#as i was typing that i thought about what my therapist would say. and she’d say that external validation is somethig everyone needs sometime

[miss-morland]

my main goal is for everyone to like me is that wrong

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Aurea Mediocritas - Chapter 1

Summary: Aurea mediocritas: one of the five latin mottos of the arcadist, or neoclassical movement. Literally translates to “golden mediocrity”

A series of glimpses into what life was after the events of Carpe Diem. Not all is resolved, but they’re getting there. On their own time, at least.

Notes: EYYY I’m so happy to be continuing this verse! Ngl, this chapter has been written since March, but after Carpe Diem was done I got sucked into my OC wonderland, and then there was Sketchbook Week, and now I’m having to post it this instant exclusively because the next chapter is a Christmas special and I want to keep it on time jskdfksjdfh (which is also to say, no season 3 spoilers here. In fact, as I write these notes, I’m minutes away from watching the first episodes haha)

For any newcomers to this verse, it’s recommended that you take a look at the previous installments first – or at least the ones with Latin names!

Thank you for coming back to this AU, I hope you enjoy it! For info on posting schedule/frequency, please check out the end notes on ao3 :)

[Read it on ao3] [Read this verse's previous instalments]

This must be how lab rats feel before having experiments done on them, Kaisa thought as she had to, once again, consciously stop herself from picking at her nails after she’d begun doing so without noticing it. Or at least how they would if they’d signed up for the torture themselves.

Luckily, no one around her seemed to notice, much less care. The other patient in the waiting room was looking at something on his phone, bouncing his leg all the while, and the receptionist was typing on her computer. She’d probably seen a lot worse than people fidgeting in that waiting room, anyway.

Some fifteen minutes after she had arrived there, and been told to hang around and wait, a person came out of the psychologist’s office. They had tears streaming down their face, but they smiled politely at both her and the other man in the waiting room, and thanked the receptionist. It confused her, to see someone and not understand if they were upset or thankful.

Was it possible to be both at the same time?

Well, she supposed it must be. It was basically how she’d been feeling since she’d found out she’d been framed for a crime she didn’t commit.

As the receptionist went inside the therapist’s office, Kaisa shifted on her chair, crossing the opposite leg on top of the other. She hated this position that she’d put herself in, but at the same time there was a part of her that was very proud of herself for being there. Tildy had spent years and years saying she could ask her to make an appointment whenever she wanted, and Frida had sung high praises for therapy for as long as she could remember. But Kaisa had never given in. She was too proud, too blind to the fact that the way she thought (and consequently, the way she lived) wasn’t healthy.

And then along came Johanna, and that had been what had mined the last of her resistance. She was sure that, had she been going through that situation alone (or rather, just with her family and her one friend), she would have done what she had during every other crisis that arose: talk about it to them exactly once and then pretend the matter was resolved.

But it was never that simple with the human mind, was it? She was just beginning to realize that everything she’d tried to repress during her life had turned her mentality into what it was, and that was… not great. But Johanna made her want to do better, and be better. Not only for her girlfriend, but for herself. Johanna had been so similar to her mere years ago, and was now so free to live her life in a way that made her happier, that Kaisa couldn’t not have listened when she gently suggested that therapy would do her a lot of good.

“Miss Pilqvist?” The receptionist called, making Kaisa snap her head up to her. She smiled gently and gestured with her head, pointing to the office.

Trying her best to not allow her legs to shake or her hands to fidget, Kaisa got up and walked to the door.

………

The couch was itchy. It was the first thing that she noticed when the therapist told her to sit down on it after they had made their introductions. It caused her to try to change the position she was sitting on during the whole session, hoping a different angle would help her feel it less.

Unfortunately, the therapist took this simply as a sign that she was nervous. Which, mind you, she hadn’t actually been wrong to assume.

Knowing herself, Kaisa had expected to be the personification of that meme about wanting to get good grade in therapy. It turned out not to be the case, however. She had never wanted to flunk something that bad.

(Not that she’d ever wanted to flunk anything before, that was.)

As the kind looking woman with wild auburn hair looked at her, occasionally taking notes about something she said or did, Kaisa felt very much like she wanted to get a nice, round zero at therapy and just be expelled. Not that the psychologist was doing anything wrong, or at least she imagined she wasn’t. She just wanted this to end, so she could stop having her mind and her life poked and prodded with a stick, could leave in the dark the parts that that woman apparently wanted to shine a light on.

When she said ‘this is an interesting thing for us to discuss at a later date’ for the second time in that hour long appointment, about something that Kaisa very much did not want to discuss, the girl looked at the wall clock impatiently. They couldn’t possibly be too far from the end, right?

The poor woman had told her, in the beginning, that if she wasn’t ready to talk about something then she only needed to say it. But once again, Kaisa was way too proud, way too high achieving to actually admit discomfort. It would feel like a failure at something she had signed up for on her own.

It wasn’t just because she wanted to flunk that she’d rig the exam herself, after all.

They parted ways with an appointment for the same time next week, and Kaisa walked back home as quickly as she could, before she did something embarrassing.

Like begin to cry in the middle of the street.

………

Kaisa had attempted to exfoliate only once before. She had done it with her sister, in the bathroom they shared, and they were quite certain they had done it wrong. It didn’t take a lot to make Kaisa’s skin red – approximately two minutes of sunlight exposure would do it – but considering that Frida herself had a pinkish skin when they were done, they had been able to say, with fair certainty, that they had fucked up. Their skins had felt raw and exposed, like they got rid of something essential.

Following that logic, Kaisa went home thinking that therapy was exfoliation for the mind, and that the keratin she shouldn’t have gotten rid of was, in this case, whatever kept her bad memories and feelings from resurfacing at the slightest chance.

This is fine, she told herself all the while she walked back. I wasn’t told anything I didn’t already know. She didn’t even go that deep yet, I had already come to the conclusions she wanted me to for now. It’s fine.

Upon opening the front door, however, and being welcomed by the sight of Tildy’s warm smile, something inside her broke.

It was not fine.

Tildy had been using her reading glasses, since she’d been waiting for her daughter to come back with the book she was currently reading; Kaisa knew she would have been able to see the tears springing up in her eyes regardless. When she closed the door behind herself, Tildy was already beckoning her to go sit by her side on the couch.

“I don’t want to worry you.” Kaisa began, her voice cracking up. “Nothing bad happened. I promise.”

The nod Tildy gave her told her that she understood, and that she was listening. Cornelius woke up when Kaisa sat beside the spot where he had been sleeping, and she scratched the top of his head (or at least what she imagined was the top of his head) as an apology. The feeling of curly fur brushing against her fingers soothed her.

“But it’s hard.” She continued. “I guess I did so much effort to not let certain things affect me, and now I’m being forced to walk the opposite trail. I need to put even more effort into letting it all affect me in a way that helps. I’m a little lost.”

Tildy hummed. Kaisa was still turned to Cornelius, so her back was to her mother, but she didn’t need to look at her to picture the pensive gaze she must be wearing in her mind’s eye.

“But if you know the path you’re supposed to be taking, isn’t that the opposite of being lost?”

Even her chuckle sounded a bit like a whine, fragile as she felt. “It’s a metaphor.”

“I know. But even that is worth something.”

“Now you’re talking like a therapist as well, Tildy.”

Kaisa finally turned to face her more fully, knowing there would be no concealing the redness in her eyes but not caring, since her voice already denounced her feelings. She took only one look at Tildy’s apologetic face before putting her hands on her lap and staring at them.

“Do I have to keep doing this?” She asked in a small voice after they had gone some minutes in silence; Tildy knew how to recognize when her child needed space. “I know I had agreed to give it a try, but now I’m wondering if it’s more of a bother than it’s worth.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” The gentle words made the sting on Kaisa’s eyes even sharper. “But if you don’t put in the effort, you won’t ever get the results you’re looking for. Take care of yourself. Respect your limits, my dear. But we only grow by dipping our toes outside our comfort zone.”

Kaisa let her head fall against Tildy’s shoulder; her frame may look fragile, but she knew how much strength it hid. It had never let down her children when they needed to lean on her, which was quite often.

“I hate it when you are right.” Kaisa whined, feeling herself run out of air; it was never pretty when she cried over her own distress. It wasn’t a cinematic fall of tears like when she heard a sad story. It was more noise and the feeling of having air sucked out of her lungs, but Tildy had never complained.

Handling her daughter in a way to have her laying her head down on her lap, Tildy sighed.

“Then you must live a miserable life, sugar pie.”

For a while, Kaisa just cried. She could hear nothing else over the sound, except for the thought at the back of her mind that she was grateful that Frida was out at a friend’s house for the time being; she didn’t want her seeing her big sister like that. But as she calmed down, other things became noticeable. The softness of the fabric of Tildy’s skirt. The soothing caress of her fingers on her hair. Her own heartbeat. Cornelius, who was now pressing himself against her belly like a warm compress, purring like he was trying to calm her himself. It was such a comforting thought that she didn’t even dwell too long on the fact that she was pretty sure dogs shouldn’t purr.

As her eyes ran out of tears, her eyelids began growing heavy. Her distress crying usually had abrupt endings, and this time was no different. Once she’d sobbed enough, it simply stopped, and allowed her to enjoy the beautiful sensations around her. And while sleep gently, gradually embraced her, images filled her eyes. Of her family, of Johanna, of Victoria and even Edmund. Not only that, but she also remembered the scent of Tildy’s garden. The soft breeze during her walks to campus in the mornings. The beauty of when light hit just the right angle at the library. Her books, her plushies, and all the places she wanted to meet.

There were so many amazing things in the world. So many things she wanted to enjoy, so many things she didn’t want to miss out on. So many people she wanted to connect with to the best of her ability, not because she owed them anything but because they made her feel like all the effort was worth it.

She had to try. She had to give her best, but not in the ‘white-knuckling through it’ way that she had done all her life. She owed it to herself to take all of the joy and the wonder this life had to offer. And that would have to mean getting out of her head and into her body, her surroundings, her heart.

“I’m going to heal.” Whether she only thought this or if she was able to mutter it was a mystery to her; her mother would forever be the only person who knew the answer, and Kaisa definitely would never ask. “I promise. It’s what I deserve.”

[lulubelle814]

Regards, Loki - Chapter 2

Master List

It had been 6 days, and Louisa felt she was proved right.  Only a few hours to go.  While she counted down the hours and minutes, she fixed herself her own spin on ramen: boiling the noodles until soft, draining the liquid, then adding the seasoning packet and some sour cream thus creating a type of cheap casserole.  

Putting on a movie, she settled in, ate her food, and enjoyed the distraction.  Looking down into her ramen casserole, she realized that, deep down, she secretly wanted someone to reply but refused to let that hope surface.  It was ludicrous to ask someone to pay for conversation.  With only a couple hours to midnight, she put on another film.  This time she chose Labyrinth.  It was a comfort movie for her.  If she couldn’t dream of a sugar daddy paying to chat, she could at least dream of dancing in a ballroom with Jareth.

The eleventh hour hit, still with no responses.  Soon, the movie was over.  Still twenty minutes to go.  ‘One hour to go……  I could shut it down now and not tell Cora.’  Mulling over it, she didn’t want to lie to her friend, even if it was just an hour shy of the agreed deadline.  Instead, she put on her movie soundtrack playlist while washing dishes.  When she finished washing the dishes, she moved on into cleaning her kitchen (it was overdue).   It wasn’t until her favorite song from the ballroom scene came on that she realized midnight had come and gone.  

It was time.  Well, it was past time with the agreement she made.  Pulling out her old laptop, she brought up the website and logged in.  She received updates over the past few days saying how many people viewed her profile.  Looking at it, she saw the total count: 108 views.  Unable to find where to delete her profile, she sought out google for help.  Just as she found the directions to delete it, there was a ping.  Doubting what she heard, she went back to the website and started following the directions until she received an email notification.  It was probably some spam, but that tick in the back of her mind that told her to check it.

Opening her email, the message was from the sugar daddy site notifying her of a received message.  Stunned, she went back to the site and looked at her message inbox.  Sure enough, she had a response from someone who called themselves Loki and thought they were messing with her.  Part of her wanted to delete it, but that tick in the back of her brain saying “what if” got to her.  Worst case, it was a prank message and she’d delete it.  Best case?  Maybe someone was interested.  It seemed beyond absurd, but she clicked on the message before she’d change her mind.

Dear Sigyn,

I ran upon your profile and found myself intrigued.  While I think it is unusual to have such limitations, it’s precisely what I’m looking for: conversation and no commitment.  

I admit.  The thought of anonymity is enticing. While fake names are typically used for meet ups to help conceal a person’s true identity, this does not appeal to me.  I understand it may seem strange, and it’s quite possible your profile is a farce.  But with the knowledge that you do not know who I am, nor you I, I feel it is worth taking a chance.

I do realize the hour is quite late, and my proposal will take a little time to contemplate as it’s quite possible you have changed your mind.  I will give you 24 hours to think about it; however, it would be appreciated if you would acknowledge my request when you receive this message.

I look forward to your response.

Regards,

Loki

She couldn’t believe it.  Someone really wanted to pay her just for conversation.  But why didn’t he just go to a therapist?  They’re bound by patient / therapist confidentiality.  What if this was Cora just trying to bait her into staying on the website?

There was only one way to find out.

Dear Loki,

Thank you for your interest.  I was highly doubtful anyone would be interested in paid conversation when this type of setup is more typical of a prurient.  I want to be upfront that my profile is honest.  I am not seeking a sexual relationship as part of this and also wish to retain an incognito status.

I appreciate your offer of 24 hours to consider.  I will give this serious thought.  Until a decision is provided within the given time constraint, would you be open to inquiries?  I will admit this is a first for me to seek out this type of relationship, if that’s what you would call it.  

Please let me know your thoughts.  As you mentioned, the hour is late.  I figure you likely sent the message before going to sleep.  I look forward to your response.

Regards,

Sigyn

Taking a deep breath, Louisa sent the message before she could change her mind.

[beyondthebelle]

Diet Pepsi

(CM Punk x OC)

Hi! This is fun and new and exciting for me.

Consider this the prologue to a story I've had brewing in the ole noodle.

Nothing much to warn about other than depictions of a panic attack.

Description: she's got no job, but gets a job as an assistant to who....? uhoh couldn't beeeeee

(Truth be told I couldn't (can't) decide if I want this to be a Damien or Punk fic)

Anyhoozles, story after the jump. Ciao!

Attic Apartment, 1:30 p.m

Buzz.

Buuuzz.

Buuuuuzz.

Amelia sat on the precipice of her chipped wooden chair. She watched as her phone danced across her desk. MEGAN – JOB INTERVIEW flashed on the screen. She’d forgotten she saved the number after her phone interview. Her ear hot after the half an hour glued to it, afraid her wireless headphones would spontaneously die or disconnect or some other fiasco.

She took a shuddering breath in and put on her most cheerful voice.

 “Hello?”, she said with a toothy smile. She read that people can hear it when you smile when you’re talking.

"Hi Amelia, it's Megan from your interview yesterday. I'm happy to say we'd love to have you on our team and offer you the position of Personal Assistant t...”, ringing filled her head and the echoes of her interviewers’ voice drifted across her ears. The edges of her vision blurred in tune to the thumping of her heart.

"Congratulations. We think you'll be excellent. I'll email you the details shortly after I end the call."

Through the din of her rising panic attack Amelia heard herself thanking Megan, feigning exhilaration, and telling her she was "excited to join the team" and "jump into the ring*". Megan laughed at that, and said Amelia would fit right in.

*She later stayed up until 4 a.m. thinking about that joke and wondered if she would even make it to orientation or if she'd die of embarrassment first.

#

Blog: Amelia's Feelias

dear diary, i suppose this isn't a diary, but i don't know how to start. i got a job! I GOT A JOB! finally but the thing is it's with the wwe?? that's insane, right? oh my god? what am i going to do? i don't know anything about wrestling. i think my cousin does? i researched enough to understand the company, the main players, googled some buzz words, read the wikipedia, and checked out their socials. i must have tricked them into thinking i knew what i was doing. maybe they saw i'm a people pleaser and that's what they need in an assistant? what if they throw a cellphone at me?!

#

Attic Apartment, 1:50 p.m.

Amelia pushed the laptop away from herself, sighed and dropped her head to her hands. After she got the call that she had the job, she opened her laptop and began typing but didn't get far. Her therapist had encouraged her to start writing when she got overwhelmed. The words she was spilling out felt forced and self conscious. She was so scared, so nervous, curious and excited. Not to mention relieved to finally have a job, but at what price? Where was this even taking her?

Swirling sensations zapping through her body, thoughts racing. Prickles of heat on her hairline made her hyper aware of her body. She was getting sweaty. Heart racing. A personal assistant? To a wrestler?? What the hell was she thinking? How do you assist a wrestler? Do they practice moves on you. Do you actually have to get in the ring?! She heard the last words cry hysterical on her mind.

"Deep breaths Amelia" She muttered shakily to herself.

In through the nose,

out through the mouth.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Feel the air fill your belly.

Amelia could hear the low, soothing tones of her therapist in her head, guiding her through her panic attack. With each breath she felt herself become clearer.

Finally, Amelia came back to reality. The rhythm of her breathing centering her focus, she was no longer consumed by the images of her dressed in a giant feather boa or being tossed through a table. That didn't even make sense from an OSHA stand point. And HR would have a field day. Plus, they asked if she could do heavy lifting up to 50 lbs. That's a pack of water, not a person.

She chuckled to herself now. She'd seen wrestling matches. The idea was so preposterous. Giggles escaped her between little alleviated sobs. The kind you didn't know you'd been holding in until you finally let them out. She felt silly. She felt relief.

She had a job; she was going to get out of this apartment.

Now it was just time to google who or what the fuck a CM Punk is.

[hiraeth-ink]

Rhyngom (Between Us) - Chapter One

Chapter one - Rhoi Ffidil yn y Tô.

Pairing - Frankie Morales x reader.

Series summary - Dipping your toes in the dating pool again after taking a break, you find yourself disappointed once again. What happens when you meet the perfect man in Francisco Morales? Can two people, scarred by their pasts, work through their issues together?

Warnings - swearing, sexist/misogynistic comments, mention of Andrew Tate (ew I'm sorry), mention of cheating.

Four dates. Four failed dates in the last month. Four failed FIRST dates, none of them were decent enough to want to see again. One failed date a month. Four men. Four boys? Whatever they were, they were not worth the time spent on them this last month. 

One of these failed dates was happening right now. He was handsome, tall with dark hair and dark eyes; he was your type. Well, he was your type physically, his personality was very quickly turning you off, he was talking incessantly at you, not even bothering to ask you anything about yourself, clearly his life was way too interesting for him to want to hear even a tiny morsel of information about yours. 

“....yeah but it’s really not worth it you know, especially if I can’t have a beer afterwards,” Jack(?) continues to ramble on and you force a chuckle, which you doubt actually convinced him that you thought what he said was funny, or even that you were listening to anything he was saying. 

Jesus Christ, what a boring guy. 

So boring that you had already mapped out the exits in the dimly lit restaurant. There was the main entrance, only a few tables away, all you would have to do is walk to the bar, maybe pretend to ask the bartender for a drink, wait for your date to pick up his phone, no doubt to text one of his friends to boast about trying to take you to bed tonight (not happening), and then rush passed the happy couples sat at the candlelit tables, bright smiles adorning their lovestruck faces. Unfortunately, that was the only exit in sight, but your date’s rambling was tempting you to get up and leave without an explanation. Regret was quickly travelling through you, as if it was seeping into your pores, covering your whole body, entering you seamlessly and asking the question, why the fuck did you agree to this? 

     You were trying. Trying so hard to take your therapist's advice about putting yourself out there again, Dr Williams had said it would be productive for you to go on dates, dust off the high heels or whatever she’d said. You had been taking a break from dating, a long one, from men in general, dubbing them not worth the trouble, the pain, the time. But apparently, avoiding dating, intimacy and men in general isn’t just being independent or a ‘boss bitch who doesn't need a man’ as you’ve chanted in the mirror countless times, it’s just deep intimacy issues. Apparently, you're scared of intimacy, of opening up to people, of showing yourself too closely, just in case they change their mind, no longer like what they see and leave. 

       “...and you know what, if I’m paying for all the dates, then yeah I expect the woman to do my laundry and the dishes and all that, you know? Because it’s not even about the money, it’s…,”

     These last four dates were enough to take you right back into a long break from men, or this time maybe you would just give up. This guy, Jack, or was it Jake? Anyway, this guy’s blatant misogyny was too much to listen to so you chugged your glass of wine and, cutting him off from expressing his riveting opinion on so-called 50/50 while dating, mumbled a half-assed excuse to leave halfway through the meal. Ignoring the shocked look on his face, you rise from your chair, ignore his protests and leave the restaurant, not feeling one ounce of guilt for leaving him with the bill. If you had more energy, maybe you would have lectured him on his obvious sexism, tell him to skip the Andrew Tate videos on his feed, but you needed to get out, distance yourself from him, from his voice, from his gaze that shamelessly wandered down to your cleavage at the end of every sentence. 

Back at your apartment, you’re in your comfiest clothes in bed, with a glass of wine, determined to at least try and enjoy what is left of your Friday night. After sending your best friend Ava a text, filling her in on the abrupt ending of the date with the self absorbed asshole, you turn on a crappy dating show and half listen to what they’re saying. A loud knock at the door interrupts your trash tv session. You push back the duvet and, with great confusion, make your way to the door. You glance at the clock on the oven on the way, which reads 20:45. You definitely weren’t expecting company tonight, your mind races with possibilities as to who could be standing on the other side of the door as you cast a glance into the peephole. Your mind is silenced when you see the familiar dark curls of your closest friend, Ava. Her dark hair, unruly but graceful, elegant in the way it falls down her back and frames her face. Her eyes, also dark, are kind and honest, you know them as the eyes that always searched you out in the parties she’d drag you to back in college, the eyes that no matter what she told you; good news or bad, would gaze softly into yours, with enough compassion to soften any blow. Ava has been there for you through it all; when the sunny sky disappears and you're alone in the rain, Ava shelters you, so really it’s no surprise that she heard about your shitty night and came straight over, bottle of wine clutched in her right hand and a bright smile on her face when you open the door. 

“Couldn’t leave you all alone after you just got up and left a date. I can’t believe you did that, before you would have just sat there all quiet, waiting for it to be over,” she says to you over her shoulder, after pushing into your apartment and taking off her coat, the ease with which she does this evidencing the amount of times she’s burst through the door, treating the space as if it was her own. 

“I’m so proud of you Fig! I mean you just, you weren’t happy so you left! That's how you need to be in this game, don’t waste any time,” she continues as she grabs two glasses from the cupboard and begins generously pouring the wine.

“Yeah well, thought I might as well end my last date with a bang,” you say through a half hearted chuckle, and immediately regret it when she looks at you, eyes full of pity as she raises her glass to her mouth, mumbling a you don't mean that. 

“I do Ava, I really do,” you sigh, frustration evident in your tone. You gulp from your glass and continue, “I would rather be single forever than go on another date with some guy who calls himself a high value man, who’s actually just a raging sexist hiding behind traditional values,” you exclaimed, voice straining with annoyance and hands flying up to mimic air quotes. You were truly exhausted. Exhausted of trying to find someone you were compatible with, someone you could enjoy the simple things with. Exhausted of only finding men with no feminist bone in their body, no emotional intelligence, no empathy, not even basic conversation skills. You were just looking for love. At your core, you wanted to be loved. Sure, you’d had relationships in the past, you’d been in love, but you hadn’t received the love you wanted. You gave the love you wanted to receive, but it was never reciprocated. Or if it was, it was taken away just as quickly as it was given, handed to you and then snatched back to its rightful owner. You wanted laughter, soft kisses in bed at night, you wanted to let someone in, allow them to see the deepest parts of you and be loved all the more for it. You wanted tight embraces in the morning, you wanted to feel their grasp loosening reluctantly, accompanied with whispers of just five more minutes. More importantly, you wanted this consistently, not just for the first few months of the relationship, not just until they show their true colours. Not just until they find someone new and give them the love you craved.

 It’s what you want, but how can you even look for it? How can you look for such light when the darkness is so overbearing? It seemed easier to give up all hope. 

“Ok, look,” Ava cuts in, as if reading your mind, “you can’t give up because I know a guy that I think you might really like. Nothing like the guys you’ve been on dates with lately. He’s respectful, kind, and actually, doesn't really talk all that much. I can guarantee he wouldn’t fill an entire date with constant jabbering about himself.”

“I don’t know Ava,”

“Did I mention he’s cute?” She hurriedly exclaims before you can fully shut her down. “Curly dark hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders, he’s very strong looking. And… I have it on good authority that he’s good in bed. It’s always the quiet ones, you know?”

You watch her as she tries to hide the smirk growing on her lips, bringing her wine up to her mouth and taking a long sip. She’s obviously proud of herself, her convincing nature once again swaying you into saying yes. 

“He sounds nice Ava but I can’t do another blind date, I don’t have it in me.”

“That’s ok, babe. Just come to the little get together Benny’s hosting on Saturday. He’ll be there. You should wear that purple dress you look good in, you know, the one with the flowers under the boobs,” she says while gesturing to her underboob aggressively. “You never know, you might get lucky. Finally break that dry spell you’ve got goin’ on.” 

You ignore her dry spell comment, there's nothing you can say to combat it, she’s right. It’s been a while, a very dry while since you’ve even met a guy that made you want to have sex. So instead you ask how she knows the guy she’s planning on setting you up with. 

“He’s been friends with Benny for years, they served together.”

This new piece of information steered you towards saying yes, you knew Benny well. He was an amazing partner to Ava, treated her well. You liked Benny, you trusted him. He wouldn’t be friends with anyone you’d want to stay away from, right? 

You sighed and asked, “What’s this guy’s name?”, and drank the last of your wine. You were about to hear the name of the man who would effortlessly weave his way into your life. You were strangers at that point in time, as you stood in your kitchen, ready to completely close yourself off. But you would soon walk the paths at which strangers cross, and this path turned into the path you walked together. No longer strangers, lives intertwining. 

“Francisco Morales.”

[mariacallous]

The first video Rachel Griffin-Accurso uploaded to YouTube is so bare-bones, it looks like she’s being held hostage and forced to croon children’s tunes.

It was an experiment, through and through. “I ordered a green screen from Amazon and Googled ‘how to use a green screen with iMovie,’” Griffin-Accurso says of recording that first clip. She was a preschool teacher, not a content creator; she used a camera she found in her house, recording herself by setting the camera on a pile of books so it’d be at the right height. The results are … fine. She stands in front of a chintzy-looking cartoon sea floor in a red shirt and thick headband, singing a ditty a cappella. (“One little blue fish, swimming in the water …”) The two-minute video ends with her waving to the camera, then cuts to a generic graphic asking people to like and subscribe.

It feels slanderous to write about this clip’s shortcomings now, because Rachel Griffin-Accurso is (probably by my estimation, and definitely by my 1-year-old son’s estimation) the finest entertainer for young children working today.

Since uploading that first video in February 2019, she’s gone from a New York–based educator dabbling in digital content to Ms. Rachel, toddler-whisperer extraordinaire, with millions of devoted followers. Her YouTube show, originally called Songs for Littles but recently renamed Ms. Rachel, is an interactive, thoughtful addition to the children’s canon; it now has a cast of merry singing adults, live instrumentals, and puppets, too. It has a modern-day, DIY Sesame Street vibe, with an emphasis on language development that has converted speech therapists into ardent boosters. Linger long enough outside a daycare, and you’ll spot a mom wearing a “Running on Ms. Rachel and Iced Coffee” T-shirt.

Griffin-Accurso’s rise wouldn’t have happened in a different children’s media landscape. She started recording videos because she’d gone looking for language-development-focused programming for her young son, who had a speech delay, and didn’t find what she wanted. “He’s such a visual learner,” she says. “I just thought it would really help him.”

She didn’t know anyone in the television industry, or even how one would go about pitching a series. “I felt like I had a strong show,” she says. “But I didn’t have connections.”

She didn’t even really have a staff or a fleshed-out project, instead learning as she went. Her husband, Aron Accurso, turned into a castmate; a composer and musical director with Broadway experience, he also oversees the show’s music, helps with editing, and moonlights as a puppeteer. Singer-songwriter Jules Hoffman, now another cast mainstay, got the gig initially by answering an online ad in 2019. “I literally opened up Craigslist, I typed in ‘children’s music,’ I saw Rachel’s ad—no pictures, one sentence,” they remember. “Then we met up and hit it off.” While traditional children’s television development can be a years-long process from idea to execution, Ms. Rachel grew into itself publicly, one uploaded video at a time.

Accurso-Griffith is now making inroads in more traditional children’s media. But the way her story started is representative of a sea change happening in the world of kid’s entertainment: YouTube is the nucleus.

The YouTube Era of children’s programming represents a marked shift in what and how young kids watch video. For decades, children’s television was appointment viewing on a handful of broadcast networks. The UK and Canada had kids' programming on BBC and CBC, respectively. In the US, Saturday morning cartoons were king, while PBS set a gold standard for educational fare with long-running hits like Sesame Street. In the 1980s, the rise of cable led to the creation of several kid-specific channels, most famously Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel. 

The rise of streamers and “peak TV” led to a corresponding flood of children’s content, which is a major draw for audiences. How major? Over a third of the shows most in-demand on Disney+ are children’s programming, according to Parrot Analytics. Some of these Disney hits are in-house titles like DuckTales; others are licensed, like the truly delightful Australian cartoon Bluey.

Children’s programming also thrives on less kid-focused streamers. More than 18 percent of Amazon Prime Video’s demand is for kid’s television—in part thanks to the streamer’s catalog of children’s content that originated on YouTube—and more than 17 percent of demand on Paramount+ is for kid’s television, likely because of its library of Nickelodeon shows. Parrot Analytics measures demand for children’s programming at just above 15 percent for both Max and Netflix, a testament to how those streamers have also developed their kid’s entertainment sections. (Max now owns the rights to Sesame Street, for example.)

While the streamers have been jostling for dominance, though, YouTube has surpassed them all. “Time spent with YouTube is even higher than it is with streaming content,” says Nancy Jennings, a professor at the University of Cincinnati and director of the school’s Children’s Education and Entertainment Research Lab. “YouTube has really taken over the space.”

YouTube’s rise is tied to a number of factors. First, there’s how accessible it is. (Free!) Then there’s the sheer volume of video available. “Nothing can really touch it,” says Katie Bailey, editor of the children’s entertainment trade publication Kidscreen. (Trailing far behind in second place, in her estimation? “Netflix.”) It also offers unrivaled variety. Does your kid want to watch hundreds of hours of videos of garbage trucks? What about hundreds of hours of other children opening toys, or playing video games, or reciting Shakespeare, or participating in elaborate pranks, or touching slime? Hand them a tablet or smartphone. And when whatever your child has chosen has finished playing, YouTube’s algorithm has something else ready in the queue.

The audience sizes for kids content on YouTube are staggering. Songs for Littles as a channel has more than 2.7 billion views. Its subscriber count sits just above 4.7 million. The channel for the BBC's popular Hey Duggee has some 2.5 billion views and more than 1.7 million subscribers. But those look Lilliputian compared to the behemoth that is Cocomelon, YouTube’s most popular children’s program within the United States, and its second-most popular channel overall. Cocomelon has more than 162 billion views and 161 million subscribers.

Cocomelon’s success story is far weirder than Ms. Rachel. The brand started as a YouTube channel launched way back in 2006, specializing in alphabet videos for toddlers; it was created by former filmmaker Jay Jeon as a hobby. (He has two kids.) As it gained an audience, the channel expanded into nursery rhyme animations, went through a few name changes, and eventually rebranded as Cocomelon in 2018. By the time it was sold to a British media startup called Moonbug in 2020, it was an unprecedented juggernaut.

Moonbug’s existence is a case study on the centrality of YouTube to the kid’s entertainment world. The company has grown by acquiring already-popular YouTube channels and making them obscenely popular multi-platform brands. (In addition to Cocomelon, it also owns Blippi and Little Baby Bum.) A year after it landed Cocomelon, Moonbug itself was sold for a reported $3 billion to a Los Angeles–based entertainment startup called Candle Media, which was founded by a former Disney and TikTok executive and is backed by the private equity firm Blackstone.

After Moonbug got on the scene, Cocomelon and its other hits went from being YouTube sensations to simply ubiquitous. Starting in 2020, Cocomelon jumped over to Netflix, where it has remained one of the most-watched children’s titles globally ever since. And that was just the beginning. “Our content is on 180 platforms around the world,” Moonbug’s managing director Andy Yeatman says. In addition to all the major US streamers, Cocomelon and other Moonbug shows appear on international broadcasters like the BBC, Germany’s SuperRTL, Brazil’s Globo, as well as Chinese streaming platforms owned by ByteDance and iQIYI.

When Moonbug started attempting to strike deals with more traditional media companies, they struggled to convey exactly how big the properties they owned already were. “In the first couple years, it was definitely a hurdle to get them to take us seriously,” Yeatman says. “It was, Oh, it’s just YouTube content. But we don’t get that anymore.”

Now, streamers vie for said YouTube content. Moonbug has struck deals to create exclusive spin-off programs based on its preexisting shows for several major platforms. An offshoot of its property My Magic Pet Morphle will debut on Disney+ next year.

Meanwhile, both streamers and traditional broadcast and cable channels are now creating their own content specifically for YouTube. “They’ve moved to embrace the platform,” YouTube’s head of family partnerships Lauren Glaubach says. Disney, for example, has put whole episodes of its new animated show Star Wars Young Jedi on the platform, a move Glaubach sees as expanding its audience. “You look at these full-length episodes on YouTube and there are over 34 million views in total.”

Part of the great appeal of YouTube is that anyone can upload a video to the platform. It’s also the great problem of YouTube: Moderating the world’s largest repository of user-generated video is impossible to do flawlessly. And while Disney is finding additional audiences from using YouTube, it was also at the center of one of the platform’s biggest scandals: Elsagate.

In 2015, YouTube launched an app especially for children, YouTube Kids. It was meant to curate high-quality, child-appropriate videos. And it did, mostly. But bad actors sought to piggyback on the demand for actual kid’s programming with low-quality, hastily-made videos that often included disturbing storylines and imagery. Some of these videos took beloved cartoon characters and created knock-off content with decidedly freaky, unsettling plotlines. (Sample title: “PAW Patrol Babies Pretend to Die Suicide by Annabelle Hypnotized.”) The character Elsa from Disney’s megahit Frozen was a frequently-bootlegged character, so people following the scandal ended up nicknaming it after her.

YouTube conducted a massive purge of the offending videos and channels after the Elsagate controversy; in the years since, its moderation efforts appear to have paid off. (I recently spent several hours trying to find inappropriate content on YouTube Kids; I found some mildly puerile fart videos, but nothing truly disturbing.) Josh Cohen, the founder of creator-economy news website TubeFilter, has followed YouTube’s approach to kids content since the beginning, and believes the platform was “whipped into shape” by the backlash. “It’s a testament to YouTube responding to criticisms,” he says.

Still, to this day, not every parent feels comfortable plopping their kid down with a tablet and YouTube, and that’s one of the ways some of the original children’s television purveyors continue to thrive. PBS, for example, may have far more competition than it did when Sesame Street launched, but it’s managed to carve out a successful lane for itself, in part by adapting early to the digital-video space and preserving its quality-first reputation.

PBS launched its own digital video player back in 2007. “YouTube already existed at that point and we had been watching it carefully, but we just didn’t feel like it was a safe place for us right out of the gate. But because a lot of kids were on it, we were like, OK, we’ll launch our own player,” Sara DeWitt, the senior vice president and general manager of PBS Kids, says.

PBS did embrace YouTube eventually, though. When YouTube Kids launched, DeWitt says PBS worked to be one of the app’s “anchor tenants,” in part because it wanted to be on the platforms where its target audience already spent time.

For that reason, the public broadcaster has also been on the forefront of another shift. For well over a decade now, PBS Kids has considered gaming as an essential component of its programming. “We made the decision in the early 2000s that our shows were going to be multi-platform. Meaning, it would be shows and games. When you pitched to PBS kids, you really tried to come with a world, because we weren’t launching any shows without a gaming element as well,” DeWitt says.

This melding together of children’s television and children’s gaming is only accelerating. David Kleeman, a senior vice president at the game development studio Dubit, has studied children’s entertainment for decades (he’s the former president of the American Center for Children and Media) and he’s tracking how these two worlds are colliding.

Kleeman has already seen children enthusiastically watching video content within gaming platforms, and believes this type of screen time will be increasingly commonplace in the future.

In 2022, the anime-adventure series Bakugan Battle Planet launched a blended experience where kids playing on Roblox could stream episodes of the series within the gaming platform. Kleeman tested what it was like to watch within Roblox; he navigated his avatar over to a screen, where other people had done the same, creating a virtual screening room. “There were all kinds of other avatars, bouncing and running around,” he says. “It felt like I wasn’t watching TV alone.”

Other industry experts suspect gaming will have an even more prominent role in children’s entertainment in the future. Libby Hunt, the research manager at Boston Children’s Hospital’s Digital Wellness Lab, sees the trend toward more immersive, interactive digital entertainment as already underway. “The popularity of online environments like Minecraft or Roblox really encapsulates this shift,” she says. Hunt predicts even more “blending” of gaming and television in the future for young kids. (This is a trend that is even further along with older kids, who frequent apps like Twitch to watch gaming streams.)

In addition to television shows cropping up within gaming platforms, gaming content is already widespread on television and streaming video, and there’s no sign of that abating. Recently, Amazon’s Freevee platform announced a deal to create channels devoted to Minecraft and Roblox gameplay and tutorials, a category of video already prevalent on YouTube.

The category of “children’s television” has existed for nearly as long as television has, but it is an increasingly leaky category. As spending time on online platforms like YouTube and Roblox supplants sitting in front of an old-fashioned television set, the very idea of “kids tv” becomes as antiquated as Saturday morning cartoons.

Still, some things stay constant. “What really fascinates me is that for all the contextual changes of how we watch, how we play, how we do all those things—child development doesn’t change,” Kleeman says. Kids will always pay attention to a captivating show—whether or not it’s on television is besides the point.

[kindheart525]

Warning: Discussions of Disordered Eating Behavior

~~~~~~~~~~

Triple Threat sat across from her therapist, seated in the same armchair where she had gone through tense family therapy sessions and difficult retellings of moments from her past. For the past few weeks she had to go through quite a bit of deep reflection, which was very uncomfortable despite her understanding that it was good for her in the long run.

Today her therapist was in a chipper mood, which meant there was either really good news or more soul-searching in store for TT. 

“I’ve been looking at your nutrition charts and you’ve made remarkable progress since you were admitted!”

She pulled out a few charts and TT instantly started to feel a bit hesitant. Not repulsed like she had a few weeks ago, but food was still a touchy subject.

It wasn’t that her therapist didn’t see this, but they both knew TT couldn’t dance around it any longer. But she was positive as she directed her client’s gaze towards some specific charts.

“Your doctors have reported your vitals are much better than when you were admitted. Your heart rate and blood pressure are much closer to normal. Your muscle and body mass is recovering nicely too.”

TT looked at the chart labeled “weight” and had to consciously stop herself from feeling badly about it when she noticed the line going up. But still she pointed at it and uttered,

“This is good, right?”

“Yes, all of it is good. Very good.”

Her therapist smiled comfortingly, sensing her concern.

“You should be very proud of yourself, Triple Threat.”

As they sat there for a moment, TT had to admit to herself that this was true. From what she’d heard from other patients, she could have been a lot worse off, but still it was a big deal for her when she once thought she’d never get better at all. Now she was more confident she would make it through, like she already was starting to.

Then the therapist leaned back and started digging through her bags.

“Your doctors can tell you a lot more than I can. I’m just repeating what’s on the charts. We’re going to try something new today.”

She pulled a new form from one of her folders and attached it to a clipboard, holding it out to the young mare.

“What’s this?”

“This is a little rating game, so to speak. Just note whether you think each of these foods is good or bad, by circling the green check or red X. Don’t overthink it too much.”

She passed TT a pen and the young mare obliged.

The first few seemed obvious to her.

Ice cream? Bad.

Salad? Good, if you didn’t count what they served at the cafeteria.

Cake? Definitely bad.

She then took the clipboard from her therapist’s outstretched hoof so she could concentrate more on her answers.

Mangoes? Like all fruits, they had a lot of sugar, but she had been taught that it was a good kind of sugar.

Soda? Definitely bad. Easy.

Bread? It was made of wheat and grain which were good, but it also had an awful lot of carbs. That one was tricky.

After mulling over her answers for a bit she finally finished and passed the clipboard back over to her therapist.

“I’m done.”

“You were very thorough with that,”

Her therapist mused as she read over the answers.

Now what?

She waited for a moment until her therapist spoke up again.

“Why did you circle X for ice cream?”

TT was a little perplexed by this question, it seemed like the answer should have been obvious.

“Well, it’s got a lot of sugar, not to mention too much fat and cholesterol. Especially if you count it with everything else…”

She started to feel like she was failing some sort of test, talking about food this way. Even if she did believe what she was saying. So she added,

“It’s okay for special occasions like birthdays, right? But I wouldn’t make a habit out of it. I’d really watch my intake of those types of things, it’d only be a ‘couple times a year’ situation.”

She gestured towards the clipboard.

“Which is also why I circled those other things. If I wasn’t careful it could really damage my health in…multiple ways.”

Triple Threat was trying not to fall back into the cycle of worrying about her weight, especially now that she knew how it felt to not have eaten enough for too long. So that’s why she focused so much on her overall health, though deep down it was about her weight as well.

“Do you find yourself thinking about that a lot?”

“Yes—especially more recently, but like I’ve said before I was also very aware of it as a filly. I was definitely too young to worry as much as I did, and even now I know I really shouldn’t have just stopped eating. But you’ve got to think about your choices a little bit, don’t you?”

"In your opinion, how much of your time spent thinking about what you eat, is too much?"

This question changed everything, TT was downright surprised to hear it framed like this. It was true but she had never thought about it that way.

Her silence was enough of an answer for her therapist to go on.

“Of course it’s important to include all of the food groups in your diet. You can enjoy everything in moderation—but moderation doesn’t mean severely restricting certain foods to once or twice a year. You’re even writing off foods that are perfectly normal and not considered ‘junk food,’ like bread.” 

“Maybe I did exaggerate a bit,” 

TT admitted.

“But what was wrong with my answer to bread?” 

“I’m sure you’re thinking about the carbs, as many do, but carbs are not the only reflection of health—bread also contains plenty of essential vitamins and minerals, some of which are important for maintaining your eyes, hair, and hooves.” 

This was true. It really didn’t make her healthier or thinner at all to cut certain foods out, TT realized upon reflection. In all truthfulness, all along she had been more concerned with being skinny than being healthy.

“In fact, research has shown that identifying certain foods as ‘bad’ will make you crave them more, kind of like a forbidden fruit. If you approach everything with neutrality or even positivity, you could develop a more balanced relationship with it.”

“That does make sense…I’ve always loved ice cream sandwiches, but I love the berries that grow in the spring just as much. But I think about the ice cream sandwiches a lot more, I really miss when I could just eat them without a care.”

“You can again, in time.”

“But what if I end up eating too much?”

“Obsessing over your meals will not help you. Beating yourself down after every dessert or snack won’t do anything other than make you feel bad about yourself.”

Her therapist paused and pondered a bit.

“Also, your diet is not the only thing that can determine your health. Exercising has plenty of benefits, such as stronger muscles, a healthier heart, sharper mind, improved sleep, and so much more. Even just a few minutes of dancing can do wonders. And I’ll bet you’ve done plenty of that on the stage, right?”

The stage.

It had been so long since she set hoof in the theatre, since she even thought of it beyond how much it tore her down. But she had to admit she did feel a certain euphoria after dancing her heart out in a show she was passionate about. 

Suddenly she longed to get back to that.

“And you needn’t worry about eating too much.”

Her therapist continued.

“Your body will tell you when it’s full.”

“But how am I going to get to that point?”

TT could feel the pressure mounting on her as she thought of just how much recovery was left.

“How am I going to undo an issue I’ve been dealing with for years? It’s just so much, I can’t even begin to think about my career or whatever I’ll do after getting discharged when I’m dealing with this.” 

“We’ll break it down. We can develop some coping strategies and mindful exercises for you to do long after you leave here. You’ll get there, I promise.”

Triple Threat started to feel reassured knowing that it wasn’t so impossible after all.

“Just one step at a time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Oh Honey Next: Maudsley Method

[clunelover]

My best friend from high school was here this past weekend for the baby shower. It’s an interesting situation - we were SO CLOSE in hs, and then she also was best friends in grade school with my current-day BFF (B)- they went to the same private grade school and then to different public high schools.

….I think a lot of this next part I’ve already written about here; so feel free to skip to the bottom couple paragraphs to get to present day update…

This friend, C, went to BU for college and met a guy there and got married (I think my youngest-married friend! Right out of college). So she settled her life fully in Boston right from the start.

Meanwhile, B and I went to the same college - and C was like “oh I hope you’ll be friends, you’re my two best friends, that would be so cool!” Initially I did NOT want to be friends with B cause I thought she was not “cool” enough (lol) but once it dawned on me that I was also not cool and had not made any friends, I embraced B and we’ve been BFFs ever since! But as it turned out, C was NOT so thrilled that we were BFFing it up, while she experienced that classic problem of “getting first boyfriend early in college” - you focus so much on “omg I have a boyfriend!!” that you forget to make other friends…oops.

Over time, the distance and C’s prickliness about B and I being friends led to us growing apart. We also would all hang out together on school breaks and so on, with often bleh results that I now see were because, while all of us were friends, it was more several discrete friendships that had never really overlapped, ie we didn’t grow up as “three best friends” or anything and so we tried to do best-friends transitive property and that did not work.

Further complicating things is that C’s mom is out and out insane, and abusive, similar to my mom but way way worse, so that made her not really want to come back here, and so visits became rarer.

The distance between us kept growing, and then I had kids whereas C very vehemently has never wanted them, so that made us grow further apart…I can be friends with people without kids, but her lack of interest, and strange stilted way of trying to appear interested, really put me off! I came to think of her as an obligation friend. I always “owed” her a call, and because I avoided them, whenever we talked it always took HOURS to fully catch up (I had not yet learned the skills of being more assertive on getting off the phone). So then that made me avoid harder, her feelings were always hurt, etc etc.

About five years ago, I was in the process of talking with a therapist about how to effectively “break up” with her (ie, “I’d love to catch up with you if you’re in town, but I am not a phone person and I can’t keep this up” type language)…and then she asked B and I to call her together, and when we did she let us know that she’d been diagnosed with MS.

So I shelved my break up plans indefinitely to try to be there for her. Which was challenging - SHE became really avoidant and non-responsive to contact attempts - because she was depressed as hell about her diagnosis and she pretty much shut down (understandable of course). Talking to her about it was difficult. I wanted to show support and interest, but not make every call into “so how’s the MS?” …she acknowledged that nobody could say the “right” thing and she was always angry, because she wanted people to care but she also really didn’t want to talk about it. So B and I did our best, but it’s hard to contend with that level of anger and hopelessness, or to know what to say back.

In the intervening years, a few things have happened - we settled into a slightly more comfortable pattern of not calling each other, and C started getting therapy, which has helped her become a little more relaxed and open (oh, due mostly to her family situation, she was prone to compartmentalizing things, and there were certain things she just would not talk about, and if you accidentally got too close to them she would shut down and it could be very awkward -through therapy, she does that a lot less now). I think there’s also more acceptance now around the fact that B and I live in the same town and see each other all the time, we’re doing the kid thing, we’re going to be closer to each other and that’s just how it is.

…but I did still feel like more often than not, I owed her a call, and I have also found more and more over time that I HATE TALKING ON THE PHONE I just never want to do it, and I am actually okay with drifting apart from people I don’t live near, based solely on me not wanting to do phone (or FaceTime or zoom or anything). And that probably sounds shitty and cold, but…it is what it is, maybe I’m cold. So I’d once again been contemplating a “hey I’m never going to do phone” talk with her.

ANYWAY all this brings us to her coming to the baby shower - as soon as I saw her, I felt this rush of emotions - “omg I MISS HER!!” I can almost cry thinking about it. She stayed the whole weekend and left yesterday afternoon so the three of us hung out several times. Now that we’re full adults and have stopped trying to force “we’re all best friends!” we actually ARE close as a group and can hang out happily. I’m realizing now - I got so hung up on the guilt and avoidance cycle that it clouded what I actually think of her, as a person, which is that I love her very much! And that in this case, the friendship probably IS worth me trying a little harder. Also some of my avoidance has to do with anxiety and is not always something to say “that’s just how I am” about.

She said that she and B have been having success with doing a call on a planned date, and then setting the next date at the end of the call so as to skip the “oh yeah I’ll call you sometime soon…” dance. So I said I’d be willing to try that too. And I will! And I’ll see how that goes, and report back! GROWTH, I suppose.

[apex-academy]

Chapter 6: The Decay of Our Lives (#11b)

The stench of burnt everything covers the auditorium hallway. How long has it been since I’ve come back this way?

Awful lot of rooms here with too many memories.

But right now, it’s just me and the projector.

“That is pretty high up.”

I can see why you’d assign Tsunyasha to this, with her skills in... I’d call it acrobatics, but she seemed pretty put off when I said that to her before. 

Guess it’s just supposed to be some... assassin skill.

I peer up at the ceiling, then down to the chairs below. The projector hangs over the empty center aisle, so that’s one stumbling block we don’t have to worry about. Still, I’m surprised Aidan would request something so risky.

But if that’s what it takes for all of us to be able to do something together... Can’t say it’s not worth a little trouble.

“Oh? And what have we here?”

It takes much longer to locate the voice’s source than identify it. Tsunyasha is... clinging to the top of one of the stage curtains.

Is she planning to jump across the room from there? Don’t think that’s going to work.

“I’m sure you know very well who’s here.”

“Ah, the whelp has learned something.”

“I assume you’ve got this covered, but if you want any help...”

“Oho? Offering your very body as tribute?”

“Not how I’d want that worded, but something like that, potentially.”

“Very well, then. I’ll allow it...”

“Just this once.”

“I’m honored.”

“Rightly so.”

I move close enough for her to give instructions without yelling. There aren’t enough instructions about, I don’t know, ladders or logical approaches, but I figure I’m better off helping her with her own methods. She’s the type to shoot down any suggestions with extreme prejudice.

I don’t want to distract her from the task, either, but if I time this right, I’d really like to test the waters.

“Are you glad it was me who showed up instead of Mahavir?”

“Hmm?”

She dangles upside-down from her perch beside the projector.

“And why, pray tell, would I prefer the company of one sinner over another?”

“Could be plenty of reasons.”

“But Mahavir... You know.”

“For I do know all, yes.”

“Yeah...”

“But just to clarify... for myself...”

“He... did some things while you were... fighting on other planes?” Was that what she called it? Still not completely accurate to what I’m trying to ask, but there’s only so much Tsunyasha-ese I’m passably fluent in.

“Just wondering if you had any thoughts on that.”

“.......”

“Those whose minds dwell on mortals may as well be a mortal.”

“And I’m hardly going to lower myself to the level of you worms.”

“If such a thing were even possibly for a holy one like myself.”

“........”

So she... just decides not to think about things she doesn’t like? Is that the gist? If so, understandable, but probably not a healthy strategy on this scale.

As if anything about her screams “healthy” psychologically. But a couple of textbook assignments don’t make me a licensed therapist, so I’m not getting any deeper into that than I have to.

“So if he showed up right now, you’d just scoff and keep on with whatever you’re doing?”

“Something of the sort, I suppose.”

“All right.”

Can’t expect her to respond to apologies anytime soon, then. Not sure how good or bad of a thing that is. Can’t be great for Mahavir, but she’s the victim here.

Not that she’d want to be called that, I’m sure. Hypocritical, huh?

I try to focus back in on the projector mission, which is mostly just juggling tools on my part, but that’s easier said than done. I want to help her—really help her, not just with our menial tasks here. From one of us victims to another.

Is that supposed to make things right? For all the people who could have been victimized after I did nothing?

“...........”

This is about Tsunyasha. Not me, not the imaginary people in my nightmares who may not even exist. 

...Unfortunately, I may know less about Tsunyasha than the imaginary people. How’s that work?

She still seems functional, though. Reasonably happy. Isn’t that what should matter? Whatever deeper problems are involved here... I don’t know who’s going to solve them, if anyone. But I doubt it’s ever going to be me.

And not Mahavir, either. Not if she and he both aren’t going to acknowledge what happened between them.

But I can’t force it. Maybe she’ll be ready somewhere farther down the line. I’ll just try to make sure we’re all still around by then.

As Tsunyasha ties the dismembered projector to a rope and sends it swinging towards the curtains, I can only think that...

...I’ll sure have to make an active effort.

[BACK]

[jodilin65]

MONDAY, JULY 25, 1988 I’m in school now, wishing it were 3:30 so I could end this very boring day. But guess what? I graduate Thursday!

I meet with Debbie at 4:00 today, then later on around 6:00, Mom and Dad are taking me out to dinner. I hope that goes well but isn’t that a little too much to ask for?

I found out from my sister that Mom miscarried a baby before I was born. Why wasn’t I ever told about this? It pisses me off to think this was kept a secret all these years.

I wish I knew for sure whether or not Debbie will ever approach me for a relationship. I wish she would cuz she’d be perfect for me. I won’t dare say anything, though. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Maybe she’s waiting for the right moment, till I feel better about myself and learn to trust her.

Sometimes I can swear she’s giving me hints by the way she looks at me and talks to me and the things she says. Or maybe I’m wrong about her. I’d take someone like her over Al any day, but I think I’m hoping for the impossible. After all, she is my therapist.

Why am I always living on dreams?

Later…

I’m on my lunch break, just thinking how boring it’s gonna be till I graduate. I wish it were 3:30. Enough is enough already. I could never stand the 8 months of the hairdressing course. Most of the girls are snobs, too.

I’m still confused between Al and whatever my therapist may have in mind. I doubt she’ll ever get serious about me, though. She probably sees me as inferior.

Later…

Mom and Dad are on their way over to take the pictures of me that I need for the state board’s files. She’s bringing some clothes and my graduation present, she said. I didn’t expect that, or so soon either. They’re also bringing me some Chinese food.

Dad’s got to hear that song They’re Coming to Take Me Away. It’s hilarious. He’s never seen Sasha either. I hope to spend some time alone with him. We have fun together. I miss singing for him, too.

SUNDAY, JULY 10, 1988 I realize I haven’t written in quite a long time. Been lazy I guess, and I’ve got to get with it again.

I hate this sticky heat and I can’t wait for summer to end and winter to return once again.

School’s still ok, although I was on a leave of absence for a week until this next coming Monday. My allergies were bad and I was having anxiety attacks and some depression. I’m doing better.

I don’t think I ever wrote about writing to Stavros, a deaf agency on State St., requesting a deaf roommate. I had gone down there a little over a week ago and had an interview with Mark D, who’s also deaf.

Friday, I got a call about a 41-year-old woman named Cecelia who just may be interested. She’s coming over today at 2pm.

Via TTY, Cecelia asked me questions about the people around here, the apartment, and me. She told me she may be a little shy at first, but she’s a very friendly person. She has a car and has worked at Digital in West Springfield for 12 years.

I’m looking forward to seeing her today. I told her that my receptive skills might be a little shaky due to lack of experience, but assured her she’d understand me very well.

Nervous was finally evicted after owing 3 months of rent. He’s living at the Y now.

I can’t wait to start school again. It’ll do me good, and I’m determined to make it through.

I got a new therapist, Debbie, out of the Osborne clinic in Agawam because they do home visits. She’s very nice. Very understanding too, and also gay. She’s not overly attractive but she’s not ugly either, and she’s the type of person I’ve always wanted. At first, I thought she may have been interested in me, but I really don’t think so.

I met this guy named Al L a few weeks ago. I’ve gone to bed with him but didn’t enjoy it. I want a woman, not a male! And Al isn’t quite my type. Why do I feel the need to settle? Because I don’t believe I could ever have what I want?

I discussed Al with Tammy and Mom. Mom was pissed cuz she was afraid for me after what happened with Ron. This is understandable, but I also don’t want to be alone forever either.

[ratsandfashion]

This started as a SMALL mom vent and wound up a larger one Last night my dad was helping me open a bottle of salad dressing. My mom knew this, she’d also tried to help me and couldn’t. While he was struggling with it, she downright nearly shouted at him that his dinner was going to get cold. He told her he was helping me, WHICH SHE COULD SEE AND ALREADY KNEW, and he could just microwave the lasagna (which was reheated anyway, wasn’t fresh) Then tonight we got Mexican and he told me that I could have some of his rice and beans, and she DOES shout this time, saying how he only offered them to ME and not to HER LIKE Jesus mother they’re BEANS

I genuinely think she feels like…threatened for his affection by me? Like she’s jealous of me as if I’m another woman, not her daughter with him. I know these are very small things, but having them twice in as many days kinda makes me think about it overall. I’ve talked to my therapist about her increasingly hostile behavior to me and how she basically said in so many words she didn’t want me here—the saying “I’m not trying to get rid of you BUT” and then telling me about affordable homes in our area–and I can tell it’s hard for my therapist too because I’ve been seeing this woman since I was teenager, she really cares about me, but there’s nothing she can do here. All the stuff she helped me through was entirely due to internal issues I was born with, my parents did everything right and I had a great home environment except for my brother (even still, he didn’t CAUSE anything wrong with me, just exacerbated it), so my mom just getting nasty to me in adulthood when I’m otherwise doing so well is completely out of her ballpark. She’s suggested family therapy and tbh I think it would be a good idea. I know my mom has already gone through regular therapy to deal with what her own mother did to her (which was much worse) but clearly she still has issues she takes out on me because I’m the only daughter in the house (I vented to my sister about mom too and she assured me that mom does some of the same controlling-type/invading boundaries shit to her when she’s actually here that she sometimes does to me, which sucks but was relieving because it means I know she’s NOT treating me like a child BECAUSE I’m autistic and mentally ill, which was originally what I had thought) And like, she’s not like this most of the time is the thing. Like she recommends me books and wants me to go with her to movies and plays she wants to see and thinks I’ll enjoy. Just, also stuff like this, and I swear she didn’t do this when I was younger (which, thank god, I had enough problems) I told my therapist that my mother is a nice person but just has very nasty parts, and my guess is that she suppressed these for a very long time—like she did a lot of things, I’ve talked with my mom about her own childhood as an adult, I am very sympathetic to what she went through and she says she thinks I really understand her– but now that she’s in her 70s her filter is just disintegrating so a lot of the nastier stuff—which we all have—comes up more, and I’m the nearest target. 

[shivanixrao]

“I think as long as you feel happy with the career you’ve chosen, that’s what is most important.” Yes it was slightly ironic given how she had been thinking about her own career in this manner quite a bit and wondering if she was meant for something else. “Yeah I get that, but as long as you also make time for the people who are important in your life…like me, you’re good.” She grinned as she took a sip from her iced coffee and grinned at Ariya before nodding. “Lots of it at times, I don't even know Ari,” she murmured feeling her cheeks growing hotter. “I feel like—the idea of him actually feeling the same is so far-fetched, you know? He’s always mentioned how he doesn’t do relationships and so why would I set myself up for disappointment.”

A very knowing grin was on her face though when she heard Ariya admit knowing the ethical implications and just took a sip as if she wasn’t saying anything else before she coughed out loud at the descriptive words Ariya was using to describe the man she’d slept with. Yeah that certainly described a therapist she knew quite well as well but she kept that to herself. Maybe Pearce Callahan would be different with Ariya especially if they moved past it being a one time thing. “I guess that’s a conversation you need to have with him—instead of avoiding it. Because believe me…avoidance is the worst thing in this type of situation,” she paused for a second and smiled. “Yes, pot calling kettle black, I'm aware. And no I haven’t thought about that, I just—feel like he might retreat and that would be devastating,” Shivani admitted softly before shrugging. “He’s been my biggest support since things in my life changed and I guess I’m just really scared to change that and ruin it. Because what if we both go for it..and it’s not what we want? What happens then?” 

Ariya nodded in agreement. She wasn’t wrong there. TV always made things look a lot more glamorous than it should. "It's not all glitz and glamor, but I like to think I'm making a difference—even if it means sacrificing a bit of my social life." Was she tired? Always, but she chose this career to make a difference and she would like to think she was making someone a better quality of life. As the conversation shifted to Shivani's relationship with Axel—she leaned forward, her interest piqued. "A kiss? And you both pretended it never happened… Talk about unresolved tension…" She teased, whistling. "I get it, though.” The fear of losing a friendship could be paralyzing. “But let me ask you this—if he felt the same way, wouldn't it be worth the risk?"

Not that she was doing any better. Sleeping with your therapist… Yeah, not her greatest move. "Oh, trust me, I'm well aware of the ethical implications, but it happened in the heat of the moment. Let me tell you, this man is hot, has a British accent and the sweetest man I’ve met. It's not like I planned it, you know? It just…happened." She shrugged. "As for why I'm avoiding him, well, I guess I'm just trying to figure out what it all means. Was it just a one-time thing, or could there be something more there?" It was a lot to process, what with him being her next door neighbor and all… "But enough about me and my therapist. Let's get back to you and Axel. Have you ever considered just…I don't know, casually bringing up the kiss and gauging his reaction? Maybe make a joke about it and see how he responds?" She raised an eyebrow. "Who knows, it might just be the push you both need to finally address this unspoken tension between you two."

[robininthelabyrinth]

yumeng family but modern au maybe? literally anything (your writing is impeccable! im absolutely obsessed)

Modern AU

“So, what’s with the birthmark?” Nie Huaisang asked as he pulled out the baiju. And the vodka. And the rum. And the – how many things had he managed to fit into his backpack?!

Wei Wuxian was impressed.

Jiang Cheng was too busy hiding his face in his hands to answer.

“What? What’s the matter with my question? I’ve never seen a birthmark that looks like a cord wrapped around someone’s wrist, that’s all.”

“We say it’s the string of fate,” Jiang Yanli said, reaching over and plucking the triple sec out of Nie Huaisang’s hands and examining it with a thoughtful expression that suggested that something was being put into the blender she’d brought with her. Only Jiang Yanli would bring a blender to a house party, but also, she was completely right. “You know, the one where you have a soulmate tied to you throughout reincarnations…”

“But…it’s Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang said. “He’s like…forever alone.”

“I’m also aroace,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. “Not that anyone cares.”

“I think he’s bound to his dogs,” Wei Wuxian said, then shrugged when everyone gave him a look. “It’s as likely as anything else, right?”

He still hated dogs with a passion – no amount of therapy was going to change that, especially since Jiang Fengmian still didn’t see any reason for exposure therapy or indeed any type of therapy beyond the awful family therapist that he’d enlisted to try to get his wife to hate Wei Wuxian a little less, which if anything had just made things worse – but he was mature enough to appreciate how much Jiang Cheng loved them.

Okay, no, he wasn’t. But he was grateful to Grandma Yu for taking them in when Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian had exerted themselves to smuggle them to her before Jiang Fengmian had sold them to strangers, if only because he was pretty sure that experience had been what had really bonded them together as a family.

“Fuck off,” Jiang Cheng said. “See if I raise your future kids the way I’m gonna raise jiejie’s.”

“His dream is to be a live-in babysitter,” Wei Wuxian informed Nie Huaisang, who grinned. “Pity he’s going to have to inherit the family business.”

“I can do both!”

“Why don’t you make Yanli-jiejie take on the family business and just do the babysitting?” Nie Huaisang suggested. “That’s my plan: I’m letting da-ge do everything, forever.”

“Nice try,” Jiang Yanli said, now pouring something out of the blender. It had many colors, and was possibly about to be set on fire given the presence of a lighter. “Speaking of which, you should call him and tell him to come over. He works too hard, and it’s not that far a drive from his work to here…and the presence of an ‘adult’ will probably make Teacher Lan agree to let Xichen-gege and Lan Wangji come as well.”

“That would be great,” Wei Wuxian said at once. “I’ve never seen them drink!”

“Because they don’t. They’re Lan, remember? Rule-followers to the bone?”

“The rules only say no consuming drinks on campus…”

[saintshigaraki]

ONE DAY WE’LL REVEAL THE TRUTH (THAT ONE WILL DIE BEFORE HE GETS THERE)

title: youth by daughter

pairing: dabi x f!reader 

words: 1.7k

excerpt: But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief? 

a/n: dabi my beloved (derogatory). this fic is my love letter to parentheses.

tags: angst, toxic relationships, explicit s*xual content, light choking, dabi is a bastard but he is a needy bastard 

in case you’d rather read it on ao3!

MDNI

He’s just outside the door. He hasn’t made a sound, but you know he’s there. You can feel it; in your blood, in your bones, in your marrow. 

(You’ve always been able to feel him, monstrous and cruel beneath your skin. An itch. An awful taunting itch. You’ve wanted him out since he first stuck his claws in you and buried himself deep, but he’s near impossible to shake. He won’t leave until he’s hollowed you out, until your flesh is no longer your own, until all that’s left of you is him. Until all that’s there, is what he believes there should be. 

He’s a self-important bastard like that.)

When he finally decides to open the door, he does so with a slam. It would’ve made you jump if you hadn’t been so focused on the skyline. Tracing the buildings, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see. They get swallowed up, this deep in the city. Drowned out by light. 

(When you were a child, you didn’t quite understand how stars could vanish in the night. Weren’t they the brightest things in the universe? Burning and brilliant, even light years away? 

You understand it better now. How mankind has this nasty habit of ruining, of polluting, of blotting out things of wonder and then desperately trying to remake it in our own image.

It’s never as beautiful as what was, but it’s far too late for us to admit defeat now.)

He’s mad, burning up with fury. You can feel the heat of it, cutting straight through the heavy chill of the night air. It’s stifling, your balcony so small that he’s practically breathing down your neck with how close he is. Accompanying his presence, always, is the faint smell of burnt flesh he can never quite mask, no matter the amount of cheap aftershave he tries to drown himself in. 

He’d texted you, and you’d ignored him. For a week, you’ve ignored him and if there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s when he gets ignored. 

He’s the one that ignores you, it should never be the other way around. 

You know that, of course. You know all his little unwritten rules. 

(Don’t ignore him is at the top of the list. Except, of course, during those nights when he thinks you’re asleep and he clings to you like a child, his tears burning where they touch your skin. Even his grief, you can’t help but think, is scorching.

On those nights, you’ve found it’s best to stay quiet. He wields his grief like rage and you’d rather not be caught in the crossfire.)

He’s waiting for you to talk, to stumble over your words, make some sort of vague attempt at an apology. It’s what you would usually do after you’ve broken one of his rules. 

But you say nothing, content to sit in the too-heavy silence. You’re tired. Of him. Of whatever it is you two have been doing. It’s the same stupid story, the same vicious cycle. A snake cursed to eat its own tail. 

He’s using you. He has been for a long while now. If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, he most likely has been since the beginning. And God, it’s exhausting work, being used. 

Although, really, you’re not all that much better than he is. In the beginning, you were with him purely because he fascinated you. All his grief laid bare, and so vulnerable. So obvious and painful. Undeniable in its brutality. 

(Rage, he’d say, it’s righteous rage, not grief.

But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?) 

It didn’t take long for you to realize he’s chasing something. And it took you even less time to realize that whatever he’s after, is probably going to kill him one day. 

(You wonder if he knows he’s chasing his own death. You wonder if he’d care at all. 

He reminds you of Eve, eating the forbidden fruit. You think she’d take a bite of the apple, again and again and again if ever given the choice, even knowing the consequences. Even with intimate knowledge of the suffering to come. How could she not? How could any of us hold our fate in the palm of our hands and choose not to sink our teeth into it?)

He’s growing impatient beside you, burning up with it. If he touched you, you’re sure he’d melt your flesh straight to the hollow bone. 

But you don’t break. Just once, you want him to fall apart first. Just once, you want him desperate. 

(He’s always been so good at making you desperate, with a hand around your neck, just tight enough to leave you gasping for air, your back to his chest and his staples drawing blood, as he pounds into you so hard all you could do is dig your nails into his arm. 

His lips are right by your ear, you’re mine, he says. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine. 

And God, with his cock hitting all the right spots in your cunt you’d believe it. You’d believe anything he’d said to you as long he just kept going. 

Say it, he hisses, say you’re mine. 

You don’t answer him right away, mostly because you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you. You can’t catch your breath enough to form a sound, you can’t get your bearings enough to collect a single thought that isn’t Dabi Dabi Dabi. 

Annoyed at your lack of answer, he brings a searing thumb down to your overstimulated clit. You keen, arching, desperately trying to get away from the sensation that at this point is more pain than pleasure. 

Say it, he says again, there’s a strange sort of edge to it. Looking back you think it might’ve been desperation. Say it. 

When he presses down just a little harder, you finally crack. 

Yours, you gasp. I’m yours. Yours. Yours. Yours. 

He laughs, so deep in his chest that you feel it in your own. 

It echoes in your head for weeks afterward.)

“What,” he grounds out, low and furious, “the fuck.” 

It’s not a question. 

You turn towards him, at last. Though you can hardly see him, surrounded by shadows. There are glints of his piercings in the polluted light, a gleaming flash as he runs his tongue along with his teeth. But it’s his eyes that you lock on. Bright and a brilliant blue. Glowing and monstrous in the dark. 

(You’re reminded, once again, of the stars. Burning and burning and burning.)

With no preamble, you say, “I think I love you.” 

The air around you quiets. Like the city itself is holding it’s breath. 

It’s not a sweet confession under the moonlight. In the week since you came to the realization, it’s already started to fester, to rot straight through your bones. 

It’s a curse more than anything. You love a man whose chasing his own death. You love a ghost. Or, you suppose, a ghost in the making. 

Before you can say anything else (though really, what else is there to say) he cuts in sharply, meanly, “No, you don’t.” 

You can’t help but tilt your head at that. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say anything. His lips are pulled back, teeth bared, he’s gleaming and sharp, pulled so taught with tension you wonder how he’s even breathing. He reminds you, vividly, of a cornered animal. A scared one. Though he’s trying to mask it with annoyance, with a type of anger that toes the line of fury. 

He’s always doing that. Masking his fear with rage. Masking his grief with rage. Hiding any part of himself that might be perceived as weak, as soft, as vulnerable, under the guise of rage. 

You can’t imagine that it’s anything less than exhausting. 

Though you have to admit, you didn’t expect this response. You didn’t expect fear. You thought he’d be unbearably smug about it. Proud of himself for finally sinking his teeth into your heart. Ready to chew you up and spit you back out. You were ready for him to move on. 

You didn’t expect him to deny it. 

(He could be right, though you doubt he is.

You wonder what it means to love, you wonder how you’re supposed to love. You wonder if you can only love someone if you’ve seen the cruelest parts of them first. 

You suppose if that’s the case, then he might be right. 

You’ve never actually been able to force yourself to look up what exactly he’s wanted for. What exactly it is he’s done. 

Mostly because you’re afraid that even if you knew every last gory detail, it wouldn’t be enough to make you walk away. And how would you be able to look at yourself in the mirror, after that? Knowing exactly who you let share your bed? who cried scorching hot tears into your shoulder? 

Ignorance is bliss, they say. In your case, it could very well be your only hope for salvation.

But, you don’t really think there’s a set way a person is supposed to love. It’s what makes it so terrifying. It’s an unknown. And it’s so hard to not fear the unknown.)

“Dabi-” you start. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he spits out. Eyes flashing, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

You want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, of him trying to tell you what you do and do not feel, but you think he’d turn you to ashes for the slight. His pride has always been so easily shaken.  

“Dabi-” you try again. 

But he’s two steps ahead of you. He always is. 

He’s already turned around, hiding his face from view, opening the door. And you don’t stop him. You don’t see why you should. 

You can’t shake him from the path he’s on. You don’t think anyone can, really. 

Grief is all he has, it’s all he’s let himself have. It’s fundamental to him now. It’s all he is. And you’re sure he believes whatever he’s chasing is going to fill the hollow void it’s made of him. 

It won’t. You’re sure of that, at least, because even if he does succeed, what will he be left with then? 

You don’t say any of that to him, because you’re not his fucking therapist. And because you’re not so sure he wouldn’t kill you for it. 

It’s anticlimactic, watching him disappear into your darkened apartment. 

But all you can think about when you hear the click of the front door closing behind him is how honest his fear was, almost childlike. Remnants of a poor, grief-stricken boy. 

What a monster it’s made of him. 

a/n part two:

thinking about adrianne kalfopoulou’s ‘grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there.’ 

i could not tell you why this took me over two weeks to write. i had a lot of fun with it though. dabi my beloved. go to therapy please. also i know dabi can’t cry but....let me have this.

[buckybarnesthehotshot]

Omegle (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader)

|main masterlist|

summary: bucky meets y/n on omegle (based off a request by @mrsbarnesinmyimagination )

word count: 1398

warnings: omegle. mentions of dicks, y/n is very forward with her flirting

          What business did an Avenger have lurking on a site like Omegle? Absolutely none. No Avenger had any reason to be on Omegle. Bucky couldn’t point out what circumstances led him to opening the site on his laptop, but there he was, staring at the bright orange logo of the website as he read through the terms of use.

              “Ah, what the hell,” he shrugged, typing in a few of his interest—well, ones that would be relatable to most people—before clicking on the ‘start chatting’ button.

           As soon as he did so, he began to question what the hell he was even doing on the website. Still, he waited until the screen loaded, the grey circle being replaced with the face of a woman who wore an incredibly bored and disinterested expression on her face. Well, that was until her eyes focused on his face displayed on her own screen.

          “Shit, sir, you are fucking beautiful!” the stranger exclaimed, immediately clasping her hands over her hand, her eyes widening in disbelief at how bluntly she’d just blurted those words out.  As Bucky wasn’t expecting that, his eyes widened, his appearance similar to that of a deer caught in headlights. She noticed his distress, rushing out an apology, “I am so sorry about that.”

            “Oh, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting that,” Bucky chuckled reassuringly, earning a small nod from the woman.

            “Right. I’m sorry. Lemme start over; hi, I’m y/n,” she introduced herself, a warm nervous smile on her face.

            “My friends call me Bucky,” he responded, a timid smile on his face too. For a second, her brows furrowed as though she were in deep thought. Nerves washed over Bucky as she did so—did she recognize him from his time as the Winter Soldier? That clearly wasn’t the case as a cheeky smile etched its way onto her face.

             “Does that mean we’re friends now?” she questioned jokingly, a teasing expression on her face.

              “I guess so,” Bucky shrugged, a grin making its way to his face.

              “That’s cool,” she mumbled, “Anyways, how are you?”

         Bucky smiled at her eagerness to continue on with their conversation before responding, “I’m doing great, actually. I got through another therapy session without being yelled at, so that’s great. She says I’m making a lot of progress.”

        “Your therapist yells at you?” she questioned, her brows furrowing as she stared at her screen in disbelief, “Wait, you’re paying a therapist to yell at you?”

         “It’s court-mandated, actually,” Bucky muttered nervously as he averted his gaze from the laptop.

        “Oh. Well, I’m sure it’s not really any of my business so I’m just going to be the one to change the topic; go ahead, ask me a question,” she sent him a reassuring smile. He was caught aback at the way she didn’t question him or grill him on why he needed court-mandated therapy, and it was a refreshing change of pace for the winter soldier.

         “Oh, uh, how are you?”  Bucky squeaked out as the woman chuckled.

            “Of all the questions, that’s what you’re going with?” she questioned jokingly, a smirk playing on her face.

        “I mean, I can go ask another one if you don’t feel comfortable ans—”

         “No, it’s fine, I swear,” she chuckled, “I’m just worried at the fact that I’ve been on this site long enough to be desensitized to the sight of…y’know—”

          “I don’t know, actually,” Bucky chuckled, taking in her slightly flustered expression.

          “Well, to put it bluntly; I’ve been desensitized to the sight of dicks,” she shuddered, as Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion.

         “That’s something people do here?” he questioned, raising a brow in curiosity.

           “Yes!” she exclaimed, then narrowing her eyes at him, “You’re not one of those creepy guys who start conversations then randomly flash their dicks, are you?”

          “God no, my Ma taught me better than to do that to a lady,” Bucky shook his head, chuckling at her suspicions.

         “Good, I think you’re a really cool swaggy guy and you flashing me would ruin this whole vibe we have going on,” she let out a small sigh of relief, “So, what’s a guy like you doing on this site anyways?”

        “A guy like me?” he questioned, confused at the implications of her question.

        “I mean, I don’t know, you just look like somebody who has better things to do in his life, y’know? You not knowing about the whole toxic relationship Omegle has with dicks was a telltale sign that you’re new here,” she explained with a small shrug, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, of course.”

           “It’s fine, really. But I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here either,” Bucky Paused, “I guess I was just bored.”

            “I’m sure you could just walk out your house if you were bored. It’ll be entertaining when people start throwing themselves at your feet and worship you because you’re so hot,” y/n winked jokingly, once again catching Bucky off guard.

           “I mean, looking at you, I bet you’re speaking from experience. You probably have a whole army of people begging you to look their way,” Bucky smirked, watching her jaw hang open in shock.

          “Did you just flirt with me?” she questioned, an amused expression finding its way onto her face. Something about conversing with y/n brought out the remnants of the ladies’ man Bucky was back in the forties.

          “I’m sure you can figure it out, doll,” Bucky winked, watching a smile of disbelief play onto her features.

           “You’re throwing me off here, bud. We can’t just both be flirts,” she chuckled nervously.

             “Why not?” Bucky questioned, his voice deep and raspy.

           “Because if you keep this up, I’m gonna end up catching feelings and that’s not fair,” she deadpanned, then breaking out in a fit of laughter, “Nah, just kidding, I don’t fall in love with random strangers that I’ve known for a few minutes.”

           “And you’re sure you aren’t willing to make any exceptions?” he questioned once more, his steely blue eyes peering into her e/c ones through the screen.

           “Motherfu—Bucky, you’re a cool dude, but if you don’t stop making me melt, I’m going to go all the way to wherever you’re from and whoop your ass…wait, where are you from? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

            “Brooklyn. Born and raised,” he responded after giving it a bit of thought.

           “Wait, you’re from Brooklyn? How come you haven’t blessed me with your hotness yet, what the fuck?” she mumbled, earning herself a look of confusion from the supersoldier, “Oh, uh, I’m from Brooklyn too?”

          “Seriously?”

       “Yeah, seriously!” she exclaimed.

          “Well, if I’d known earlier, I would’ve asked you out on a date. You being in Brooklyn would definitely make it easier for me,” Bucky smirked, watching as y/n nervously bit on her lip before recomposing herself.

            “Stoppp,” she whined.

             “What, you don’t like the flirting?”

           “I mean, I technically kind of started it, so it’s fine,” she shrugged, “No, but seriously, I meant what I said earlier because holy shit, it’s like you get even more beautiful the longer I look at you.”

          “I think you’re pretty hot too, doll,” Bucky winked.

           “Fuck It, here’s my number,” she huffed, typing in a series of numbers into the chatbox. Well, that was one way to be forward about it. Bucky stared at the numbers for a moment before responding.

            “You just gave your phone number to a random stranger you met on the internet,” Bucky’s jaw fell open in disbelief.

             “Yes, and?”

        “How do you know I’m not some rando who’ll murder you when I get the chance?” Bucky questioned, his brows still raised in shock.

           “I told you, you’re a cool guy and I don’t know, you just have this very trustworthy aura,” she shrugged, “But if you do murder me though, I wouldn’t mind having your face be the last thing I see.”

         “You really have no regard for your own safety,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head at her remark.

         “Mhm. Anyways, I better get a text from a random number soon—one that’s hopefully yours. Bye!” she exclaimed, cutting their conversation short as Bucky was left staring at the digits she’d typed down on the screen, thinking about it for a moment before typing the numbers in on his phone.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

scrubs - 7.

PAIRING: doctor!sebastian stan x biomedical scientist!reader

WARNINGS: fluff

A/N: have fun everybody xx

< previous chapter

She was stubborn. She’d always been stubborn from the moment he’d first seen her a few years ago and while he knew so many staff over his very long period at the hospital which had seen him do his own residency, he could not forget the first time he saw her. The first thought that popped into his mind was how cute she was in a clearly oversized lab coat as she followed her supervisor around carrying some stock. He’d offered to help her out yet she merely looked him up and down with a sarcastic smile before telling him she didn’t need his help. The exact same sarcastic smile she was wearing right now. 

Time had barely weighed on her, after all, it hadn’t been that long ago and while her hair had changed, her defiance had remained. There weren’t a lot of people who defied doctors or even nurses, they had this sort of mystical tsar like dominance inside hospital walls yet not only she defied him, but she also had almost always the upper hand. 

     - Why would I do that? - she cocked her head to the side, eyebrow raised up as she taunted him. 

     - Because ... - he stood close to him, way too close for her to feel his breathe on her face. His finger traced the side of her jaw, slowly and with torturous intent before he leaned down to her ear. - You really get keyed up when I’m not inside you, doll.

Y/N’s cheeks heated up but she remained her composure, studying her opononent as if this was a chess match. Her eyes looked up at him, a small smile on her lips before she leaned in to kiss him. He melted into her kiss, pressing her against the wall as it became more intimate and lustful, yet it wasn’t messy. She was merely pressed against that wall, his lips molding with hers as his hands rested on her waist. Her hands rubbed up and down his chest, one of them resting upon the hard on visible from his scrubs. She squeezed his through his scrubs as her kisses leaned down from his lips to his jaw and neck, leaving enough lipstick marks to have people wonder. 

    - I guess I’m gonna be keyed up ... - she stopped the kiss before slipping from under him, her hand resting on the knob. - Knock yourself off, Dr. Stan. 

Sebastian remained speechless as he watched her leave. Oh, oh she was wanting to be chased? He smirked to himself, grabbing his jacket before looking down at his erection. That was going to be a fun lunch break, he thought to himself. He allowed her to remain in his mind through his whole shift yet not on the way it usually remained. He wasn’t annoyed at her, it was something else. Maybe he did have an idea of what to do. 

She on the other hand was busy dealing with her ever rushing thoughts about the doctor. She had a bright smile on her face every once in a while every time she thought about what she’d done. Sure, she knew she’d probably deal with the consequences of it the next time they spoke or when HR found out she kissed him in the middle of the reception hall but that was a future problem. She continued with that little smile even as she grabbed her bag, walking down the stairs down to her car, only to find the same man on her mind sat on the boot.

   - Dr. Stan, you do realise you have to enter the car to actually drive it, correct?

   - You are the most difficult woman I’ve ever met. 

   - I didn’t realise we were still fighting over the obvious. - she fished her purse for her keys. 

   - Let’s go on a date. - he jumped off the car. - Hopefully, you’ll end up in my bed as well. 

   - A date? Doctor Stan, the only thing I want to do is get takeaway from the little Italian restaurant next to my house and watch Netflix.

   - Come on, doll. You gave me blue balls the whole day, least thing you can do is have a bite with me. 

She poundered over the question for a little bit. Surely she wouldn’t want this going around the hospital or she would lose the little credibility she had in those halls yet, at the same time, she did enjoy her time with him no matter how much he attempted to get on her last nerve. She lowered her shoulder, letting out a sigh before holding up her keys in her fingers. 

  - You’re driving. 

  - I can’t drive such a tiny car. - he pointed at her baby blue Fiat 500, the very first car she’d ever bought and the only car she’ll ever have for all she cared. 

   - They say men with big cars are compensating for something. Got anything to hide, Dr. Stan? - she smirked as she opened her passenger door. 

  - You would know, wouldn’t you doll? - he caught the keys from her, pushing the driver’s seat back before closing the door. - Damn, this is a tiny car.

  - You’re a tiny car.

  - Is that all you have? I expected a better come back from you.

  - Like you expected me to make you cum earlier? 

He smiled to himself as he started the car. Sebastian honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven with someone by his side, much less a woman whom he wasn’t related to. Her car had such an aura to it, the aura of who she was outside of work. He’d never stopped to wonder who she was off work, what she liked, what she disliked; however, her playlist gave a quick peak into a bit of her tastes, a mix between musical theatre, sad pop music, c;assic music and Britney Spears. It made her rounded, more than the woman she was at the laboratory, more than the supervisor Y/N he was so used to have petty fights with. Everything in the car just yelled out who she was, from the little vanilla scent dangling off the mirror, the lipgloss on the side, a few books in the backseat and the car itself. He thought his car was so dull compared to hers, always so unlived in. 

   - Are we going to sit in silence or ... ?  -  she leaned against the head rest.

   - Oh no, doll. I like not talking to you, you normally end up kissing me out of the blue. I could get used to that. 

   - That happened because you were a dick to me. 

   - That happened because you were jealous. Admit it, you like me. 

She remained silent, looking at him through the corner of her eye with a childish smile. He drove past her favourite Italian, getting her reserved order before deciding to take them to his apartment. Sebastian was sure she wouldn’t want him in her flat, no one had really been there. She was a quiet person outside of her job, no one really knew what she exactly did or what she liked. He wondered what type of person she was outside of work but he could only imagine she had that same spark. That little thing which just made her the person he knew.She was always too big for that little hospital.

  - You passed my street.

  - I know. We’re going to my place. I know you’re a private person. 

  - Oh ... - she bite the inside of her lip, looking out the window. - That’s awfully thoughtful of you.

  - Everything ok? - he asked but she merely nodded, leaning on her own hand yet the answer didn’t satisfy him. - You can talk to me, you know? I’m not all bad. 

  - I didn’t know you were a psychologist. 

  - Do you even have anyone to talk to? - he questioned, more in a joking manner than in a serious manner yet her face dropped. Her eyes darting to look out the window as she forced laughter. - C’mon people talk on dates.

  - I have my parents but they’re not in the country. - she answered, pulling at the edge of her cuffs. - It’s only glamorous to work in a hospital if you’re a white male doctor. 

  - Something happened?

  - Not important. - she changed the topic. - Pay attention to the road before you wreck my car. 

Sebastian wanted to ask her, he really did, yet he doubtted she would open up to him. Maybe for good reason, after all, their relationship had been, somewhat, strictly professional for years. Nevertheless, it still tugged at the back of his mind even as he parked. Sebastian existed the car, carrying whatever it was she had ordered before opening the door for her. 

Maybe it was the fact she had been extremely drunk the last time or that she was much more focused on getting him to fuck her but the view from his penthouse flat was something breath taking. She took small steps towards the balcony, holding out the rail as she looked up the city from the top. Everything looked so small, like her own personal sky full of stars. She could just look at it for hours and forget everything.

   - Do you wanna eat out the packaging or do you want me to plate it? - he spoke to her from the kitchen. - Y/N?

   - Whatever’s better for you. - she looked out her shoulder before returning to look at the city. Sebastian dropped the plates onto the marble countertops, abandoning his task to go and join her. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, as if questioning what he was doing by her side. 

   - What’s bothering you? 

   - Nothing’s bothering me.

   - You haven’t bullied me yet. You’re either really trying to get into my pants which is not hard at all, really just need to ask or you’re upset. Either way, I wanna help.

    - You wouldn’t understand. - she leaned her arms on the railing. 

    - I don’t need to understand, I just wanna be there for you.

    - So you wanna be my therapist? - she dryly chuckled. - I’ve just been hating my job.

    - Everyone hates their job.

    - I was the first in the family to go to university, the smart kid. I always did my best, gave up on a regular growing up because I needed to be the best to merely get the opportunities other people had. I worked hard, graduated top of my class and when I got this job I was so happy. - she shakily sighed. - But now I just hate it. I do everything I can, I do the best and beyond, edit company SOPs and training forms and I’m still treated like scum. I just thought that with a degree I would do what I like but instead I’m stuck in that job, unable to do what I like because it doesn’t pay the bills. I interview all the time and it’s always a no. I’m just unhappy, alone and lonely.

  - You’re not alone. You have that friend ... what’s her name? 

  - Miriam? Try being friends with someone who’s recently engaged.

  - I’m sorry. - he scratched the back of his neck. - I didn’t know you felt that way, Y/N. That’s awful. 

  - Thanks, Dr. Stan. I appreciate it. - she saluted him sarcastically. 

  - You need to let people in. 

  - I’ve already let you in. 

  - Not like that. - he chuckled. - You’re always so uptight. Don’t get me wrong, I love it but other people don’t.

  - I don’t really care if people like me. I’m used to it. 

  - Thank god I like you then. - he kissed her shoulder. - And not just when you’re naked and under me. I like talking to you, baby doll. You should quit that job. 

  - And you’d pay for my tiny flat?

  - No. You’d move here and walk around naked with your glasses talking to me about how dumb I am about microbiology.

  - Is that what turns you on?

  - You’ll be ok. I promise you. - he pulled her close to him. - Besides, if anyone ever treats you like scum, you let me know and I will make their life very hard. I can be a nuissance. 

  - I know. - she leaned her head against his shoulder. - It’s a date now.

taglist: @rebekahdawkins​