Logan.

Part 2 coming soon.

[the-balloon-shed]

imma be honest I want to make a fic of this one day but for right now you just get me running wild with this headcanon

you know how there's those videos of surgeons being "inspirational" to their interns and then saying the meanest shit in the world? yeah, I think that's Iceman as an instructor at TOPGUN. 

Just the dry, rough sense of humor? The perfectly attenuated phrase in order to knock the arrogance out of some of these scrappy pilots? That's Iceman. The evidence is there in TG86! it's ICE who is saying the most bratty shit to Maverick. His criticisms are almost always valid or born of a real curiosity that's worth looking into, which I think is key, but he expresses it in the rudest and most inciting way possible. 

"Who was covering Cougar while you were showboating --"; (in response to Slider's calling Goose and Mav "famous") "I think you mean notorious"; "I don't like you 'cause you're dangerous" -- I mean Ice is right but he's also a bitch. (we don't have time to unpack ALL of what went into Ice goading Maverick seconds after meeting him with "need help figuring it out? who's the best pilot?" like my god man). 

So, some contenders for some of the commentary Ice might have for his students -- 

"Keep flying like that, I'm going to assume you're getting kickbacks from the military hospital." 

"I can only hope one day you fly for the enemy." 

"I was thrilled to hear the Navy's policy initiative for accommodating more disabilities went into action this year, however, I do think they should reconsider sending me blind pilots." 

"Are you on your wingman's life insurance or something?" 

"What did I say about making the same mistake twice?" "At least tell you I've learned something?" "No. What I said is don't." 

"Resist the urge to help me."

"I'm not looking for the best you can do. I'm looking for the best, period. So if you can't do any better, I suggest trying to emulate somebody else who can." 

"Well, you're no Artful Dodger, but artless dodging kept you alive well enough this time, I suppose." (I think it would be funny if he incidentally gave this poor pilot the callsign Dodger because of this, or A.D. for Artless Dodger)

"Did the Academy change its curriculum? Emphasize the element of surprise?" "Um... why do you ask, sir?" "Because you fly like you've never been inside a plane before." 

And I think he might say this to a colleague trying to pull rank over him that he neither respects nor cares about:

"I've neither the time, nor the crayons, to explain this to you." 

I think Mav would be so annoyed, too. "why do I have the reputation for being hard to work with when you're going around saying the meanest crap to these kids?" 

All Ice would do is laugh. "Sounds like a personal problem." 

Not to say that Ice is an asshole without restraint. Hell, the Iceman is all about restraint. He doesn't kick people when they're down. He doesn't say cutting stuff like this to people who are genuinely trying and not being a showoff. This is to knock overly arrogant kids down a few pegs, not send people into a shame self-doubting spiral, and Ice is usually pretty damn good at walking that line. 

Like, I imagine one of the students not understanding something to do with the physics portions of their classes and so he goes to Ice super nervous about getting reamed, and Ice is very patient with him. When Mav comes in and starts talking to Ice about instructor stuff, the student goes "oh, I can come back later, you know I think I'm getting it!" out of fear of wasting Ice's time and Ice would chuckle and be like "no, you clearly don't get it, and that's fine. Easier to teach you on dry land as opposed to up in the air, so let's keep working through it. Long as Mav's not about to talk to me about anything confidential --" which Mav shakes his head no "--alright, then how about you sit right there and keep working at it until you get it, and you will get it. If you've got the time, I've got the time, so let's get it done," and the kid stays in the office and keeps working at it for hours, occasionally checking his work with Mav and Ice until, voila, he does actually get it and also has a whole new understanding of Ice. 

Or if, god forbid, anyone had an accident, Ice would be all over trying to help with that (and help Mav work through it too) and protecting the students from any fallout from the brass because fuck them, they don't know what it's like to be in the air anymore. 

I also think that before the TOPGUN class starts, Ice would find Mav checking on all the canopies of all the jets and, once Ice realized that was what Mav was doing, would spend the next several hours with him helping out and making sure everything was operating properly, even though engineering had already looked at them. Can never be too sure, and if it provides Mav peace of mind, then Ice will do it, no questions asked. 

And so, despite saying some of the rudest crap most of these students have ever heard, they all love him. They all respect the ever-living-crap out of him, and learn to find him actually just kind of funny. It'd be a lot harder to like him if he were wrong, but he's so rarely wrong that in the end even the ones who do get pissed off at him manage to calm down. Students, as they graduate and leave TOPGUN, would probably talk to other graduating classes when they meet them on deployments like "oh my god, what did he say to your class?" "he once said --" "I didn't find it funny then but now I laugh every time I think about it -- " "he helped me figure out how to do..." so on so forth. 

There are a couple of the brass that aren't amused, but I think that's where Mav would come into play in his own way. Because Ice is good at what he does, and Mav sure as hell wants him around, and so should everyone else. Ice is just also not afraid to be an asshole about being good -- which the last person this is news to is Maverick. 

Maverick's just the only one Ice has encountered who can give as good as he gets, which is why as instructors, they do a pretty damn good job working together to whip their classes into shape. It's just funny that never in a million years did Mav think he'd be the "good cop" in their good cop/bad cop instructor situation, but he's resigned himself to his fate all the same. 

[renthony]

Hope in the Hellfire: Revisiting Fahrenheit 451 in 2024

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

When I first read Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, I wasn’t much younger than seventeen-year-old Clarisse McClellan, one of the novel’s major characters. In many ways I was like her: disgruntled with classmates who found me off-putting, eager to talk to adults who would entertain my unusual questions, and constantly off exploring the woods. I was a bookish loner who struggled socially. I proudly read banned books, and carried around my mom’s paperback copy of Robert A. Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land—a book formally banned from inclusion in my high school’s library or curriculum—as a passive challenge for adults to try and confiscate it. None ever tried, but I sure was prepared to raise hell.

Revisiting Fahrenheit 451 in 2024 is a strange experience, not just because of the book’s political commentary. In 2024 I am 30 years old—the same age as Guy Montag, the protagonist. It is easy to put myself in his shoes now, the way I once put myself in Clarisse’s.

Montag is a fireman in a world where every house is fireproof. Instead of extinguishing fires, Bradbury’s firemen collect and burn books. Without books, the population is ignorant and complacent, kept busy with mindless screen entertainment.

Like Montag, I live in a world where books are targeted by a hostile government. In 2024 I live in Florida, where Governor Ron DeSantis makes regular headlines for his crusades against public education, libraries, and books. Many an op-ed has been written about the relevance of Fahrenheit 451 in our times, and it almost feels cliché as an anti-censorship advocate to list it as one of my favorites.

Cliché or not, I can’t help it. Fahrenheit 451 is a warning against censorship, yes; it is a pointed exploration of 1950s American social anxieties, yes; it is a well-written piece of fiction containing rich descriptions of exciting events, yes; but more than that? Fahrenheit 451 is one of my favorite novels because it leaves me feeling hopeful in the midst of social upheaval.

After stealing and reading forbidden books, Montag’s life spirals out of control. His wife sells him out to the authorities, he kills a former colleague in self-defense, he is pursued in a televised government manhunt, and before the story ends he watches bombs reduce his former home to rubble. Montag survives, but he doesn’t fix the world. He is not the victorious hero of a glorious rebellion. Many, many books get burned, and people die. Yet still, there is hope, because Montag finds community. He finds a way to help preserve the books’ contents so they can be passed down to later generations.

In 2024, Fahrenheit 451’s message is important not only because it warns against censorship, but because it reminds us that even if the road ahead is difficult, even if things get worse before they can get better, even if some stories are lost, there are still countless unnamed, unnoticed people fighting to preserve and share knowledge.

The best part is that any of us can join them.

_

Written on commission, using the prompt, “500 words about your favorite pre-1960s Sci-Fi.”

Lovingly dedicated to the Queer Liberation Library (on tumblr as @queerliblib!) for their ongoing mission to make queer eBooks accessible. Check them out at queerliberationlibrary.org!

Like this essay? Tip me on Ko-Fi, pledge to my Patreon, or commission an essay on the topic of your choice!

[shizuturnspages]

I loved part 2 child reader khaenri'ah, after being captured, What will the reader's life be like?? How would they deal with their chaotic powers? Education? , reputation and relationship with the yandere? , I doubt very much that they have her locked up all the time in her room, since it is not healthy for a growing child, I can already imagine the reader having a tracking bracelet and that also restricts his magical abilities and abilities, could you do part 3?? :D

A Flicker in the Ruins — Part 3

Synopsis: Captured. You had fought, you had struggled, but in the end, the weight of your bloodline, the remnants of Khaenri’ah’s destruction, had sealed your fate. Now, you lived under their watchful eyes—trapped, yet free in ways that were just enough to keep you from rebelling completely. The shackles were invisible but unbreakable. And no matter how much you resisted, they would never let you go. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Dainsleif, Pierro, Kaeya, Albedo & Capitano x Child Khaenri’ahn Reader

Life After Being Captured – A Child’s New Reality

You were not kept locked away in a room, but neither were you truly free.

Instead, your world had become a carefully structured prison disguised as a home.

A tracking bracelet adorned your wrist, one that not only monitored your location but restricted your magic—keeping your raw, chaotic power from spiralling out of control.

You were allowed to explore, to train, to study—under strict supervision.

The Fatui, the Knights of Favonius, the remnants of Khaenri’ah—each had their own stake in you, and each had their own way of keeping you in check.

Everywhere you went, they were there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Because no matter what you did—

You belonged to them now.

Education – A Carefully Curated Curriculum

Dainsleif ensured you learned the true history of Khaenri’ah—the destruction, the curse, the betrayal of Celestia. He wanted you to remember who you were—but not to make the same mistakes.

Pierro had the Fatui mould you into a strategist, ensuring you were well-versed in politics, war, and deception. He tested your loyalty with every lesson.

Kaeya made sure you could navigate Mondstadt’s society, training you in charm and manipulation under the guise of “social skills.”

Albedo refined your control over your chaotic abilities, experimenting—studying you like an endless puzzle he was determined to solve.

Capitano drilled combat and discipline into you, forcing you to become something stronger—something unyielding.

You learned languages, sciences, strategy, and war.

But the one thing you were never allowed to learn—

Was how to escape.

Dealing with Chaotic Powers – The Cage Within

The tracking bracelet was not just for location—it suppressed you.

Your magic, raw and unstable, was dangerous even to yourself.

So they sealed it away.

At first, you tried to resist.

But then came the punishments—

Not cruel, but calculated.

Isolation. Controlled pain. The quiet, crushing disappointment in their eyes.

They didn’t break you—

They conditioned you.

Teaching you that your power was not your own.

That they controlled it.

That they controlled you.

And slowly, inevitably—

You began to accept it.

Reputation – A Child of Two Worlds

To the outside world, you were a mystery.

Rumours swirled—some called you an orphan, some a prodigy, others a pawn of the Fatui.

No one knew the truth.

No one could.

The few who saw you in Mondstadt noticed the way Kaeya hovered, his grip on your shoulder just a little too tight.

In Snezhnaya, you were whispered about in the halls of the Fatui—a weapon in the making, yet still just a child.

And in the shadows of Khaenri’ah’s ruins—those who still remembered whispered your name with reverence, praying you would be their saviour.

But you were not a saviour.

You were a prisoner.

And no one could save you.

Relationship with the Yanderes – Chains in Different Forms

Dainsleif — The Guardian Who Won't Let Go

He was the gentlest—but also the most suffocating.

Every lesson was a warning, every touch a reminder.

“You don’t understand,” he would murmur, gripping your shoulders, voice desperate. “I’m doing this for you.”

You hated how he looked at you—like you were a child in need of protection.

Because no matter how much you fought, no matter how strong you became—

To Dainsleif, you would always be too fragile to be free.

Pierro — The Mastermind Who Controls Your Future

With him, it was never about love.

It was about control.

He spoke to you like a pawn, molding you, shaping you.

“You could be so much more,” he told you, fingers ghosting over your bracelet. “But only if you stay by my side.”

And the worst part?

You knew he was right.

Kaeya — The Manipulator in Disguise

With him, it was all smiles and false kindness.

But you knew better.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he would say, voice light, but his grip never loosening. “I’m the only one who really understands you.”

And when you tried to resist?

He only chuckled, shaking his head.

“Oh, little star,” he murmured, pressing a hand to your head. “You’ll always come back to me.”

And you hated that he was right.

Albedo — The Scientist Who Sees You As An Experiment

He was the hardest to understand.

Not cruel. Not kind.

Just… curious.

“You are fascinating,” he mused, watching as you struggled against your bracelet.

But when you glared at him, when you demanded he remove it—

He only sighed.

“I can’t do that,” he murmured.

And there was something almost apologetic in his voice.

Almost.

Capitano – The Soldier Who Would Break You

With him, there was no gentleness.

Only discipline.

Only order.

“You hesitate,” he would say, watching you falter in training.

His grip was bruising. His voice was absolute.

“Hesitation will get you killed.”

You wanted to hate him.

But part of you knew—

He was preparing you for something far worse.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

If ur oki with it, girl dad Josh hc's

(I gotch you <3

Josh levy as a Girl Dad headcannons!

1. Hypervigilant Protector Mode:

Josh is an extremely protective dad—borderline helicopter parent at times. The idea of someone hurting his daughter sends him into overdrive. He'll grill a toddler at daycare if they so much as steal a crayon from her.

2. Sci-Fi Indoctrination:

By age three, his daughter has seen all the Star Trek movies (age-appropriately censored), has a tiny Starfleet uniform, and can name every crew member of the Enterprise. Her bedtime stories are plot summaries of obscure sci-fi shows Josh acts out with full dramatic flair.

3. Emotionally Attuned (Sometimes Too Much):

His BPD makes him hyperaware of his daughter's moods. He'll immediately notice if she's quiet or off and will spiral if he thinks she’s upset with him. “Did I ruin her childhood? What did I say??” he’ll whisper at 2 a.m.

4. Fiercely Encouraging, But Competitive:

Whatever his daughter likes—sports, art, science—he’s all in. He wants to be her #1 fan but might accidentally turn things into a competition, like, “Yeah, but my comic was better at your age. Still... this is... solid.”

5. Rants at PTA Meetings:

The teachers fear him. He will go on long-winded rants about educational standards, media literacy, and why The Magic School Bus is better than any modern kids show. If the curriculum skips over Carl Sagan, he loses it.

6. Clingy During Milestones:

First day of school? He’s crying in the car. First crush? He’s interrogating them with passive-aggressive jokes. When she moves out? He’s FaceTiming her every other day with “You forgot your Star Wars DVDs. You’ll be back. You’ll miss me. Right?”

7. Deep Talks & Meltdowns:

Late-night convos with his daughter are some of the best moments in his life. But if they fight, he can get emotionally intense, struggling with black-and-white thinking. He worries constantly: “What if she hates me now?”

8. Best At Cosplay:

Halloween is sacred. He goes all-out on her costumes, usually coordinating his own. Think matching Ripley and Power Loader, or Princess Leia and sad, overprotective Obi-Wan Dad.

9. Will Go Nuclear on Misogyny:

Despite his ego, Josh is violently defensive of his daughter’s right to be into science, comics, and math. If anyone belittles her because she's a girl? He erupts. No one tells his kid she can’t love “The Wrath of Khan.” (which is ironic)

10. Soft Spot, Big Heart:

At the core of it all, Josh just adores his daughter. She’s the only person who can break through his arrogance with a smile or eye roll. When she hugs him, he melts, all his bluster fading into this emotional puddle of “God, I love you, kid.”

Bonus fic

Scene: Josh's Apartment, Nighttime

Josh is sitting on the couch surrounded by empty takeout containers and action figures. He's rubbing his temples, clearly spiraling from work stress and something petty he argued about online. His daughter walks in, clutching her stuffed Spock.

Daughter:

“You said you’d read me the rest of Red Mars before bed.”

Josh:

“I know, I know, I just—God, I’m sorry, kiddo. Today was... dumb. People are dumb. The internet is a hellhole. Never join fandom forums, okay?”

Daughter: (climbs onto the couch and plops down beside him)

“You always say that, but you never quit them.”

Josh groans and covers his face

“Because I’m addicted to rage, apparently.”

She pulls his hand away gently and puts Spock in his lap.

Daughter:

“Spock says that’s illogical. He says you need sleep, and maybe some salad.”

Josh cracks a smile despite himself

“Okay, that’s... that’s actually not bad advice. God, you’re scary good at this.”

Daughter:

“Yeah. It’s because I’m smarter than you.”

Josh was mock offended

“Excuse me? You take that back. I built an entire diorama of the Babylon 5 command deck out of cardboard when I was your age.”

Daughter: (grinning)

“And I made a diorama of you having a meltdown over a fan fic.”

Josh staring, then snorting with laughter

“You little goblin. Fine. You win. Let’s read your damn Mars book.”

He pulls her into a half-hug and grabs the book off the coffee table, flipping it open with a dramatic voice.

Josh (reading):

“‘The dust was red. The wind screamed across the Martian plains like a fanboy denied entry to San Diego Comic-Con…’”

She giggles, snuggles closer, and he leans his head on hers—finally calm. Needless to say if Josh had a daughter she was be a total daddies girl

(Yo i lowkey got emotional writing this and listening to weezer 😭😭😭😭

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Be still my foolish heart

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 10

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, angst (resolution at end), discussion about money and struggling financially, continuing sexual thoughts, MINORS DNI, sad matt (as if that needs a warning)

a/n: Sorry for the sporadic posting everyone, the past few weeks months, years have been crazy. Here is the resolution for the spicy angst in chapter 9! I hope you all enjoy.

w/c: 6k

Running your thumb over the crease you’d inadvertently made in the page, you worried your bottom lip as you tried to press it flat beneath the pad of your finger. This book was a rental and you could NOT afford to pay for it if it wasn't returned in pristine condition. Bills had been piling up this semester. In itself, being broke wasn't a new problem. Your inability to cope with said bills, however, very much was.

You'd been treading the poverty line since you'd left for Columbia. School was expensive, your mom wasn't there to buy groceries, and the company managing your gas bill had increased their rates, meaning your previous budget was worthless.  The high cost of heating, combined with the fact that your dad was once again flaking on his contributions to your mom's rising medical debt... It was adding up.

Sure, it was stressful. Money was the biggest cause of your anxiety most days, with your difficult curriculum following closely behind. But you'd been coping well enough.

Until your subconscious decided to pile more weight onto your already struggling psyche.

The image of Matt's pompous smirk hovering over you had been haunting you all week. Every time you closed your eyes, his deep rasp rumbled in your ears–praising you for your tenacity, your performance. Even days later, the thought was thrilling. And that made you feel unbelievably guilty.

Though nothing had actually happened between you and Matt, your brain was determined to brand you as an adulterer. Any time you heard from Everett, even if it was just a text, your stomach rolled with intense regret. You felt dirty and ashamed. For needing the thought of another man to get you off, for mentally cheating on Evs while being beneath him, and for exploiting your friendship with Matt by crafting this sinful image of him. 

You’d unintentionally dragged your boyfriend onto the emotional rollercoaster you were stuck on, swerving between desperate lust and distant tension without a warning. One day, you’d need to be on top of him, lips locked, and the next you couldn’t stand being within ten feet of each other. After a week of continuous flip-flopping, Everett had reached his limit, telling you sternly to figure out what you wanted before teasing him further. The brief argument only added to the embarrassment you’d been wading in. 

Sighing roughly, you pinched the bridge of your nose. Humiliation bubbled in your stomach, churning around your day-to-day anxiety. Your brain felt like it was being slapped around like a tennis ball, jumping between various reasons to spiral. You had no money. You were going to flunk out of school. You were unable to hold a relationship. You'd never be satisfied in love.

Groaning, you rubbed at your temples, the pads of your fingers flickering as your pulse pushed at them. You needed to fucking study, which seemed impossible when your brain would not shut up.

“Doin' ok there, bug?”

The familiar voice startled a shriek from you, your hands flying to grab the counter as you nearly toppled out of your seat. Wide eyes flying up from your textbook, you felt heat rush to your cheeks when you saw Foggy standing there. Foggy's brows were raised, an amused smile directed at your frazzled state.

“Jesus Christ, Fog. You're gonna give me a heart attack one day.” You grumbled, shaking off the lingering fear and smoothing your clothes in an attempt to regain your dignity.

“You sure that day isn't today?” The blond asked innocently, eyes twinkling with the jest.

Huffing, you raised the heavy text you'd been pretending to read, hiding behind it as you muttered, “Shut up.”

Foggy cackled, striding behind the counter and hopping onto a stool. “What’s so interesting? You clearly didn't hear me come in.”

“This stupid Contracts assignment.” You huffed, absently running your thumb over the corner again. “I can’t get through it and, trust me, I’ve tried.” 

“Hamer v. Sidway?” Foggy clarified. When you nodded, a sly grin slid over his face. “Well, wouldn’t you be lucky to have a certain handsome friend who has already digested that opinion! If only you were in a study group with him…” 

You shook your head as Foggy tapped chin thoughtfully, a smile breaking through your stony expression despite yourself. “Oh are we disbanding the 3 Musketeers? I wasn’t notified.” 

“You missed the public hearing.” Foggy shrugged, sighing with exaggerated weariness. “With no opposing testimony, the vote was unanimous.” 

“Mr. Nelson, you aren’t suggesting that I missed 10 days worth of public notice, are you?” You raised an eyebrow, tension rolling off your shoulders in Foggy’s presence. “Because I’d have to live under a rock to overlook those signs in my most frequented areas.” 

“Oh woe is me!” Foggy crooned mournfully. “Losing my beloved Musketeers to a default judgment.”

“Your Musketeers?” You scoffed out a laugh. 

“Well, as the founder of our little band of misfits–” Foggy puffed out his chest, barely stifling his grin as you protested incredulously. 

“Excuse you!” Crossing your arms, you forced a scowl onto your face as Foggy giggled beside you. “The 3 Musketeers of Columbia will go down in history as nothing short of a team effort. Mark my words, Franklin: if you so much as insinuate–” 

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Foggy’s laughter was infectious. “Ok, ok! I concede. This ruse was a test of your loyalty, my fair lady. One that you’ve passed excellently, I might add.” 

“A test of my loyalty? I’m not the one trying to break up the crew, Fog.” You narrowed your eyes at him, your smile most definitely undermining your ability to look threatening.

Averting his gaze as his expression softened a bit, Foggy kicked his feet like a child on a swing, scuffing them lightly on the ground at the low point of their respective arc. “Fair enough. It just…you haven’t been around this week. Thought maybe you’d found better people to study with.” All humor had drained from his face, his brow slightly pinched with anxiety as he continued to avoid eye contact. 

Frowning in lieu of a response, you stood from your seat at the counter, snatching Foggy in a bear hug. Relievingly he chuckled, leaning into the embrace. Resting your chin on his beanie-clad head, you squeezed him tightly. ‘Listen here, Nelson. You and Matt mean too much to me for me to even consider replacing you as study group co-founders. Not to mention that 99% of the other students here don’t hold a candle to the pair of you in any respect.” 

Releasing your friend from your hold, you dragged the empty stool closer. Your shoulders brushed Foggy’s as you plopped back on top of the chair. “I promise, Fog. I’m not leaving the group.” Your voice was grave as you made the vow, the seriousness apparently escaping the man next to you who, of course, laughed. 

“Christ, bug, you make it sound like we’re a middle school band on the verge of collapse.” 

“And what if we are, Fog?” You threw a hand over your chest dramatically. “You know your heart ain’t in it anymore. And Matt’s kazoo work hasn’t been the same since the tour.” Breaking off into a forced voice crack, you chewed the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when Foggy snorted. 

“Ok, Matt would never step foot into a room with a kazoo in it, let alone select it as his instrument of choice.” He grimaced, no doubt imagining the assault of a kazoo on his roommate’s delicate senses. 

“Well you’re lead vocals and I’m tambourine, so he doesn’t have many other options.” You explained, no longer hiding your grin as Foggy cackled. 

“I’m vocals!? Ugh, we’re DOOMED!” He groaned, running a hand over his throat as if it was sore from imaginary over-exertion. 

“Are we? I’ve heard legends of the Siren deep in the showers of Jay Hall.” You smirked as his jaw dropped.

“Oh that little–Doesn’t he know that making false promises is, like, unholy or something?” Foggy scoffed with embarrassed frustration. “I should’ve known he’d tell you. He can’t keep anything from you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at the reference to your and Matt’s close relationship. Your brain began to spiral as you remembered the image of his smile hovering above you. 

“Hey, I'm not actually mad, bug. It’s alright.” Foggy elbowed you, studying your face. 

Nodding uneasily, you gave a weak chuckle. “I know, Fog. Sorry.” 

“Did Matt do something stupid? Is that why you haven’t been around?” Foggy asked, turning his body to face you as his concern piqued. 

“No!” You squeaked out in a rush, shaking your head furiously. “No, he didn’t do anything, Fog. I’ve just been stressed about school and my mom and stuff. I’ll make more of an effort to tell you guys when I need space, ok?” 

The long-haired man didn’t seem to fully buy the excuse, but he swiveled back towards the counter. “Mmmhmm. Sounds plausible, but you know you can always come to me if something happens, right?” 

There was clearly more to that promise than he was trying to let on, but you were too frazzled to decipher what the hidden meaning was. “Course, Fog. You too. With me, I mean.” 

Knocking his shoulder against yours, Foggy’s nose crinkled as he smiled. “I know, jitterbug. Now stop worrying over me. My ego will get too big.”

Snorting at the thought, you linked your arm with his. “I’m going to ignore the slightly insulting nickname in favor of asking you how it went with Marcia the other day.”

“Marci, not Marcia. And it was AWESOME!” Foggy squealed, face lighting up as he began recounting his evening with her the weekend before.

Homework entirely forgotten, you were enraptured as Foggy animatedly walked you through his eventful evening with his bombshell classmate. Ignoring the fact that he was certainly embellishing the story for your benefit, but he'd clearly had a good time.

Just as he began to narrate how the night eventually ended, your phone buzzed.

“Saved by the bell!” You shuddered comically, smirking when Foggy scoffed in offense. Flipping open your phone, you tried not to cackle in Jen's ear as Foggy pouted beside you. “Hey Jen, what's up?”

“Did you see the email?” Glossing over pleasantries, Jen was obviously annoyed, sparking a rush of worry in your gut.

“Um, no? What happened?” You frowned, chewing the inside of your cheek as your brain began to spiral over the numerous mistakes you could've made that would result in a pissed off roommate.

“Our building won't have heat for the rest of the month.” She grumbled, definitely rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

“The rest of the MONTH? You're fucking kidding.” Anxiety quickly turning to shared frustration, you held up a finger when Foggy looked at you quizzically.

Your building was ancient and the baseboard heaters were probably older than you, which meant they'd stood no chance against the bitter New York weather this winter. The heat had sporadically given out over the past few months, resulting in half hearted promises from the owner about new systems being installed–so this news wasn't necessarily surprising, but that didn't mean you wanted to deal with it.

“Super wanted us to know so we could 'make the necessary arrangements'. Piece of shit.” She sulked.

“Fuck, Jen, what are we gonna do? I can't afford a space heater.” Scrubbing a hand over your face, the resilient debt-induced panic that had faded to the back of your mind reared its mangey head.

“Well, good news and bad news. Good news is Oscar's parents are willing to loan us a pair that they have in their garage so we won't need to buy or rent any.” She trailed off, clearly not excited about the latter half of the plan.

“C'mon Jen, break it to me.” You huffed, not at all willing to let her ignore the less fortunate piece of the situation. If you wanted to prevent your impending nervous breakdown for another few weeks, you'd need to act on this issue immediately.

“Wewon'tbeabletograbthemuntilaftertheconference.” She muttered in a rush.

Drawing in a breath to extend your waning patience, you asked again. “Jen, in English please.”

An uneasy groan came across the line before she clarified. “We won't be able to grab the space heaters until after the conference.”

Shit. That was bad news. Most, if not all, of Columbia's 3Ls were at the Tri-State Justice Conference in New Jersey until Friday—three days from now.

“I'm sorry, but we both need the attendance credit and—” Jen explained, sounding like she was about to cry.

“Hey, it's ok, babes. I'll figure it out. Don't worry, ok? Just enjoy the conference as much as you can and I'll find a place to stay.”

“I'm really sorry, I—” She stammered.

“I promise I'll be ok.” Your throat felt tight, your efforts to stave off a breakdown over this clearly failing. ”I'll talk to you soon.“

Hanging up the phone, you dropped your head into your hands, digging your fingers into the bridge of your nose in an attempt to collect yourself.

Hesitantly, Foggy called your name. “Everything ok?”

“Uh, not really...but when is it ever?” You chuckled bitterly, your words muffled by your palms.

Two arms wound around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug that mirrored the one you'd given Fog earlier. Your face met his sturdy shoulder, and it took every ounce of your resolve to not let yourself dissolve into tears.

“What happened, bug?” Foggy asked, holding you tightly as you inhaled shakily.

“Apparently our heat went out. Again. And, uh, I don't really know what to do, Fog.” You admitted, craning your neck to look at him. “Everett, Jen, and Oscar are all out of town and I–”

“You can stay in our room.” Foggy stated simply, as if it was the obvious solution to the problem. “We don't have much, but we DO have heat.”

“Fog, you don't have to–” You protested, but he cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“I know I don't have to, I want to! It'll be a study group sleepover!!” He rubbed a circle into your back before taking his seat once more.

And that was that. The long-haired boy had already turned back to the book he’d pulled out while you were on the phone, considering the matter resolved. Sitting there dumb founded, you stared at him for a moment, half expecting him to yell “Psych!” and leave you to sort your own shit out. But he didn’t.

“Do Frodo and Sam kinda give you a gay vibe?” He asked suddenly, jarring you out of your anxious stance.

“What?” You blinked, trying to process the jump to a completely different topic while you were still thinking about a sleepover in Matt and Foggy’s shared room.

Giving a shrug, Foggy turned the page. “I mean, they’re soulmates for sure. But sometimes it seems like Tolkien did not mean for it to be platonic, ya know?” Glancing up at you with a grin, he giggled. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Fog,” You chuckled in exasperation, shaking your head at his unfailing positivity.

“What?” Raising the book as he threw his arms up, Foggy’s smirk made you laugh harder. “See this is precisely why you need to sleepover. Matt never finds me this funny.”

“You were serious about that?” You asked hesitantly, fisting the cuff of your sweater sleeve in one hand, toying with a loose thread along its edge.

“Uh, yah? Why?” Foggy snorted, still reading and no doubt hosting a heated internal debate over one or more hobbits’ sexualities.

“I mean..I dunno, wouldn’t that be…weird?” Heat was clawing at your face, your insecurities making you cringe sheepishly.

“Ah, I suppose I’ve neglected to consider all the facts.” Sticking a folded gum wrapper in the joint of his book, he let the cover flap shut, crossing his arms as he pondered. “You are a girl, and the latest studies suggest a correlation between your gender and high levels of 'cooties'.”

Expression utterly serious, you couldn't help but dissolve into giggles as Foggy tapped a finger on his chin in deep contemplation. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

“I'm not sure I do. Unless you DO in fact have cooties. In which case Matt and I would need to draft a contract to distribute liability in the event that we CATCH your cooties.”

“You know what,” You laughed. “Let's all be honest about who is catching 'cooties' from who. I have fantastic hygiene, counselor.”

“You're right. It's Murdock we need to worry about.”

Looking at each other solemnly, you and Foggy broke at the same time, cackling over the ridiculous notion.

“Of course I was serious, dude!“ Foggy kicked your shin lightly as you wiped a tear from your cheek. ”Did you really think I was just going to let you freeze to death? That Matt would allow that to happen?”

“No,” You murmured, tucking the toes of your sneakers behind the legs of your stool. “I guess not.”

Mouth squishing to one side with his skepticism, Foggy leaned closer to your hunched form. “In case I am not making myself clear, let me lay it out for you, jitterbug. Neither Matt nor I would ever object to you staying over if you wanted to, let alone needed to for your own safety. We care about you and we would never jeopardize a fellow Musketeer.”

Nodding bashfully, you linked your pinkies together, dropping them into your lap. “Ok. Thanks, Fog.”

“Anytime, bug. How much longer are you chained to this counter?” He frowned at the offending furniture with distaste, laying a palm over his stomach. “I'm getting hungry.”

Rolling your eyes, you glanced at the clock behind you. “About another hour. But you are more than welcome to venture out for a meal before that. Only one of us is contractually obligated to be here.”

“NO MAN LEFT BEHIND” Foggy declared, saluting you before turning back to his book diligently.

Biting your cheek to stifle a grin, you turned back to your own homework, grateful for the two men keeping you sane as your life crumbled into chaos.

Swallowing as your throat constricted with nerves, your knuckles hovered an inch away from the nicked wooden door. Your adrenaline-soaked subconscious was buzzing, telling every cell to enter “flight” mode, but your feet felt glued to the dingy carpet.

What are you so afraid of? You chastised yourself. It's just Fog and Matt. Not like you're about to have open heart surgery or something.

Tilting your entire body forward until your knuckles brushed the surface of the door, you'd barely made a sound before it opened, revealing a confused Matt and a beaming Foggy.

Greeting you simultaneously, Matt's perplexed tone didn't match his roommate's joyful one in the slightest. “Are you ok?”

Despite being evidently baffled, Matt ushered you into the room.

“Um, yes? Why…” Looking to Foggy questioningly, you watched as the long-haired boy grimaced apologetically. “Ah, I see someone did not fill you in on the situation.”

“I forgot!” Foggy smiled sheepishly.

Exhaling with a frustrated huff, you shifted from foot to foot as the ball of nervous energy fueling you tumbled around your body. “Um, my building has no heat for the rest of the week so Foggy said I could stay here? But if that's not ok with you–” You took a small pace backwards, giving you the option to completely eject from the situation, but Matt carefully reached for your arm.

His fingers brushed over your wrist, gently clasping around your arm. At his cautious touch, the air flew out of your lungs, your eyes widening as they focused on his face. Lips turned down ever so slightly, his brow was furrowed with his classic Matt Murdock concern. Whether you'd given yourself a papercut or received news of your mother's recurrence, Matt's worry and desire to fix whatever he could was etched deeply in his expression.

“Of course that's ok, sweetheart. The heat's out again? Did they say they were going to replace the baseboards?” As he asked his follow-up questions, his free hand came up to cup your other elbow, until he was practically cradling you in his arms.

Sighing, you didn't fight him as his grip tightened, morphing into a full body embrace. Hands spread over your back, Matt's chin landed over your head like it belonged there. Anxiety fading, you shrugged against him with a bitter laugh. “Sure, but they say that every time.”

Planting a kiss against your hairline, and coincidentally reigniting the swarm of murderous butterflies in your stomach, Matt withdrew his arms and stepped aside to wave you into the room. His mouth was still curved into a frown, the wheels in his head clearly turning as you set down your backpack and hopped onto Foggy's mattress.

“Thank god you're here, bug. I desperately need someone to read through my legal writing assignment. She only drops the two lowest and I need a decent grade in this class.” Foggy rummaged through his bag, yanking out a few pages filled with illegible handwriting and margin doodles, dropping them in your lap.

With a giggle, you made a show of copying Foggy's movements, dropping the assignment back into his possession. “Yah, sorry bud but you're going to need to read that to me if you want my help.”

“Oh come on, my handwriting isn't THAT bad.” Foggy protested, squinting at the essay.

“It might not be the worst print in the world, but I'm not a grade school teacher. I'm not practiced at–” You explained, smiling innocently as Foggy grew more affronted by the accusation.

“Woah, woah, woah, GRADE school–”

“Ok, you're right, 7th grade maybe?” You shrugged, laughing as the blond shoved you in response. The two of you were grinning at each other when Matt's question burst out of him.

“Have you complained to the board of health? Or the HPD?”

Meeting Foggy's gaze, you both blinked owlishly before turning to face Matt. The dark-haired boy was staring blankly at the pair of you, his face flitting between dark concern and pure fury.

“What?” You asked, eyes drawn to Matt's fists as they flexed at his sides.

“About the heat. It's..it's not safe for your landlord to be leaving his tenants without heat. Not when it's this cold.”

“Matt, buddy,” Foggy interrupted placatingly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. ”That's why she's here, remember? Problem solved.“

“Until it goes out again next month.” Matt growled.

Squeezing Foggy's leg, you shot him a knowing look. “Matt, I'll call HPD tomorrow when they open. Promise. You can sit with me to listen, if you'd like.”

Pursing his lips, Matt considered the suggestion. With a weary exhale, he nodded, his fingers sliding out of their rigid curls. “Ok.”

“Right, well, now that we've settled that, let's listen to Foggy read his essay aloud—since neither of us will be able to look it over otherwise.”

Grumbling, Foggy flopped onto his stomach, resolutely ignoring your chuckles as he cleared his throat. “Prepare to be dazzled—”

As much as you wanted to help your friend out with his assignment, Foggy’s words flew into one ear and out the other, briefly tapping your brain like a small steel sphere on a pinball bumper. Once you'd seemingly put his mind at ease, Matt had joined the two of you on the opposite side of the room, Snuggling in close and sandwiching you between the pair of men.

On any other day, the position would be comforting. Your limbs cloaked with their combined body heat, their soothing voices overriding the anxious buzzing in your brain. Today, the invisible swarm of bees in your skull only became more enraged. You felt trapped, cornered by your friends and your own tattered feelings.

Matt's shoulder flanked yours, his body pressed in so tightly to you that the thin hairs on your cheeks and neck fluttered with his every exhale. A small vibration in your pocket pushed you over the edge. Had Everett finally responded to your apology? Was he still upset? How could you accept his forgiveness when you were practically sitting in Matt's lap?

Shifting your weight uncomfortably, you tried to keep yourself separate from Matt, digging your shoulder into the wall rather than leaning it against his chest. Another buzz from your pocket had you gritting your teeth. It was too much, it was all too much. Foggy was talking so loud and the temperature of this room was stifling and how on earth could he sleep in these sheets–they must have the thread count of a fast food napkin.

Choking in a breath, you dove off the bed. “It sounds great so far, bubs. I have to check my phone real quick, someone is calling me.” Nearly toppling over in your haste to escape the room, the door shook as it closed roughly against its frame. Shakily pulling your phone from your jeans, you opened it, trying to get your breathing under control. It was like you'd been shoved underwater with a dwindling oxygen tank–given the sudden atmospheric pressure and your inability to take a full breath.

One text was from your father, reminding you to pay the most recent medical bill. I'll get right on that. You rolled your eyes, deleting the message.

The other message was from Everett. Your body went rigid as you read his name, your finger inching towards the button that would open it up, revealing whatever he'd sent you. As the screen flashed, pixels shifting to spell out the five words he'd deemed important enough to send, your heart momentarily stopped.

Talk when I’m back.

Nothing else. No indication of how angry he was, what the talk would be about, if you would still be together in a week. Fuck.

Behind you, the door creaked open, a worried Foggy appearing from the shadows. ”Everything ok?“

”Yep!” You squeaked, snapping your phone shut with a force that made you grimace. “All good.”

Sending your friend a smile that you hoped looked more honest than it felt, you shuffled back into the room, sensing that the energy had changed. “Sorry, just Everett and my dad bothering me.”

In your absence, Matt had returned to his bed. His posture was gracefully straight, a book lying across his lap beneath his fingers. If his stance hadn't clued you into his mood, the lenses now propped on the bridge of his nose had. Something was up, but you weren't in any state to handle both of your emotions right now. Foggy gave a weak smile, hopping back onto his bed.

“Matt pointed out that you might not want to think about homework all night. I actually rented some movies on my way home! I was thinking we could watch one.”

“That sounds fun, Fog. Matt are you–”

“No.” His answer was curt, pitched low. He must've sensed your surprise because the edges of his expression immediately softened. “I have a headache. Don't want to spoil the fun.”

“I'm sorry! We probably aren't helping. Did you want us to go to the lounge?” You asked, fingers grasping for your bag in case you needed to switch locations.

“No need. I'll put my headphones on if I need to.” Matt's lips flickered with the barest hint of a smile before settling back into the neutral expression he'd originally had on.

“Let us know if you change your mind, buddy.” Foggy chirped, opening his laptop. “Ok, bug. Take your pick.”

With a wave of one hand, Foggy displayed three DVD cases as if they were a winning poker hand. “We've got: National Treasure, Happy Feet, and The Ring.”

“What an eclectic bunch.” You snorted. “Scary movie first, Nick Cage last. We'll scream, cry, and laugh in that order.”

“Genius. She's a genius!” Foggy remarked, cracking the first plastic sleeve open. “This girl is going places, Murdock.”

Matt smirked, but said nothing, his fingers still dancing over the raised dots on the pages.

Lying on his side, one ear turned out to the rest of the room, Matt's own skin prickled sympathetically as you rolled over on the grimy carpet–each plastic fiber screeching as it dragged across your skin. The sound made him cringe, far too similar to fingernails on a chalkboard.

It was late. You and Foggy had indeed made it through all three movies, only pausing to run to the bathroom and the corner market for more snacks. Matt couldn't help but feel like he was intruding, eavesdropping on a sweet moment between friends and existing where he wasn't welcome. While Foggy was glued to his computer screen, your attention was sporadic, heart rate spiking whenever he so much as shifted on his bed.

You were paying more mind to him than the entertainment you were pretending to enjoy. Which was irritatingly amusing given how little you'd wanted to do with him recently. Something deep inside him was crying out in warning, telling him just how close you were to slipping through his fingers and disappearing forever. But how could he steady his grip when every pump of his heart had you spooking like a prey animal.

The rustling of fabric from your body on the floor nettled at his conscience. Your breathing was shallow, your vocal chords emitting small aggravated groans that should've been imperceptible, if Matt was a lucky man. Inches away from his bed, you were writhing in discomfort, lying awake just as he was—unlike Foggy who was snoring away, dead to the world. That couldn't be helping your frustration, it sure wasn't doing him any favors.

The tiniest of sighs slipped through your lips, wafting the scent of salt into his space. Frowning in concern, he set aside the pity party he'd been throwing himself and swallowed his nerves.

“Can't sleep?” His voice was barely a whisper, but you startled anyway, shooting up into a seated position.

“Christ, Matt.” You chuckled feebly.

“Language.” He joked, lips curving as you laughed again.

“Forgive me, Saint Matthew. I was taken by surprise. Thought you might be that little girl from the ring coming to get me.”

“Is my voice that feminine?“ He wrinkled his nose, feeling a bubble of pride when your heartbeat began to slow, his distractions working for now.

“No, but when you're expecting a ghost, everything seems ghastly.” You shuddered.

A jumble of words sat at the tip of his tongue, an accusation he needed to make if he wanted to get any rest tonight. It was as though you were expecting it, aware you'd done something wrong. Awaiting your punishment without a word.

“You don't have to sleep on the floor, you know. My mattress won't bite.” Avoiding confrontation for as long as he could, he attempted for another quip. Unfortunately, you'd picked up on his barely concealed aggravation, if your flinch was any indication.

Huffing out a laugh, you craned your neck to face him. “I know, Matt. But I'm not going to put you out like that. You didn't even know I was coming.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your heat?” He couldn't stop himself. He needed to know. He needed to understand why you were pushing him away.

“I mean, I only found out this afternoon–”

“I could’ve helped you report them.” He explained, still thoroughly confused.

“You still can!” Your muscles creaked as your arms tightened around your shins, instinctively defending yourself from his questioning.

“You just..showed up. And I had no idea what had happened.” His voice sounded hollow, even to him.

“I figured Fog would ask you, I'm sorry.” That was truthful, but it still didn't answer anything.

“So you're still avoiding me, then.” Your breath was cut short, fingers digging into your flesh. His own body was eerily still, trying to hold the immense guilt he'd been feeling back until the conversation was over. Until he knew what he'd done.

“Matt, I'm not—”

“No? Then why does it feel like you're trying to constantly escape me?” Snapping his mouth shut before his words revealed just how hurt he really was, he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“What are you—”

“When I hugged you earlier, you went all stiff. You’re clearly upset about something on your phone, but you refuse to tell me about it. And you keep calling me 'Matt'.” His throat constricted, fists clenching around his blankets.

“That's your name–” You reasoned desperately, but your heart gave you away. He wasn't crazy. It was deliberate.

“Not to you!” He hissed. Sitting up slowly, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force the pain in his skull to subside. “You always..you used to call me Matty or trouble or bubs. Recently, I've just been Matt. I just..please tell me what I did so I can fix it?”

“Matt,” You sounded mournful. Defensive stance abandoned, you crept closer to his bed, falling into a sloppy heap beside him, still on the floor. “Trouble, you didn't do anything. I've been jumpy and in my head recently because of my own shit, not because of you.”

The steady thump of your pulse echoed in his ears. It didn't waver. Not once.

Blinking rapidly, Matt shoved his hands against his face again, this time to rub away the tears forming before you could see them.

Reaching one hand up, you brushed a knuckle against his rightmost calf. “I'm so sorry that I hurt you. It was not intentional. I care about you so much and I...” You trailed off, drawing in a ragged breath before speaking again. “I care about you. I always will.”

“I care about you too.” Tangling your hand with his, Matt ducked his head, feeling incredibly exposed. “You scared me.”

“I'm sorry.” There it was again. The consistent beat of your heart. Even as the patter of rain. He squeezed your fingers.

“I know.” Trailing a thumb over the back of your hand, he felt another icy current of fear in his veins. “And I’m serious about reporting your building. We can always host you but what if you get snowed in or something? If you’re stuck there with no heat..I don’t want that to happen to you, bug. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

Grabbing his bed frame with your free hand, you hauled yourself up and onto his mattress, collapsing into his open arms. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I've already forgiven you. But I just needed you to know that it matters. That you matter.”

“Fuck, trouble. You're gonna make me cry harder than that stupid bird movie.” You laughed, the puffs of air tickling his neck as they left your lungs.

“That one did seem especially sad.” He hummed.

“Don't know why they had to rip my fuckin' heart out. Seems a little unnecessary.” You scoffed, body slowly melting against him as he rubbed circles over your back.

“Definitely unnecessary.” He agreed, loosening his grip on you. “You should get some sleep before classes tomorrow.”

He started to unwind from you, intending to take your place on the floor, but you caught his waist with your arms, tipping you both onto the mattress. “If I'm not sleeping on the floor, neither are you, bubba.”

With a single hand, you grabbed the spare blanket off the floor, moving away from him as you bundled yourself up, a happy exhale tumbling out of you as you relaxed into the cocoon. Though you seemed to have worked through whatever mental block had existed before, Matt wasn't quite convinced.

“Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn't.” Was your sleepy response. “Besides, if that little bitch crawls out of Foggy's computer screen, she can take you first.”

A startled laugh escaped him and he shook his head. “Sure she can, bug. Sleep well.”

“You too, Matty.”

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705 @supervoldejaygent @dorothleah @zomtart @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @silas-aeiou @rev-glut @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @yarrystyleeza @cometenthusiast @harleycao

[ingravinoveritas]

This past week, I traveled to London to see Macbeth. Everything I had heard and seen about David, Cush Jumbo, and the overall production convinced me that it was not to be missed, and so I took the crazy chance of purchasing a ticket months ago, and it was the first time I've ever gone to another country just for a play.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been going to Broadway shows, and the experience of live theatre has always been something incomparable and incredibly meaningful to me. Seeing something beyond Broadway, however, never felt possible until now. This opportunity arose at a moment when I was finally able to seize it, and now that I have attended the play not once, but twice (thanks to a lovely person who was able to help me obtain a £25 day ticket), I can say that Macbeth was, without question, the most amazing thing that I have ever seen on stage.

What follows is my review/thoughts on the production, and I will try my best to avoid spoilers (though fair warning that one or two may arise, so proceed with caution).

In high school, Shakespeare was something we were taught. It was an assumed part of the curriculum, labeled as a classic. Yet it seemed to exist in a time capsule--a product of its era, and of an English language barely proximate to the one we speak today. We learned Macbeth on the page, in annotations and themes and meter, rather than something pulsing, beating, living. Something that makes us feel. And for nearly two hours in a beautiful Victorian theatre in a little corner of the West End, all I did was exactly that.

I felt. And after seeing this play, I am not the same person on a molecular level that I was before.

Everything about this play--from David's mesmerizing portrayal of Macbeth to Cush Jumbo's wrenching turn as Lady Macbeth to the entire ensemble cast to the staging choices (light, sound, and so on)--is extraordinary. It is breathtakingly ruinous. It is so fully immersive that by the end you somehow feel bruised, viscerally disgusted and wrung out in equally beautiful measure.

It's almost misleading to say that we the audience are simply watching the play, because thanks to the binaural audio design (headphones), we are in Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's minds, and become accomplices to the characters' wicked deeds. When the porter (Jatinder Singh Randhawa) comes on to provide comic relief at exactly the perfect moment, it soon becomes clear that it is a distraction from our own discomfort at what has just happened. But it is a short-lived respite, as we are soon plunged back into the action and the characters' spiraling descent into madness.

In terms of David specifically, seeing him on television or on any screen profoundly pales to seeing him on the stage. In much the same way that the stage is Michael's natural habitat, it is also David's. The way he moves, the way he holds himself when he's not even speaking--which I got to see up close when he knelt directly in front of me on several occasions--is meticulous. David becomes the character he is playing, down into the pit of his soul. He disappears so thoroughly that I very quickly forgot that I was even watching him.

So many people can recite Shakespeare, but there is a marked difference between recitation and what David does. Together, David and Cush make Macbeth and Lady Macbeth feel like the Bonnie and Clyde of the Elizabethan age (only hornier). And the themes the play invokes--greed, fear, jealousy, power--are shown to be themes not of a particular era, but of humanity. David especially is so preternaturally good at making all of that unbearably real. He not only makes Shakespeare accessible to the modern world--an already difficult feat on its own--he makes it timeless.

For the last ten minutes of the play, I felt like I stopped breathing. The evil that Macbeth perpetrates, and the realization that he has not become like this, but rather that this is who he has always been, hits full force. As much as this play is very definitely an ensemble piece, David is the standout. He commands the stage, and at no point is he more powerful than when Macbeth is falling apart near the end.

(On a purely aesthetic level, this is also when David looks most beautiful--the wild hair, the form-fitting shirt heaving with the rise and fall of his greyhound lean chest, and the majestic sweep of the kilt with every frenzied movement. The complete erosion of the line between sanity and insanity, but also showing us how tenuous that line was to begin with. And he is utterly gorgeous while doing so.)

It's also at this moment in the play that we see how skillfully David has manipulated the audience. Where Michael uses a character's emotions much more overtly and aggressively--sniffing the audience out, stalking around the stage, feeling as if he's about to pull you up with him--David is far more controlled. He draws you in slowly, carefully, and it's only when we see the depths of Macbeth's depravity (notably killing Young Siward) that we realize the truth:

He got us. He made us the witnesses to Macbeth's malice, made sure we couldn't look away. And now we are complicit.

If I had to pinpoint any negatives about the play (which is extremely difficult to do), it's that there is only a brief moment where the pacing lags just slightly, and it's because David is off stage for a considerable period of time. The cast is absolutely incredible, bar none, but the energy doesn't quite maintain that high level when he is not there.

Also, from a sensory standpoint, this is very much not a sensory-friendly production. There are several instances of sudden loud noises in the headphones (which I found especially jarring), as well as the use of flashing lights, and considerable use of smoke at multiple points. All of these were more acute because I was sitting in the Stalls (second row), so I can only speak to it from that vantage, rather than from other locations in the theatre. But for anyone who is autistic (as I am) or has sensory-processing challenges, be advised that this play is definitely inaccessible in those respects.

When I left the Harold Pinter Theatre that night, I felt as though my entire central nervous system had been rearranged. There genuinely is no way to be normal about this play, because it is not a normal play. It takes apart everything you know about Macbeth and puts it back together in the most unexpected, electrifying way. It is the beauty of destruction, and no one embodies that more perfectly than David. Even days later, I can still feel the buzzing of my skin, the blood rushing through me, fingertips tingling from some heady combination of arousal and fear. (Or as Dr. Frank N. Furter once put it: "A mental mind fuck can be quite nice...")

The moment the lights went to black, every single person in that theatre was on their feet in a standing ovation. The applause was thunderous, and seemed even louder in the wake of the complete silence that preceded it.

I had sat in that silence--awestruck, captivated--and thought to myself that I could watch this production forever. And I would go back and do it all over again right now if I could. If you have the means, the opportunity, it is an experience I cannot recommend highly enough.

David is truly a master of his craft, and yet performs without a hint of ego. He gives everything he has and leaves it all on the stage. And what he and this team of people have come together to give us is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

(Pictures taken on 10/12/2024.)

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Double The Trouble

Pairing: Eventual Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff

Summary: Everyone knows why Bucky broke up with Sharon, except for you. Steve encourages Bucky to make a move, but that all goes downhill when you meet not one but two people who want your attention. Juggling two men is something you never thought you’d be able to do, and tension rises when things start spiraling out of control.

One in a Million Series

Square Filled: “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.” (2021) for @thorandlokibingo (previously @lokibingo)

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Things have shifted since Bucky has come back to the loft. You’re not sure how he ended things with Sharon or how she reacted, but he seems to be in a good mood despite it. He hasn’t talked about it with anyone, and you can tell he doesn’t want to. No matter. You’re glad to have him back where he belongs.

That just leaves you and your feelings. Feelings you were forced to confront on that mountain. No, you haven’t spoken to Bucky about them because you’re not sure how to do it. You can’t just come out and say, “Yes, I like you a lot. Please date me.” No. You also don’t want to come across as desperate. He just got out of a relationship with Sharon, and he might not be looking for another one. He might just want to experience the single life, and you get it. You want him to be able to feel free.

It just sucks when you know he’s right across the hall from you, and there is nothing you can do about it. Natasha wants you to confess everything you’re feeling to him, but she only says that because she’s in a successful relationship with your roommate. Steve knows you need time to figure out how you’re feeling and how to put it into words, and he knows Buckly isn’t ready to hear them.

Bucky has been stuck in this limbo state, not knowing how to move on. He had a thing for Sharon at one point, but she broke his heart. She left him to pick up the pieces, and he had to put himself back together without her. She saw he was stronger than ever and wanted him back, but he knew he never really wanted her. She’s not the woman plaguing his dreams every night. He doesn’t know how to talk to you now. Something has shifted in the air, and everyone feels it.

You don’t want to embarrass yourself, and he doesn’t want to ruin what you two have now. What if you confess how you feel, and he’s not ready to be with you? You’re stuck living in an apartment next to someone who might not want you back. What if Bucky decides to give you a shot and you end up not working out? He can’t fathom ruining your friendship over a possibility. He has to be one hundred and ten percent sure that this is something you both want.

Right now, he’s at a fifty.

On top of all this Bucky drama, you’re getting stressed with your job. Being a teacher is something you’ve always dreamed of being, but it’s been kicking you in the ass lately. Three teachers quit, so they brought in new ones from across the state, and they’re not like you expected them to be. They’re so… high school. They formed their own clique and singled out any other teacher who tried to be different.

They’re bullies in adult bodies. You just want to create fun lesson plans for your kids and enjoy a day with them. Instead, you’re worried about what these new teachers are trying to implement. One of them is close to the principal, which is why she got the job, so she’s been feeding the principal ideas on what to add to the curriculum. Thankfully, she can’t add too much without going to the board, but it’s still putting a strain on your work relationships.

You should be home right now focusing on lesson plans. Instead, you’re at Bucky’s bar having a drink at eleven in the morning. He got you out of the house and is now trying to get you drunk, which you’re not complaining about. He has some of the best pink wine you’ve ever tasted. Two glasses later, and you’re already starting to feel a bit lighter.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you so much,” you grin at Bucky.

Bucky blushes but turns his head so you don’t see the effect you have on him. The back door opens, and two guys come in carrying kegs. They come in every week to resupply the bar, but you’ve never seen them before. Either you’re not here to witness them come in, or these are new guys.

“Hey, Buck, want these behind the bar?”

“Yeah. I’ll get your check.”

The one that has caught your eye is the taller one of the duo. He’d have a baby face if it weren't for the facial hair adorning his skin. He’s muscular but doesn't have as much as Bucky does. Steve might be the only one who comes close to being as muscular as Bucky is. He walks behind the bar with his shorter friend and smiles when he sees you.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you smile back.

“I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new?”

“No, I just normally never drink this early in the day. Work. You know how it goes.”

“Oh, yeah. Hauling around beer all day is hard work.”

Your giggles reach Bucky’s ear, and he pops his head out of his office. His eyes narrow when he sees you flirting with the keg deliveryman. He can’t blame you, Andy is a good guy. That still won’t stop him from imagining him punching the shit out of him. No, he can’t be reacting this way. He hasn’t told you how he feels about you. It’s his fault. He’s a coward. He broke up with Sharon because of you, and now he might not be able to if this thing with Andy goes too far. Is he ready to hand over all his bullshit on a platter to you? All of his baggage? It’s enough to fill an entire room with.

“So, have you been doing this for a while?” you ask.

“No, I was going to business school to be a lawyer, but that fizzled out.”

“Not what you wanted to do?”

“Nah, I lost the passion. After my dad died, I didn’t see a reason to continue. I did it for him.” He sees the look on your face. “No, it’s okay. I’m happy where I’m at.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” you grin. “I’m Y/N.”

“Andy.”

“I’m Greg,” his shorter friend jumps in. “If we’re exchanging names…”

“Hi, Greg and Andy. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Okay, here’s your check,” Bucky says when he returns. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“See you around, Y/N,” Andy smiles.

Bucky looks at you after Andy and Greg leave, and he sees the flushed look on your face. It’s probably the wine. He tells himself that lie to make himself feel better, but he knows Andy’s the one who has your cheeks hot.

“How haven’t I seen him before?” you ask.

“You’re usually not here at this time.”

“Would it be terrible if I asked you to give Andy my phone number?”

“Your phone number?” he echoes.

The look on his face suggests he doesn’t like that idea at all. You shake your head and wave him off before taking another gulp of your wine.

“Never mind. It’s crass. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You like him?”

“Well, I mean… He’s nice, and I think it’d be fun to see where it could go. Unless…”

You let the end of that sentence hang in the air for Bucky to finish. You want to see his reaction to it because it’ll give you an idea of where he’s at. Bucky takes two seconds to think about it before he nods.

“Yeah, I’ll give him your number.”

Looks like he’s not on the same page as you. “Great, thanks.”

Bucky goes back to making drinks for people, and you silently sip your pink wine. It’s hard not to stare at him. He’s gorgeous. Speaking of gorgeous, a tall man dressed in a dark, tailored suit approaches you from the side. He’s tall, has slicked back black hair, a clean-shaven face, and bright blue eyes.

“Hi, are you Katie?” He even has an accent. “I’m Loki, from Tinder.”

“Um…” You’re at a loss for words. He’s devastatingly handsome. “Hi.”

“You are Katie, right?”

This is where you should come clean. You’re not Katie. At least, not his Katie. Still, the words out of your mouth shock you.

“Yes. I’m Katie.”

“Great. I’m sorry we’re meeting this late. My brother needed me, and it’s not like I can say no.”

“I get it,” you nod.

Every word coming out of his mouth is important because it’ll give you clues as to who Katie is and what they’ve talked about. What does Katie do? Does she live alone? Does she have a family? Where does she live? So many things can go wrong, but what do you have to lose? You’ve never seen him before, so it’s unlikely you’ll see him again if this goes wrong. Sure, you’ll ruin his relationship with the real Katie, but you can overlook that.

“Do you want to move to a booth?”

“Sure.”

You grab your drink and follow Loki to an empty booth in direct line of the bar. Loki slides in first, only going about halfway, leaving not much room for you to sit. You don’t seem to mind since he smells delicious.

“How is the promotion going? Do you like your new position?”

“Oh, um, yeah. It’s more work, but I can handle it. How is your job?”

“Being a magician doesn’t really pay all the bills, but my brother and I are working on putting together my next tour.”

“You’re a magician? I love magic,” you say truthfully.

“Oh, yeah?” He smirks and reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a deck of cards, and you smile at his quirkiness. “Allow me to show you a trick?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Loki starts the trick off simple, having you pick a card from the deck before shuffling it. You’re not even paying attention to what he’s saying or doing. All you can stare at are his blue eyes. They’re so captivating. He has a true passion for magic, and it shows in the way his eyes light up while he does his trick. Guilt seeps into your body for lying to him about who you are, but that guilt is replaced by lust when you see how close he’s sitting to you. He’s somehow managed to scoot closer to you without you noticing.

He holds up a card. “Is this your card?”

“No,” you giggle.

“Damn. Let me try again.”

Another giggle rises to the surface at him being flustered. You’re sure it’s an act, and he’s going to show you your card from some place the card should not be.

“I could have sworn your card was the seven of diamonds. You’re sure it wasn’t that one?”

“I’m sure,” you smile.

“Hmm… Okay. Oh, wait, you got something in your shirt, there.”

You look down to see something sticking out of your bra. No way. There’s just no fucking way. Loki reaches for the card, careful not to touch your skin with his fingers. That doesn’t stop you from feeling the heat from them. He pulls the object from your bra and opens it, revealing your true card, the ten of hearts.

“Stop,” you gasp in disbelief.

“Is this your card?”

“How the fuck did you get that in there?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, I’m afraid.” Loki leans a few inches closer to you and raises his hand. “Wait, you got a little something under your eye.” With delicate and slim fingers, he plucks something from your skin. “An eyelash. Make a wish.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lean closer to his hand and blow on the eyelash, already having your wish in your head. Loki takes the leap and leans in to kiss you, a soft one at first to test the waters. Once you start to kiss him back, it gets more intense. The bar is crowded, so no one is really paying attention to you. Not that you’d stop if every since pair of eyes were on you right now. His lips feel too good to stop. He’s very skilled, and you wonder what else that mouth of his can do.

He traces his lips down your neck, and you try hiding your face from the eyes of the patrons. You really should bring this party behind closed doors. You don’t want to get arrested for public indecency, but his lips feel too damn good on your skin. He starts lightly sucking on your pulse point, and you resist the urge to strip him bare right here. You push him away slightly, only putting a few inches between you two.

“Wait, how did you do that trick?”

“What, no mystery?”

“Come on, you’re telling me you can do that trick with every single card in there?”

“Fifty-two different ways,” he smirks.

“Can you do fifty-two different tricks on me?”

“If you come back to my place, I’ll be more than happy to show you.”

“Let’s go to mine. It’s closer.”

You and Loki put down some money before heading out, and you don’t think anyone notices you two have left.

Except for one person.

Always just one person.

Bucky watches you go with a clenched jaw, having seen your little makeout session. He’s pissed that you’re getting away from him once again. Why can’t things ever be simple for him? Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t see or hear you that night, but he can’t sleep knowing you’re with a man in your bedroom. The man who should be him. There’s something wrong with him. He should have told you how he felt, even if he doesn’t truly understand it himself.

Steve and Sam, on the other hand, are less than thrilled when they find out what you’ve been up to. Natasha’s sleeping in his room, so he has to be quiet so as not to wake her up.

“How could you just give her number out like that?” Steve scolds Bucky.

“I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

“You always have a choice, Buck.” Bucky shrugs and takes a bite of his cereal. “You broke up with Sharon for her. Shouldn’t she know?”

Bucky is about to answer when your bedroom door opens. You walk out with a smile on your faces. All of his words die on the tip of his tongue. You rush over to the kitchen, and Bucky, Steve, and Sam pull away from each other quickly, like they were gossiping and didn’t want you to hear it.

“Okay, listen. I kind of had the best sex of my life last night.” Bucky’s jaw ticks, and Steve looks at him. “The only thing is, he thinks my name is Katie, and that I’m a chef at some restaurant near here. Play along, okay?”

“Katie?”

You jump away from the table and turn to Loki with a smile. “Hey, Loki. These are my roommates, Bucky, Steve, and Sam.”

“Yeah, we were just going over what kind of breakfast she’s going to cook. She really doesn’t like anyone in this kitchen,” Steve comes up with something on the spot.

“Right. Well, I gotta go. My brother needs me. Come here.”

You run into his arms, and he catches you when you jump into his arms. Bucky looks away from you and Loki, unable to see him touch and kiss you. Loki sets you down and smirks at the flushed look on your face.

“I gotta go. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Once Loki leaves, you turn to your roommates with a large grin on your face. “I love being Katie!” Yes, Bucky broke up with Sharon for you, but the last thing he’s going to do is tell you about it. He can’t say anything now. “Katie has a job, y’all.”

“You have a job,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but I’ve never been a chef. I can barely cook as it is. I hope he doesn’t ask me to make him something. I don’t know. I might want to stay being Katie.”

“Maybe you should watch a cautionary tale that I’d like to call The Nutty Professor,” Sam says.

“What should I do, Bucky?” you ask, ignoring Sam.

Bucky wants to scream at the top of his lungs that he’s right here, but he resists the urge. “I don’t know, but whatever you do, know that you might not come back from, “Just kidding. My name is actually Y/N.’”

Your phone rings and you see a text from an unknown person. “Hi, I got your number from Bucky. Want to hang? Bucky, what is this?”

“I gave your number to the guy at the bar like you asked me to.”

“I forgot!” You gasp. “What am I going to do? I’ve never had two guys who were into me before. I can’t juggle men like this.”

“You’re telling me. You don’t have the skill,” Sam laughs. “You wear a cardigan on top of another cardigan.”

“We all know you’re not the best with doorknobs,” Steve says.

“You can barely hold one thing in each hand,” Bucky adds. “You tripped the other day just standing there.”

Okay, they may have a point. “Fine, you have a point, but Katie can.” You look at your phone and see another message from Andy. “Ooh, he wants to cook for me.”

“You’re playing with fire,” Steve warns.

“I’ll be fine.”

Bucky can’t be here as you get ready for a date with Andy, so he decides to pick up an extra shift at the bar. Steve and Sam go with him to comfort their friend, so it’s only you and Natasha left in the apartment. After hours of getting ready, you two are in the kitchen just chatting.

“Andy and I have been sending each other some pretty dirty texts,” you say, and show Natasha your phone.

“As your best friend, I am not over the line when I ask what the hell you are doing. This isn’t you.”

“What if it can be?”

“What about Bucky?”

“Stop with the Bucky shit. There is no Bucky. It really doesn’t matter how I feel, okay? He doesn’t like me like that.”

“He broke up with Sharon for you.”

“You don’t know that. You have no way of knowing that. I can’t just sit around and wait for him to make a move, whether he wants to or not. There’s no way in hell I will ever confess how I’m feeling if he doesn’t do it, either. I can’t ruin what I have with him. I’d rather have him as a friend than as nothing at all. You need to accept that.”

“Fine.”

Natasha leaves before Andy can show, and he shows up on time. He’s cute, but now that you’ve had Loki, he’s kind of… boring. Loki is so passionate and spontaneous. He makes your entire body tingle, and there is nothing with Andy. Still, you’re not going to bail out on the date now, not that you’ve already committed and said yes.

Andy even makes something safe: salad with some garlic bread. It’s just not doing it for you. Instead of texting Natasha to call you with an emergency, you get a text. It’s a sign that you’re meant to be with him. No offense to Andy, but you’d rather be in someone else’s arms.

“Hey, sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. My friend, Natasha, is in a crisis,” you lie.

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, I just have to go. You don’t mind, right?”

“No, of course not. Go. Maybe we can do this again.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you smile tightly.

Loki wants to meet up at Bucky’s bar, and you hope that Bucky isn’t working tonight. Luck is not on your side because he’s at the bar right now making drinks for customers with Steve and Sam sitting across from him. You quietly slip through the crowd without alerting the guys that you’re here. Loki is already in the men’s bathroom waiting for you, and he pulls you into the largest stall before slamming the door shut.

Immediately, his lips are on yours, and his hand is around your neck. His lips still feel so good on yours, and the time away actually made you more desperate to feel it again. What the hell are you doing? This isn’t you, but Loki makes you feel like you can be this girl. The truth is going to come out sooner or later, but you can’t care about that when his lips are on your skin.

Loki pushes your head to the side with his hand still around your neck, and he trails kisses down your neck. His cock is hard and pressing right into your lower stomach, and all rational thought flies out the window. He lowers the strap of your shirt down to kiss your exposed skin.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“We’ll get to that, I promise,” Loki smirks.

He grabs the front of your shirt with both hands and yanks it down to expose your breasts in a lace-clad bra. It leaves little to the imagination. Loki pulls the bra down, allowing your breasts to spill out of the top of it. His mouth latches onto your right nipple while his hand tweaks your left one. You slam the back of your head against the stall wall as pleasure courses through your body.

He sucks on the skin aroound your breasts, leaving behind his marks. “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

The door to the bathroom opens, and two people walk in, deep in conversation. Loki’s hand covers your mouth as his mouth continues to suck on your nipple.

“We had a good time tonight. Sucks it was cut short, but she needed to help her friend.”

Your eyes widen when you hear Andy’s voice. This can’t be happening. How did you ever think you could juggle two men when you can barely focus on one? Loki doesn’t seem to mind that there are other people in here. In fact, it makes him harder knowing you two could get caught at any time.

“You thinking of taking her to The Garden?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

“If you really like her, yeah. It’s pretty romantic.”

Loki’s hand slips underneath your skirt and presses against your clit, and you yelp out unexpectedly.

“Who is in there? Are you hurt?” Greg asks.

“No, we’re fine,” Loki replies smoothly.

“I don’t believe it. Stand back. I was trained for this.”

Suddenly, the door is kicked in by Greg, and you scream in surprise. You turn to Loki to hide your exposed breasts, and Loki wraps an arm around your waist.

“Y/N? What is going on? I thought you were helping Natasha.”

The door bangs open and Bucky walks in after hearing you scream.

“What the hell is going…” He looks at you and sees your lowered shirt and bare back. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you and Loki were doing. “Y/N?” He looks at Loki.”I mean, Katie?”

“Katie? What is going on here?” Andy asks.

Loki closes the door so that you can get yourself decent, and you both come out to face the news. You have to come clean now. You can’t do this anymore now that it’s blown up in your face.

“Look, I’m sorry. Andy, okay?” You look at Loki. “I’m sorry I stole real Katie from you, but look at you. You’re so handsome.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away.

“I don’t want any part of whatever this is,” Andy shakes his head.

“Did I tell a lie? Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” you sigh. You can barely look at Andy or Loki. “I gotta go.”

“Y/N, wait,” Bucky calls out after you.

You don’t stop at Go and collect two hundred dollars. You just go home and wallow in self-pity. Steve and Natasha arrive and head straight to his room, Sam doesn’t come home, and Bucky is the last to arrive. He finds you in the kitchen drinking a hot cup of tea.

“How are you doing?”

“Better than I should be. I don’t know what I was thinking, juggling two men like that. I think I’ll just stick to being Y/N.”

“Good. I like her better,” he chuckles.

He starts to gather ingredients for a drink, something he’s very good at.

“Why are you making a drink? You never bring work home with you.”

“Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but in the future, I might do something really bad to you.” He continues mixing the drink. “I hope you’ll forgive me.” He finishes the drink and slides it over to you. “Do you want an Old Fashion?”

“How did you know? I’ve always wanted to try one.” He shrugs. “Are you okay? What happened to you today?”

“Nothing.”

Someone knocks on the door, and you stand up from the kitchen island. You pause before you can get far and look at him.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“I don’t know, but it might be bad.”

“Well, I’d forgive you. There’s not a lot you can do to me that I wouldn’t forgive,” you smile. You head to the door and are pleasantly surprised to see Loki standing there. “Loki…”

“Katie,” he smirks.

“Not Katie. I’m Y/N. What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced, but I really don’t care if you lied to me. I’m not a saint myself. Honestly, I lied about half of my profile. I use that so I don’t sleep with people I work with. I don’t open up the more you get to know me. All I care about is tearing your clothes off your body. What do you think?”

Your face heats from his words and from the memory of what you two were doing last night. The only reason why you’re hesitating is because of Bucky. However, if he wanted to, then he would. If you wanted to, you would. You tell your inner slut to shut up before smiling at Loki.

“You know what? I’m gonna say yes.” You bite your lower lip. “So… Do we start now or later or…” Loki pulls you into him and leans his face closer to yours. “Or now…”

Without breaking the kiss, Loki gathers you into his arms and walks to your room. Bucky comes around the corner and sees your legs wrapped around Loki’s waist. He doesn’t say a word because he knows this is partially his fault. He broke up with Sharon for you, but he’s been too much of a chicken to do anything about it.

He’d rather have you as a friend than nothing at all.

Even if it kills him when he sees Loki’s hands and lips on your body. He turns back to the kitchen and picks up the drink he made for you, and takes a sip.

x

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[cierraonline]

1x1 | MORE LIKE NEXT DISASTER

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It was another bright day at Abbott Elementary School, meaning another day to change minds and create scholars who would one day contribute to their community both socially and economically. However, due to the way public education was structured in Philadelphia—particularly in urban areas where the majority of the population was Black American—funding and resources were severely limited. While this reality broke the spirits of some teachers, especially the newer ones who struggled with student behavior and scarce materials, the veteran educators remained steadfast. They had dedicated their careers to Abbott because they refused to give up on providing their students with an education, even when it seemed like the city already had.

Honey Schrementi was one of those teachers who refused to quit on her students. She had developed a teaching style reminiscent of George Feeny from Boy Meets World—the very educator who first inspired her to consider teaching as a career. However, it was her mother, Angela Drew, a former middle school teacher at Abbott Elementary, who solidified Honey's decision to become an educator. Now, as she adapted to the ever-changing social landscape, Honey strived to bring something fresh to her students, keeping them engaged and excited about learning.

"Miss Honey!" A child's voice called out as they entered the classroom, excitement lacing their tone.

"Lilac!" The fourth-grade teacher greeted her student warmly, bending down to her level. "And who might these beautiful flowers be for?"

"You, silly goose!" Lilac laughed.

Lilac Hart was one of Honey's standout students, often outperforming her peers—something that led other teachers to question why she was attending Abbott instead of a school with better resources. The truth, however, was that Lilac was a product of downtown Philadelphia's hardships. Her mother, once a preacher's daughter who lived by the rules, had rebelled after meeting Lilac's father—a corner boy from the neighborhood. What started as an act of defiance spiraled into something more permanent when she found herself pregnant just four months into their relationship. But before Lilac was even born, her father was killed in a deal gone wrong, and her mother was disowned by her family.

After giving birth, Lilac's mother left her at Sunshine Kids, a well-regarded adoption center in Philadelphia—coincidentally, the same place where Honey had been volunteering at the time. But due to the center's policy of disclosing the background of the biological parents to potential adopters, Lilac was continuously overlooked for a forever home.

"Why, thank you!" Honey beamed, flashing her pearly whites. "Why don't we add them to our class garden, right next to the roses?" She gently took Lilac's hand and guided her toward the windowsill, where the classroom's mini garden sat—a hands-on part of their science curriculum.

"Great idea, Miss Honey," Lilac agreed, grinning as they carefully transferred the daisies into the rectangular planter, which was already filled with an assortment of flowers.

Once their mini project was complete, Lilac made her way to her locker at the back of the classroom while Honey stepped to the front, scanning the room filled with her students.

"Good morning, my lovely sunshines," she greeted, her bright smile mirrored back at her by the children.

"Good morning, Miss Honey!" they responded in cheerful unison.

Hello, I'm Miss Honey... well, technically, Honey Schrementi. I'm married to the scary Italian woman teaching second grade—you might meet her later. She'll ask if you have any Italian heritage, and if you don't, she'll assume you're an undercover cop. That's how she got me. Anyway, I teach fourth grade and have been at Abbott Elementary for four years now. I absolutely love it. I'm basically the real-life Miss Honey from Matilda, which is why I have my kids call me that.

"Let's begin with our multiplication warmups, shall we?" Honey said, stepping around her desk with a Mickey Mouse pointer in her left hand. "Are you ready?"

"Ready!" the class responded enthusiastically.

"Okay, what's 10 x 10?" Honey pointed the pointer at Vicki, who eagerly stood up to answer.

"100, Miss Honey!"

"Correct!" Honey nodded approvingly. "Now, 24 x 3?" She pointed to another student.

"24 x 3 is 75, Miss Honey!"

"Yes, it is! What about 100 x 100?"

A few hands shot up, and Honey picked one.

"10,000, Miss Honey," Lilac answered proudly, standing as the class erupted into applause, knowing she had gotten it right.

"Good job, my sunshines," Miss Honey clapped for her students. "That means we can add a sticker to our warm-up streak!"

---

"Hey, Melissa," Janine Teagues, a second-year second-grade teacher, walked into the teachers' lounge alongside Jacob Hill, a second-year eighth-grade teacher. "Can you please tell 'Ta-Nehisi Quotes' over here that 'white boy' is a term of endearment from the corner-store people?"

"For Zach Ertz, yeah," the red-haired Italian woman looked up from making herself a cup of coffee. "For him? It's an insult." Melissa stepped away from the counter, coffee in hand, and took a seat.

"Hmm." Jacob pointed to Melissa, the teacher who had just confirmed his point.

"Whew! Guys, I need a new rug. Mine is officially done," Janine announced to her fellow coworkers, stretching her arms dramatically.

"Mmm! Me too," Jacob added, his mouth full of chips. "I shook mine out, and all the asthma kids had to go to the nurse's office."

"Yeah, mine's busted," Melissa admitted. "And you can't class up a rug like you can a couch with a nice coat of plastic—that only lasts about an hour before your wife comes and tears it off."

"Only because it's uncomfortable," Honey Schremmenti walked into the lounge, her Stanley cup in hand. "Who wants to lay on plastic while watching Moesha reruns?"

"The couch is not meant to be laid on," Melissa scolded her wife.

"You weren't saying that wh—"

"Hey-yo!" The loud, commanding voice of Ava Coleman interrupted Honey before she could finish her sentence, much to Melissa's relief. "What it do, baby-boos? What y'all think about this little film crew I brought in here?"

"Distracting. Makes our jobs harder," Melissa answered nonchalantly.

"But exciting. We about to be on TV," Ava bragged, clearly enjoying the attention.

"Because they are covering underfunded, poorly managed public schools in America," Barbara chimed in, joining the conversation.

"No press is bad press, Barb. Look at Mel Gibson. Still thriving," Ava laughed. "Daddy's Home? Hilarious!" She waited expectantly for a reaction.

Ava's our principal here at Abbott. I actually like her—she makes the day... interesting. I mean, she has good ideas, but poor execution. But she does do a lot for the students, and with this show, I think it's actually a good idea to bring awareness to how government funding affects public education. Not a lot of families can afford private school, and then they're expected to send their kids to college.

At that moment, a teacher rushed into the lounge, looking frazzled. "Ava, can I talk to you? Uh, I need an aide. I'm outnumbered in there. The kids are crazy. One of them told me to mind my six this morning. I don't know what that means, and I need help."

"Calm down. They're just kids," Ava dismissed the panic with a wave of her hand.

"And, besides, aides cost money, and we don't have that."

"Right, but I just—"

"Do you want to split your salary with somebody else?" Ava raised a brow, cutting her off. "Because unless you do, we're not getting aides."

Ms. Schwartz sighed in exhaustion. "No."

"No, no. I didn't think so," Ava smirked.

"Well, if we can't get aides, maybe we can get new rugs?" Janine jumped in, trying to redirect the conversation.

Ava rolled her eyes. "All I'm hearing is, 'New, new, new, need, need, need.' And yet, Barb—one of our best and most senior teachers—never complains. What is your secret, Barb?" Ava sauntered over to the oldest teacher in the room.

"Knowing there's not much you can do, Ava," Barbara replied dryly, throwing subtle shade.

"So understanding. Be like Ms. Howard, people," Ava grinned before walking out just as the bell rang.

Ms. Schwartz crossed her arms, pouting. "But I'm not Ms. Howard."

"Oh! Tina, look, just try some counting exercises," Janine offered, ever the optimist. "Somewhere between one and forty, the kids calm down."

Ms. Schwartz let out another sigh before leaving the lounge.

"You know," Janine turned to the remaining teachers. "A little support might help make things happen, ladies."

"My support was gonna do about as much as that five-year-old bra you've got on right there," Barbara remarked without missing a beat.

"Hey, it's not impossible to get things," Janine shot back. "Melissa asked for those new toy cash registers for her classroom and got them."

Honey shook her head. "Yeah, those aren't toys."

"I know a guy who worked at a Walmart demolition. I got a guy for everything. I know a guy right now working the stadium build," Melissa smirked. "Need rebar?" She started packing up her things.

"No."

"Melissa is resourceful. Capable," Janine admitted.

"Well, I think the younger teachers are capable," she added with a hopeful smile.

"Yeah, Honey is," Barbara excused her goddaughter from the generalization. "But not you guys."

"Yes, we are!" Janine insisted.

"Really? Then why is Ms. Schwartz's hair falling out? Why does Jacob here need a smoking break every five minutes?" Barbara gestured to the teacher next to her.

"I switched to an herbal vape," Jacob corrected.

"And why can't any of you stick it out longer than two years? More turnovers than a bakery," Barbara finished before leaving the lounge.

"Ouch," Jacob muttered. "You know what? Hell, I think we should still try for rugs."

"Yeah," Janine agreed.

Honey scoffed. "You can't." She gestured around the room. "Look around. Act like you know where you are. You're in the public education sector, not private. No one is paying tuition—you're relying on government and city funding, which depends on taxes and priorities. Our community contributes a low percentage because we live in an urban area where people are either getting bought out or shoved out to make it whiter. The average person here makes between ten and forty thousand a year. The sooner you realize that and find other solutions, the easier your job will be." She grabbed her things and walked back to her classroom.

Janine frowned. "Why do I have a feeling she doesn't like me?"

Jacob shrugged. "You know, before I taught here, I was in Zimbabwe. I was doing Teachers Without Borders, and what I learned—"

"Jacob," Janine cut him off. "What did I say about not talking about your time in Africa?"

"You... You told me to—"

"I told you to stop. Yeah, it's weird."

Before Jacob could respond, a student burst into the room. "Miss Honey! Come quick—Ms. Schwartz just kicked Rajon!"

Honey sighed, setting her things down. "Miss Honey students, back in the classroom this instant!" Her voice was firm, and the kids obeyed with exaggerated pouts. 

Closing the door after taking attendance, Honey walked to the front of the class. "To calm down, how about we do silent reading for the next hour? No whispering about what happened in the hallway. I want you all to immerse yourselves in the book as if you're one of the characters. Then, afterward, for our writing lesson, we'll go over how to story map. That way, you can figure out and understand why you're reading in the order that you are when it comes to novels and chapter books."

When it comes to teaching, the biggest no-no is harming a child. First, because it's a child—that's just wrong. Second, you never know whose child you may hit. It could be a parent who's ready to beat your ass for touching their kid. Or it could be a parent who's ready to sue you for everything you're worth. My way of dealing with kids? Reciprocating energy. You ignore me, I ignore you. You throw a tantrum, I throw a tantrum. And if that doesn't work, I manipulate parents into actually being parents.

"Miss Honey! There's a man in the boys' bathroom with a girl. And according to Law & Order: SVU, I know that's wrong!" Tyler, one of Honey's male students, burst into the classroom.

"Okay, everyone, stay here," Honey said, striding over to her desk and grabbing the bat mounted on the wall. "Good job for reporting, Tyler—put a sticker on your passport." She then rushed off to the boys' bathroom.

Abruptly walking in, she spotted a young man she had never seen before, holding hands with one of the younger female students.

"I threw up, Miss Honey," the student admitted, looking queasy.

"Oh, sweetie, let's get your hands and mouth washed," Honey said, gently ushering the girl over to the sink and guiding her through washing her hands. "Okay, all dried. Now, why don't you head to the nurse's office and lie down for a few minutes? Sometimes, throwing up just means our body is tired and needs to settle."

"Okay, Miss Honey," the girl nodded before heading out of the restroom.

"Reverse-y toilet, huh?" Honey turned her attention to the man, resting the bat downward.

"From what the short teacher told me, yes," he replied with a nod. "Um... why do you have a bat?"

"For protection," Honey shrugged. "School shootings are at their highest, and since this is a gun-free zone, I don't have one—nor do I know how to use one. Gotta protect my kids somehow, especially since we can't afford bulletproof pull-out shelters like private schools... and we really don't need to make the school-to-prison pipeline theory more obvious with metal detectors in a predominantly Black school."

"Right," the man nodded in agreement.

"I'm Honey Schremmenti, but you can call me Miss Honey," she introduced herself with a smile. "I teach fourth grade here."

"I'm Gregory Eddie," he replied, offering a forced smile. He wasn't able to reciprocate her same bubbly energy—it just wasn't his nature.

---

Before Honey could tell her classroom to put away their snacks as rest time was over and it was now time to learn the basics of fractions, the intercom beeped, and the voice of the principal was heard.

"Good morning, teachers. During passing, please come to the front entrance for a special announcement about some much-needed improvements to the school that I made happen."

"Oh no," Honey mumbled to herself, knowing she was about to witness a good disappointment prompted by a short, annoying, proactive, no-patience-having teacher named Janine.

"I got a good feeling about this," Jacob joined Janine outside in front of the school as the teachers all tried to find some type of warmth.

"Right? Me too," Janine smiled.

"I don't," Honey commented, snuggling up to her wife to find some warmth in the cold fall weather of Philadelphia.

"Good morning," Ava walked out the front doors of the building.

"Good morning," Janine smiled.

"Gregory," Ava smirked, looking at the substitute teacher, causing eyes to travel to him as he hid for cover. "The district was so moved by my plea that they approved the emergency budget and sent us the money right away." This prompted clapping from the teachers as some of them believed change would be made, but the three who knew better didn't clap, saving their energy for the reality reveal of Ava's actions. "Okay, we could have hired aides, we could have got rugs, but then I thought, 'No. We need something more immediate.'"

"Oh, no, no," Janine interrupted. "The rugs are immediate. They're... they're like instant Xanax for kids. I explained it all in my email."

"Girl, who told you to send an email?"

"You did."

"Anyway, I always feel better when I get my hair done," the principal continued, making sure to show off her new hairdo. "Thus, I do better work, like I'm doing now. You know, fix the outside, the inside takes care of itself." She pulled down a tarp and revealed a new school sign with her picture on it. "Y'all seeing this?"

"A plastic sign?"

"Thank God for the school district, 'cause they gave us $3,000, and I had to spend all of it."

"You spent all of the money on this?!" Janine looked at her boss in disbelief.

"Rush job. Can you believe this quality?" Ava commented.

"How's that optimism taste?" Barbara leaned in toward the shorter teacher.

"I didn't know you wrote 'big plastic sign' in your email to the board?" Honey smirked, sensing this was going to happen.

"This is ridiculous!" Janine complained as she strode through the hallway with Jacob and Gregory. "She has gone too far. Somebody needs to do something. I..."

"Yes, yes," Jacob agreed. "Somebody should do something."

"You know what? I'm gonna do something."

"Okay. Alright. Whatever you do, I will cosign it," Jacob got hyped.

"Yes!"

"That is how change works...someone does something, and somebody cosigns it," Jacob said.

"Where's Honey? We need her to cosign it too. She was awarded the most productive teacher here with high results from her students' state testing. If we can get her to co-sign, they will definitely listen."

"No," Honey stated as she walked by them, heading into the teachers' lounge to meet up with her wife and her wife's work wife—aka her godmother.

"Hey, you three. Wait up," Janine somehow managed to catch up with the female trio and join them on the walk out. "I'm going out to lunch, too."

"Oh, yeah? Where you going for lunch, pip-squeak?" Melissa questioned as she fixed her purse on her shoulder with her right hand while her left hand was intertwined with her wife's. "Bird feeder?"

"I thought you'd be working on your next miracle from Saint Ava," Barbara exaggerated.

"More like next disaster," Honey mumbled under her breath.

"Ha ha. No," Janine chuckled. "I don't think I'll need anything from Ava ever again."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I emailed the superintendent and told him everything that Ava has done today. No way she doesn't get fired."

"Oh, for the love of God."

"Are you stupid or stupid?" Honey squinted her eyes at the new teacher.

"What?" Janine looked at the trio in confusion.

"The superintendent never sees our emails. He has them bounced back to the person in charge of where they came from," Barbara explained to Janine.

"Wait. I'm sorry. Person in charge? That means the emails go back to..."

"Teachers, it's come to my attention that some of you... one of you... think it's okay to go over my head. So during lunch break... this lunch break... we'll be having a trust workshop so that we can learn how to become a work family. It's gonna be fun!"

"We are at a crossroads. This is a crisis," Ava stood in front of all the teachers in the library for a faculty meeting.

"No, a crisis is eating the cafeteria pizza for lunch," Janine held up her plate.

"Uh, why are we here, exactly?" Gregory asked from the back of the room.

"Well, chocolate drop, I learned that someone here doesn't respect me. But it's not about me, 'cause if you don't respect me, how can you respect this school? You can't. It's mathematically impossible."

"W-Whoa. Who doesn't respect you, Ava..." Jacob looked up in worry. "I-I mean, the school?"

"It's not important," the principal shook her head. "We're gonna make this a group matter as to not single any one person out. Let's try an exercise where we say whatever we want out loud to each other, no matter how critical. It'll be fun! Let's start with Janine. Janine?" She brought attention to the shorter teacher.

"Yes?"

---

"You're pushy, squeaky, and annoying." 

"Excuse me?" 

"That's just—" 

"No, it's not bad. No," Ava dismissed the gasps and complaints. "We're sharing with the goal of making us all better. Constructive. Hershey Kiss, why don't you try?" She pointed to Gregory. "Start with Janine." 

"I really don't want to." 

"You're right. It should be someone who knows her better. Jacob, Honey, Barbara?" 

"Well, her hair is..." Jacob started, but Barbara cut him off. 

"Absolutely not." 

"Yeah, absolutely not," Jacob backpedaled. 

"Ava, no one's doing this to anyone," Melissa interjected. 

"Hold on. I came prepared. Sheena, come on in!" Ava waved over one of Janine's students, leading her to the front while the staff looked on in shock. 

"Ava, that is my student. She should be at lunch." 

"I am kind of hungry," the girl mumbled. 

"Sheena, remember what we talked about? What's one thing you wish was different about Ms. Teagues?" Ava asked, crouching down to her level. 

"She got some big feet," the school's janitor, Mr. Johnson, chimed in out of nowhere. 

"Okay, everyone," Janine stepped forward, determined to end this. "That's enough. I'm the one who disrespected Ava. I emailed the superintendent about her spending the school's money on a sign. I'm sorry, Ava, and I'm sorry everyone missed lunch, especially you, Sheena. I did it because I care about the kids in this school, and that shouldn't be a bad thing." She sighed, then turned to Sheena, offering her plate of pizza. "Here, you should have this. I'm so sorry you missed lunch." 

"No, thank you," Sheena shook her head. 

"Okay." With that, Janine left the library. 

"Not a compelling speaker," Ava remarked, watching her leave. "Charisma vacuum, am I right?" 

"You know what, Ava?" Barbara stood up, her patience gone. "Janine is a lot of things—naive, a bit clingy, too cheerful," she said, her tone growing stern. 

"Ooh, this is good stuff! Let me call her back in," Ava smirked. 

Barbara stood, her voice steely. "But she's also right. Wanting to help these kids shouldn't be a bad thing." With that, the three teachers and substitute decided to get up out of their chairs and check on the upset second-grade teacher. 

"And where is everybody going?" Ava questioned, her voice sharp as she watched the others leave. 

"To check on Janine." 

"To eat lunch... after I check on Janine," Melissa added, her tone softening. "Come on, Honey," she tapped the girl on the shoulder, urging her to follow. 

"Do we have to?" Honey whined, staying in her seat. 

"Now!" Melissa scolded, her voice firm. 

"Ugh," Honey groaned, reluctantly pushing herself up from her seat. "This is your fault." She pointed accusingly at the principal before trailing after her godmother and wife. 

They found the second-grade teacher standing by the door, her face drawn and distant, staring at something on the other side. 

"Janine, ignore Ava. Big feet are a sign of fertility," Barbara quipped as the group walked over. 

"Every lunch period, Barbara," Janine stepped away from the door, allowing the older woman a glimpse of why she'd been fighting so hard for a carpet. "Every single one, Amir comes and naps on the rug." 

"Mmhmm. He was in my class," the kindergarten teacher stepped away from the door. "Mom's got a lot of kids. Dad's not around, and when he is, the parents fight." 

"Right. So, he doesn't get much sleep. I told him to sleep at his desk, but he says the rug is softer... softer than his bed at home." A look of quiet remorse settled over all the teachers' faces. "You know what? I don't care if you think I'm good at this or not anymore. I care about whether or not I can make a change." 

"Janine, teachers at a school like Abbott... we have to be able to do it all. We are admin. We are social workers. We are therapists. We are second parents. Hell, sometimes, we're even first." 

"Mmhmm," Melissa nodded in agreement. 

"Why? Heh, it sure ain't the money," Barbara lectured, her voice dry. 

"Mmhmm. I could make more working the street... easy," Melissa added, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Look, we do this because we're supposed to. It's a calling. You answered." 

"I believe it was Brother Cornel West—" 

"Don't." 

"Not right now." 

"Don't!"

"You want to know my secret? Do everything you can for your kids. We'll help. Hey, I suggest we put our money together and buy Janine the rug. What do y'all think?"

"Absolutely."

"Nah."

"Yes."

"Guys, you can't," Janine says, her voice filled with appreciation but also a deep understanding of their financial constraints. "You don't have it. I know because I have the same salary as you, and I overdrafted on a doughnut hole this morning."

"Well, what are you gonna do? Steal a rug?"

"Not me, but I know a guy who knows a guy." Janine looks over at Melissa with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

"Way ahead of you. I'm gonna have to bake a ziti," the Italian woman says, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts. "Hey, Tony, you big strunz, listen— you still working that stadium build?"

"Make me one too, please," Honey calls out to her wife, watching as she walks away with her phone pressed to her ear.

---

"Oh my God. He came," Janine says with a wide smile as Melissa opens the door, revealing a man standing in front of a truck loaded with rugs.

"Go get it." All the teachers head down to retrieve a rug, gratitude written across their faces.

"Hey, thank you so much. What's your name?"

"I got no name."

"He doesn't got a name."

"Move it along, Pipsqueak."

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

<…previous ... next…>

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

FIFTEEN

The second the door shut behind you, you were pacing like a woman possessed—back and forth, arms flailing, lips parting to scream and then clamping shut again. Mei Mei blinked slowly from the armchair as Shoko looked up from her drink and muttered, “Oh no. This looks like a thing.”

Before you could even start, Mei Mei calmly reached for her phone. “We’re calling Utahime.”

“Wait—what? Why? I haven’t even—”

“Nope,” Shoko said, already unlocking her phone too. “We’re not doing this without her.”

Utahime picked up within seconds. “What now—? Why do you all look like someone died?”

“I died!” you blurted, gesturing dramatically. “My brain died! My dignity died!”

“Sit down,” Mei Mei suggested, though she made no move to help.

“I can’t sit!” you shrieked, spinning mid-pace. “My legs won’t stay still! I’m too—confused. I’m too… turned on?! I don’t know! It’s all a mess!”

“Spill,” Utahime said flatly, now looking very invested.

“I kissed Suguru!”

Shoko raised her hand like a student. “Correction: he kissed you.”

“Okay yes—but he asked for a good luck charm and I thought he meant a bracelet or a hair tie, and next thing I know, I’m being claimed! Like—soul-leaving-my-body type of kiss! And I kissed him back! What does that say about me?!”

“That you liked it?” Mei Mei offered, sipping her tea way too calmly.

“I did! And he squeezed my ass!” you cried, spinning again. “And it gets worse. There might be something going on with Kento, too.”

Utahime leaned closer to the screen. “Define ‘something.’”

You started waving your hands. “He cooked me breakfast. Shirtless. Hair messy, low-hanging pants, biceps flexing while he was making tamagoyaki. You know—like, whisking the eggs, rolling it just right in the pan with chopsticks—like some domestic god. And I was there in an oversized sweater, basically seducing him without knowing it, and he was into it! But acting like he wasn’t!”

Shoko burst into laughter. “You wore that sweater, huh? The one that’s technically still a shirt if you tug it down every few minutes?”

“I didn’t mean to seduce him! But he noticed I wasn’t wearing a bra when my chest accidentally bumped into his arm. He flinched! I saw the flinch! And the way he looked at me? He’s built like a dream and he looked like I was the dessert!”

Mei Mei arched a brow. “So basically, Kento’s got a new breakfast kink now.”

“I’m scared,” you said seriously, spinning again. “But also, I’m not. And then there’s Satoru.”

Utahime already had her face in her hands. “No.”

“Yes! We were working on the couch—curriculum stuff—and he kept staring at my legs like they were cursed. He fed me sweets. And I bit his thumb. Or sucked it.”

There was a collective gasp-scream-choke from all three women.

“I didn’t mean to!” you rushed on. “It just happened and then he just stared at me like—like I’d unleashed some ancient force in him! And I ran!”

“Why do I feel like Satoru’s already planning a wedding over that thumb-bite?” Shoko deadpanned.

“He probably made it his new wallpaper,” Mei Mei added with a wicked grin.

You were spiraling now. “So, to recap: I’ve got three emotionally fucked up men ready to offer their whole lives to me, and I’m confused because—?”

Shoko blinked at you. “Because you haven’t made a PowerPoint ranking them?”

“No! Because I want all three of them! Equally! And it feels so wrong. But it also feels so right. And they’re all hot! Their stares are weaponized, their hands are lethal, and I’ve seen enough to know their… sizes… are not a joke. I haven’t even seen Satoru’s but I know. You can just tell.”

Mei Mei leaned back lazily with a knowing smirk. “Honestly, darling, if you ever get curious what it’s like to have multiple men in your bed, I think you’re going to love it. Especially with those three? You’d never walk again.”

“MEI MEI!” Utahime shrieked, her video feed jolting as she nearly dropped her phone. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Shoko wheezed with laughter, propping her cheek on her palm. “Oh, she’s doomed. Completely. You’re going to have the time of your life, and I can’t wait to hear every chaotic detail.”

You groaned dramatically and collapsed face-first into the couch. “I’m going to die. You’re all going to kill me before they do.”

“Die happy, though,” Mei Mei said sweetly, winking. “That’s what matters.”

You were sprawled bonelessly across the couch, legs dangling off the side, eyes unfocused and dazed as your brain tried to reboot from everything that had happened—and everything the girls were now suggesting.

“I’m telling you,” Mei Mei said coolly, sipping from a delicate glass of wine like this was an afternoon brunch and not your romantic unraveling, “with those three? You're going to need stamina spells, barrier enchantments, and a very, very strong birth control charm. Don’t worry—I’ve got you covered.”

“Mei Mei!” Utahime screeched from the video call, flailing with both hands. “Why are you enabling this?! Why are you helping?!”

Shoko, already halfway through a cigarette and looking criminally amused, lazily flicked ash into a tray. “I’ve got stronger ones in my drawer, too. Not just birth control—anti-soreness wards. You’re going to need those when all three of them realize they’ve got the green light.”

You whimpered softly into a throw pillow.

“Don’t encourage this! She’s—she’s confused! This is insanity!” Utahime barked, now pacing in her video frame like you were the one threatening world peace. “This isn’t some fantasy novel! This is Geto, Gojo, and Nanami! She can’t—they can’t—!”

Mei Mei lifted an eyebrow. “And yet. Here we are.”

Shoko grinned like a cat. “Our girl might accidentally unlock a new form of sorcery through sheer overstimulation. Sorcerer Supreme of the Bedroom.”

“I hate both of you,” Utahime declared.

You lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, utterly and completely fried. Your entire face was flushed, your body hot from head to toe, and the swirl of thoughts—Nanami’s low-hanging pants, Suguru’s kiss, Satoru’s teasing fingers near your lips—was short-circuiting your dignity in real time.

“Guys…” you mumbled, your voice weak and stunned. “I can’t do this. I’m gonna explode.”

“You’ll survive,” Mei Mei said breezily. “Barely.”

“I don’t want to survive,” you groaned, covering your eyes with the pillow. “I want to ascend. Preferably by dying in Kento’s biceps. Or Suguru’s mouth. Or Satoru’s… whatever he decides to use, honestly.”

Shoko snorted, full-on cackling now. Utahime screamed into the void. And Mei Mei just winked with the ease of a war general watching her plan unfold.

You finally sat up, the overstimulation settling into a warm, aching buzz beneath your skin. Your hair was a mess, your sweater had slipped off one shoulder again, and your brain felt like it had been tenderized by everything that had happened—and everything that had almost happened.

Utahime, still the only sane person in the room (or call), cleared her throat. “Alright. Enough with the chaos,” she said, eyes steady and voice soft, “How do you really feel about them?”

You let out a long, slow breath, staring at the floor before answering. “I think about them a lot. All the time. Kento is steady and warm, the kind of presence that grounds you without trying. He makes me feel safe… and wanted. Then there's Satoru. He’s chaos, but comforting in his own way. He makes me feel seen, even when he's teasing. Like he’s watching everything and choosing to understand me anyway. And Suguru…” your voice dipped, “He’s this quiet intensity, someone who makes you want to be better just by being near him. He's thoughtful and tender and… God, he kissed me like I was the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life.”

The room went quiet. Even Shoko stopped teasing for a moment. Mei Mei just hummed quietly to herself, eyes closed like she was listening to music.

Utahime finally asked, “So what do you plan to do? What if… they don’t want the same thing? What if one of them backs away—or all of them? What are you going to do with the fallout?”

You swallowed hard. The thought had haunted you from the moment Suguru 's lips touched yours.

Mei Mei spoke first, her voice unusually soft. “I don’t think you understand the way they look at you. Those three? They’d gladly take anything you’re willing to give. You think they’d risk hurting you if they weren’t in this for real?”

Shoko nodded, flicking ash into the tray. “They all want you. But they also respect each other too much to step on each other’s toes. They’d probably accept whatever choice you made, even if it’s not what they want—because that’s how much they value you.”

“And each other,” Mei Mei added. “That kind of bond doesn’t get destroyed over one woman. Not even you.” She smirked.

Utahime shook her head, voice quieter. “Pause. Everyone, stop.” Her gaze found yours again. “You’re in the middle of all this. If you’re honest with yourself—what are you going to do? If it falls apart? If they don’t want to share? If it breaks the friendship or hurts someone?”

You looked down, fingers knotting in the hem of your sweater. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I really don’t. I keep asking myself that but I just… I can’t pick one over the others. I want them. Equally. Not just the sex—though, yeah, okay, that too—but emotionally. I want… them. All of them. And I don’t know if that’s selfish or stupid or impossible. But it’s the truth.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was understanding.

“You’re not stupid,” Shoko said simply. “You’re just in deep.”

Mei Mei tilted her head, her smirk returning. “And who says you can’t love more than one person? Love doesn’t follow rules. Especially not for people like us.”

Utahime groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I need a drink. Or divine intervention. Maybe both.”

You let out a small, exhausted laugh, shoulders sagging from the weight of finally saying it out loud.

[writerformanymuses]

so.... yeah.... pinning this and heading out on an internet break. read for context if you want otherwise queue is full. see you boobs in a bit.

i feel like i want to turn on a vlog cam shane dawson style and just do a deep youtuber sigh. that seems to be the palpable vibe on this side of the mental break down, but whatever.

okay, the scoop and context. uh, mass deleted my ao3 work, right? douche move. i know. i was completely and utterly manic. few dozen terrible things happened at once, i don't currently and can't afford a therapist, and i just spiralled. i'm gonna bullet point some reasons, but there isn't a logical path to get you to understand my brain. but i'll try?

uh, got approved for life changing surgery that i desperately need after losing 150lb+ pounds. insurance won't cover it, yey american healthcare, and i have to find 20,000 us dollars. high key want to die from that one alone, but ya know, when it rains.

i'm an educator in the american south who teaches history. i'm queer, gender nonconforming, and surrounded by people who openly applaud the current coup happening in my country. my students are unsafe, i'm unsafe, and yet as the adult i'm having to fake for eight hours a day mental stablity despite the fact i want to hysterically sob in front of them. the current regime want to dissolve the DOE which will effect millions of students from k through 12 which is where i am. they want to install fascist mandates into our curriculum and eliminate truth to actively limit or destroy the perspective of people of color, indigenous communities, and LGBTQIA+ people. it's black history month, i teach in a majority t1 district, and we've been told to 'pipe down' if we have any concerns. kill me right now, please.

it just was my grandmother's birthday, who was my only healthy example of a parent, and she passed away over a year ago now. that triggered a horrific depressive episode because i am essentially alone with no family and no irl friends. the two people i do have have lives, one is leaving the fucking country to go play missionary in israel for months (including when i have to have said major surgery), and the other lives her own life with her own family thirty minutes away so i'm not a priority (nor should i be)

i have POTS, and the stress of all of the above is causing a flare up, and i keep actively blacking out when i stand up. i still have to be an adult and work, so i have to hide how bad this is getting so i don't lose said job and can afford to live in increasingly expensive and ridiculously unappealing conditions.

i'm autistic and have borderline, so i have very bad processing abilities when being vulnerable so that's how we get this vomit no emotion version here and then me hysterically crying everytime i dare to post a chapter of a fic i care about. the thing i loved most i essentially began associating with hurting me the most to the point where in the mental of an epic crash out last weekend i just blacked out and deleted it. oops. i seem to recall telling my best friend someting to the effect of i'm tired of begging for someone to love me. ????? HUh??? me @ me: dude what?

so yeah, no, all of the above considered, my best friend is coming to spend the weekend with me. i'm going to try and get myself back together, process some things, and try to form a game plan moving forward. i should note i genuinely do feel guilty for the way i handled things last weekend, but the returning logical side of my brain thinks that maybe crash out me was onto something. so for now, i'm staying off AO3 and not returning the series. i have 100k words drafted for part 2, i'm not abandoning it altogether, but i need to have a serious think over it.

i also genuinely don't think that series works in this fandom. even if it has origins in this fandom, the makeup of the fandom is primarily not really interested in what i was starting to lean into. i've been on tumblr since 2010, so i know very well ao3/tumblr want gay sex and the same au's retold in different supernatural or modern settings. and guess what? that's fine! i am a rabid consumer of said content. i just can't write it. i don't want to write it. what i want to write is not want the average audience member wants to read, and so i think i need to pull that material and find a way to turn it into something original. i have ideas how to do so, and so we'll see where that goes.

i am sorry if you did love the series. i do see you and love you and my heart is forever grateful for you. i somehow saved every comment and found the folder on my computer where i did. apparently manic blacked out me did that much to hold onto what mattered, so you can know that much. i have the series all on a google drive folder, and you are more than welcome to view it just message me. i'll happily give you the link. i may come back to it. who knows, maybe when i get my life together, maybe when season 3 comes out, idk. but i think i see something more coming out of it, and i would like to explore that once i take a long lengthy break.

i'm addicted to the internet and have no other outlet, so i will be back sooner than later i think, but i imagine i will be making some changes. i will fill the queue for now, and i'm available on discord @ mathairarrachtaigh if anyone wants it.

thanks again, and if you read this, idk man that's kind of wild and nice and confuses my ass, but thank you anyway.... and i'ma go play witcher 3 and dissociate.

xo, ash