#i work with school age kids in a before and after school program

[coyoteuugly]

trying to do my best at this job and sometimes i still mess up

[stevishabitat]

👏 👏 👏

“what if kids identify with something and it ends up just being a phase-?” good. stop teaching and expecting kids (and adults honestly) to formulate permanent traits and ideas of themselves. everything in life is a phase. that doesn’t make it any less legitimate while you experience it. let people explore themselves and know it’s okay if what you think about yourself changes.

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. (coming soon)

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[comical-wheelchairs]

How I Work with Pre-K Kids as a Wheelchair User

I've given these tips to enough other wheelchair users that I figured I could make a post about it, and this blog is aligned enough with it that I figured I could post it here.

I've spent time as an administrator for a pre-K and school age programs, and I am also in my final year to be dual certified as a special education/general education elementary school teacher in America. I am also an ambulatory wheelchair user, but cannot safely move without a mobility aid, even when I am standing/walking. SO. Here's a guide/rundown of how I personally talk about disability with the kids I work with!

When First Meeting a Class

You do not need to explain/justify your wheelchair, and any adult who believes you do is probably doing it for their own curiosity and not an interest in the kids.

My personal recommendation is to say you are always happy to answer questions about yourself, and leave it open ended.

If the class had to be rearranged for your wheelchair and you feel comfortable saying so, I will sometimes say "I'm really grateful that you moved the furniture so I could get around. I can't wait to meet everyone!" It makes it clear why the need is there, and if a kid accidentally blocks you you can always ask them to move so you can get through and remind them.

When They Ask Questions

"Why do you use that?"

I respond by asking them what is 'that' - being careful to speak with a curious tone. For young kids, they might not know the word, and will probably point. From there you can say "oh! this is my wheelchair! have you heard that word before? i use it to get around since walking is [very hard/impossible/not something my body does]."

"Why don't you walk?"

I respond by telling them walking is something I can do for a little while, but it really hurts. Link it to a concrete example. "Have you ever gone into a super hot car, and you could do it for a little, but you wouldn't want to be in there all day?" "Have you ever tried to hold snow (or an ice cube) without gloves, and you could do it for a little but then it started to hurt your hands because it was so cold?" Make it personal, specific, and simple - developmentally they may still need support understanding that other people have different experiences (or might be totally unable to yet).

"How'd you get into that?"

I typically respond silly - "Well, I sat down!" If you want to, and you do not need to, you can make this into a (short, keep it short, their brains are so interested in everything and switch very quickly) lesson on transfers/how people get in/around with their wheelchairs.

"What happened?"

I respond by asking them what they mean. This typically leads to another question which I mentioned above. Alternatively I sometimes say "I realize a wheelchair helps me get around safely!"

"How do you use the bathroom?"

My strategy that's worked best is being calm and friendly while saying "I don't like talking about how I use the bathroom." If you can redirect after that (point out something for them to do, change the subject to something they'll find more interesting) it'll make it easier. If they ask why, you can say that everyone has stuff they don't like talking about and for you it's the bathroom.

Physical Interactions With Your Chair

They touch your chair

We had a big thing about this in my pre-K rooms - what we would do is if a kid tried to touch my chair (or did) I would tell them "It's so cool that you want to explore my wheelchair, but I want to make sure you're safe, because there's a lot of moving parts that can pinch you! Can I give you words for when you want to touch my wheelchair?" If no, then let them know you can't let people who can't be safe touch your wheelchair. If yes, give them a script to ask for permission - you will have to repeat it. A lot. Gentle repetition is your friend and within two months my kiddos were asking everyone permission to touch them at school. My script went "Teacher Pecan, can I touch your wheelchair?" "No, now it's a safe time, because [I am moving a lot/I am tired/I need a break/you have a task to do]. We can check in again [when it is a break time/when I feel better/when you finish your task." "Yes, it is safe to touch my wheelchair right now. Can you point to where you want to touch?"

They kick your chair

Every time a kid kicks/hurts your chair, say "ouch! that hurt! my wheelchair is part of my body, it helps me get around!" Repetition and speaking clearly are your friends. If a kid keeps kicking your chair, finding another thing for them to kick (for example, a ball) can help divert the kicking need into something safer for everyone :)

They (try to) sit in your lap

Gently use your hands to get them off or keep them off. Calmly say "Oops! My wheelchair isn't big enough for the two of us!" If they complain/protest, validate and then explain. My script is "I know it looks like a cool place to sit, but my wheelchair is just for me."

They (try to) push your wheelchair.

My last two chairs had no push handles, but my second one did! It can make sense to panic when I kiddo pushes you - I've had them try to push me into walls (by accident). Here's what I did that worked great: Immediately lock my breaks/grab my pushrims, and calmly say "oops! We don't push wheelchairs without permission!" If they stuck around/didn't immediately run away, I would ask them if they remember a time an adult picked them up and took them somewhere they didn't want to go (typically a car). If they say yes, and even if they say no, I explained that pushing my wheelchair feels just like that, and makes me scared. Most children never pushed it again, and everyone stopped after the second try.

Miscellaneous Tips

"Isn't that cool?" is your friend. Any time a kid is first learning about your wheelchair, end the sentence with it. Any time a kid is nervous about your wheelchair and you explain something, end the explanation with it. "It helps me get around, isn't that cool?" "These are called spokes. Aren't they cool?"

Wheelchairs can be grounding tools when you have a good handle on the class and boundaries! Only if you would like to. My spokes on my last chair were rainbow, and I would use my chair to physically get between them and the emotional trigger, and ask them questions about my spokes. "What colors are next to green?" "Can you point to which one is your favorite?" "Hmmm which color do I get if I mix red with blue?"

"Why doesn't [limb(s)] work?" My left foot is (mostly) paralyzed due to nerve damage, and my script is "My brain can't talk to my foot and tell it to move." You can say whatever you'd like, just try and keep it to basic body parts unless the kiddo is super into anatomy.

If they imply/say wheelchairs are bad, or you might be sad for being in one, you can correct them by telling them how cool your wheelchair is! Get them to compliment it too, if their attention span allows. "I don't feel sad about my wheelchair, I love it! I love the color! Do you? What color do you think I should get next?"

In conclusion - talking calmly, positively, and using repetition of the same words/scripts is a great way to not just exist in a classroom hassle free, but to get kids comfortable with disability/mobility aids at a young age. I have had kids get pinched by my chair (he grabbed my axle from behind), and luckily I had my higher ups on my side and they agreed that I made every effort to keep the kids safe (plus he learned his lesson lol, he always asked permission after that). Your mileage may vary based on admin and their attitudes, so play it by ear, and change any of my tips as needed. Feel free to send questions to this blog too. :)

[the-ace-with-spades]

Someone posted about Jake having a sister who is deaf and uses ASL (I can't find it, sorry) and it woke up the fic idea I had some time ago from hibernation

An AU where shortly after Carole's death, Bradley starts losing his hearing. At first, Mav thinks it's just a lack of focus and him being inside his head too much (which, normal given the mourning/depressive state of Bradley's emotions at the time). But then he and Ice notice it only happens when they're on his right side and start to get worried.

A visit with a family doctor and a visit with an audiologist later, and they find out his hearing loss is expected to progress, they just don't know how far — it can stay mild, it can get worse over the years, or it can get worse quickly. It's probably been happening for some time already, they might have not noticed because so much was happening (which Mav will forever feel guilty about).

Mav and Ice are left to explain all that this implies to Bradley. Mainly that Bradley will never be able to become a pilot with hearing loss, even if it stays mild. And even at thirteen, almost fourteen, all he's always wanted to be was a pilot and they have to break the news to him — even if his hearing doesn't get worse, he won't be able to join the Navy in any deployable role.

Obviously, it doesn't go well. Bradley is in denial, rebelling against anything related to the hearing loss — won't go to the SLT, to the audiologist, won't wear the hearing aids.

Until he starts high school after the summer break and realizes he can't hear the teachers well — not in the front seat, not when the classroom is silent. Turns out, the hearing aids are not enough — he needs a new set up already.

Mav takes out a sabbatical and they start everything from the beginning. New audiologist appointments, new hearing aids, new ASL lessons for the two of them, and some extra ones for Ice as well, lip reading lessons, SLT. Bradley doesn't have a choice, his hearing is getting worse and either he will adapt or his life is going to get difficult — and they're in a good enough situation, financially, and with Mav and Ice caring enough, that he can adapt as much as possible.

By the time he's in junior year, his hearing loss is severe. Their options are either sending Bradley to a boarding school for deaf kids or having him have an interpreter at school. Bradley feels strange about the boarding school so he has an interpreter for the rest of high school — which doesn't get him many friends...

College-wise, he doesn't know what to do. There's a few colleges in California that offer programs with support for deaf students, but the degrees are limited. Eventually, he decides to enroll in the Rochester NTID for aerospace/mechanical engineering and it kinda changes his perspective a lot.

There are other deaf students on campus, some even on his course, and it shows him so many different ways life can be still okay — he's never met anyone deaf his age before and being friends with people who either lost their hearing like him or were born deaf and had been involved in the Deaf community for years is amazing eye-opening. He stops being so bitter about life, even if he'll never stop feeling sad about not realizing his dreams. It teaches him to not care about what others think he is capable or not capable of doing and just do his own thing.

The Institute also has great support, also including the newest hearing aid tech. Cochlear implants only became widely available when he was finishing high school and despite many people celebrating being Deaf on campus, there's many people who also opted to have surgery or implants to help restore or conserve their hearing.

By the time Bradley gets the cochlear implants (funded mostly by Mav and Ice), he's not that set on having them, actually, not as much as he was when he was seventeen and they just came onto the market for kids. In fact, he only wears them for the purpose of work (he gets a civilian contractor job for the US Air Force of all places...) and prefers to have them off when he's at home or around people who know ASL (which is most of their family now). Being deaf is part of him, a part that is bigger and more settled than the part that used to wish he was 'normal'.

He only swaps the implants for a newer model sometime around the early 2010s because they can actually meet the FAA regulations and at the age of twenty-seven, Bradley is finally able to get his pilot license and then a commercial pilot license.

Now the hangster bit...

TG:M happens — Mav is there with the team obviously but Bradley is kinda around him because he's been contracted by the Navy the past few years (kinda like Charlie) and working with Mav in China Lake before.

Bradley shares the office with Mav and they hang around whenever Mav isn't training the Daggers — the whole group is kind of speculating on who he is — and Jake actually meets him once when he's looking for Mav and comes to the office.

He makes an ass out of himself (because this is Jake Sersin we're talking about) and basically shouts at Bradley, who is not wearing his hearing aids at the moment (he's doing paperwork, near the airfield, it's easier to focus if he doesn't hear ever single aircraft taking off) and gets super humbled when Bradley looks at him and only then clicks his very visible external processor on, and then asks him if he needed something.

After the mission, Mav and the Daggers stay close, work and outside as well (trauma bonding, even though Bradley calls them his little ducklings). This means Bradley is around them a lot, too.

Around the Daggers, Bradley wears the cochlear implants almost all the time, just for the sake of being able to be part of the conversation and having a better grip on the background noise and to know what is happening around him.

Now, this is when Jake gets a little... enamored.

Bradley is objectively cool, okay? He's deaf, but he's a commercial pilot and a stunt pilot on the side, he likes to jump out of planes (for research), he volunteers as an ASL interpreter and is certified to interpret. He's hot as well and Jake's brain overheats anytime he answers his half-flirty remarks with the same, if not bigger, force.

And Jake is a bit smitten, but Bradley never really makes a move. He's obviously contemplating making a move himself — Bradley is chill, even if it was a no, he'd not make a big deal out of it — but he's also his CO's kid and the COMPACFLT's kid and like, Jake doesn't wanna be the one to cross the line.

It's Mav who tells him — when he notices him staring at Bradley playing piano (and isn't that super cool? he's deaf and he can play piano better than anyone Jake knows) — that if he wants it, he should go for it because Bradley is too shy to make the first move, ever.

So one evening when they're at a barbecue at Mav's, Jake stays late, basically the only one left, and he is helping Bradley bring the dirty dishes into the kitchen, and Mav leaves them alone (giving him a goddamn wink as he steps out...)

The second Bradley begins with, Look, I'm flattered, he knows he's in a losing position, but tries to negotiate anyway — because he can see Bradley does like him, and for whatever reason, he just needs to point out it's enough and that he can see they have some chemistry and he promises to treat him to a good time if he gives him a chance.

So Bradley tells him how it is — he hasn't dated anyone who isn't deaf/hoh since he was nineteen and he doesn't plan to. Jake is great and he's sure they'd have great chemistry, but he's not the type to do the casual bit and he's pretty sure Jake will never make the effort he needs him to make because he doesn't understand how big part of Bradley being deaf is.

Jake denies it — so Bradley starts signing at him the alphabet (the first thing people learn when they learn ASL usually) and Jake just blinks at him dumbly, proving his point.

Obviously, Jake doesn't get it and says exactly what Bradley expected him to say, Well, I don't really need to know it, you've got the hearing aids.

And to Bradley, it proves that he's either not thinking of them as something long-term or that he just doesn't get what Bradley being deaf means, long-term, for his life. You realize I don't wear them all the time, right? Not at home, not around family, not around most of my friends. Wearing them constantly is exhausting. What will you do when I take them off? Or do you just expect me to never take them off?

Jake goes home and that's it, really.

It's sometime later, a few weeks or a couple of months. Jake's never brought up going on a date again and Bradley made peace with that — he was right and Jake either didn't want to commit or the effort was too big and he's no longer interested in him. Shame, but it's not the first time it happened — mainly why Bradley doesn't date people outside the deaf/hoh community anymore, they don't understand, he's cured or acceptable kind of deaf to them, because of the implants but when they come off — he's deficient.

The Daggers are sitting down with Mav when Bradley comes home and they're in the middle of a conversation and Bradley doesn't want to interrupt Bob so he just asks Mav via signing if he ate dinner already. Before Mav answers, Jake says out loud, We ordered in, leftovers are in the fridge.

And fair enough, Bradley goes to the kitchen and he's unpacking gyro from the plastic container when it hits him — Jake just understood his signing. And like, what the hell.

He doesn't want to make a scene so he waits until Jake is a little bit more alone (not really possible with their group).

When Jake notices him staring, he just goes, Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?

And Bradley feels a bit stupid, but he signs the same thing he asked Mav before and waits for some kind of answer and Jake just says, Shit, and gets all red in the face.

So Bradley just starts signing. How long, why didn't tell me, what the hell, and all that. Because why didn't Jake told him he could understand, that he knows ASL?

And Jake just stares at him. You're going way too fast, I'm not that good at it yet

And Bradley stops and stares at him dumbly. Yet?

Sheepishly, Jake's face gets even redder, and he's avoiding Bradley's gaze as he says, I was gonna tell you once I can actually communicate and not just know a few words and phrases.

You know it's going to take months, right? I took me months and I was learning for hours every day and practicing with my dad all the time.

Well, I assumed you meant I need to know it if I want to take you out so, y'know...

And Bradley just looks at this dumb dumb man and just maybe falls in love a little bit. You don't need to be fluent in a whole new language to date me, just acknowledging you'll have to at least try is enough.

It's actually more than enough. Maybe Bradley is a bit fond of Jake, sue him, but it's more than enough to give him a chance.

Oh, is all Jake says, okay then.

And Jake clears his throat, steps a little bit away and takes a minute to revise in his head, and then signs,

DATE-YOU-WANT-GO-WITH-ME

It's a little clumsy and a bit slow, but Bradley takes his time to slow down and just signs YES in reply

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

i've been having a couple of downer days recently, and i kept looking for a verse i haven't read thrice yet for some comfort, but you're age! gap verse has been a pleasant escape even though its not what i was looking for. you're writing never fails to make me feel better ari 💕💕

Here's how they met 💜

Bruce sighed. He was starting to hate talk show appearances, but at least this one had never been too bad. Angelique was chatty and fun but not grating. Her show ran as school let out. So grannies watched after their naps and kids watched getting off the bus. She ran a little something for everyone.

He assumed he was here for the grannies.

"I'm so sorry I'm late the shoot ran over and I couldn't get away."

The voice caught his attention. Not the fake starlet over dramatic gushing, but genuine distress. And he half turned to look. You looked like you came from a shoot. Straight off the pages of a glossy magazine.

"No worries, Miss Y/L/N we got your call in enough time. We'll just touch up your face and you'll be good to go," the manager greeting you, said.

Bruce smiled a little. Clearly, you were a frequent guest. You thanked him profusely and trotted off. Not needing to be told where to go. And as you go, there's several crew members you can greet by name. You've either been here a lot or worked with them before. Or both. But, it's endearing.

He turned back around listening to Angelique get her updates on where production was. "-And Y/N is in hair and makeup as we speak."

"Oh, bless her heart," Angelique said. "That's what I get calling her last minute." She turned to Bruce and held out her hand, "Are you ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he chuckled taking her hand, "You know these sorts of things aren't my forte. My oldest on the other hand-"

"Don't you worry about a thing," Angelique reassured him, patting the hand she was holding before letting it go. "Y/N is an old pro- Ah! speak of the devil!" She swooped over and kissed you on either cheek. "You look absolutely divine, is that one of yours?"

"You know it is," you tell her laughing, returning the gesture. "As if I could walk in and NOT wear my own design, you'd never let me live it down."

"So true. Darling," she said grabbing your hand and pulling you over to Bruce, "I want you to meet Bruce. You'll be on stage together today. You know it's charity week and I though it would be great to highlight all the work you do for school arts programs along side the Wayne foundation," she said.

"Hello," you tell him, holding out your hand.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, taking the hand you offered warmly. Giving you his most charming smile. You did look good. And he could tell they hadn't done much to your face or your hair. "I'm a big fan of your work," he commented.

Your smile didn't falter but your eyes narrowed slightly. And Bruce cringed internally Shit. She thinks I mean the Playboy spread, he thought. "Your last movie, the drama, especially. The range of emotion and the depth- It really was incredible."

"Thank you," you tell him. "It was challenging but I really enjoyed it."

Bruce felt his face heat when Angelique coughed and he remembered hearing that you had the ability to make someone feel like they were the only person in the room. He'd forgotten for just a second. In just that brief moment that he was waiting for an appearance. "It showed I uh- my kids made fun of me when I cried at the end-"

"Aww, Angelique gushed, "This is amazing. you guys keep up this chemistry. It'll go totally viral." She bounced on the balls of her feet and kissed your cheek again, "I'll have someone bring you a coffee, sweetie. You're going to start wilting soon."

And before you could say anything or Bruce could offer to go and get it for you himself, Angelique had bustled off to find and assistant to give marching orders to.

[captainsophiestark]

Couples Costume

Stefan Salvatore x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Summary: Stefan is dead set against dressing up for Halloween, but his girlfriend might just have found a way to outplay him.

Word Count: 1,262

Category: Fluff

Requested by @cncownerxstefansalvatorefanxstay for a fluffy Halloween with Stefan! This prompt kinda possessed me for a minute until it was done being written, so I figured what better day to double up on fic posting than Friday the 13th? Hope you like it!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Okay! What do you think? Nadja and Laszlo or Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf? One is more fitting but the other is funnier."

I held up the costumes in question so Stefan, my boyfriend, could get a good look. He glanced up from his reading with a bewildered expression, his eyes scanning each of the costumes before landing on me with a frown.

"What is this for?" he asked. My mouth dropped open.

"For Halloween! Obviously! Come on, Stefan, we have to dress up."

"No. No, we don't," he said, a laughing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his eyes dropped back to his reading. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Are you seriously telling me you're not going to dress up with me for Halloween?"

"I... think I am telling you that, yeah."

"But what about the trick-or-treaters who come to the door! We want to be the cool people with awesome costumes, don't we?"

"Mmm.... no."

I sighed dramatically, letting both costumes drop to my sides. I narrowed my eyes at my boyfriend, but he didn't flinch, not looking up from his reading.

"I'll support you if you decide to dress up," he finally said. "But I'm not putting on a costume."

"Fine. I guess I can't force you," I said, flopping my arms dramatically as I turned away from Stefan, a smirk on my face. This was not over by a longshot.

A few hours later, as the sun started to set and it was time to get ready for trick-or-treaters, Stefan wandered out of the bathroom with his shirt off. We were hosting a big Halloween party later, so we needed to be dressed and ready for both.

"You decided not to dress up?" asked Stefan, running a suspicious eye over my outfit. I just shrugged.

"It's not as much fun if you don't do it with me."

Stefan smirked a little as he moved back towards he bed. "The guilt trip's not gonna work on me."

"Not even if I ramp it up to an eleven?"

He snorted, not bothering to respond as he surveyed the outfit I'd laid out for him on the bed. Once he was apparently satisfied the shirt wouldn't secretly turn into a ruffled monstrosity befitting Laszlo Cravensworth, he pulled it on and buttoned it up, then slipped on the gray pea coat I'd left with it.

With my heavy, light brown jacket and headband, my plan was officially complete. I smiled and stepped closer to Stefan, fixing his collar before running my hands through his hair a few times, spiking it up even more. When I'd finished, I stepped back and gave him a beaming smile.

"You look great," I said. He smiled, then leaned in to kiss me. We lingered for a minute before he pulled back.

"You look great too."

We shared a smile, then I held out a hand, which Stefan took.

"Come on, we have trick-or-treaters to greet."

I pulled him after me as we headed downstairs. Damon, Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie were setting up for the party, but I'd volunteered Stefan and I to answer the door for anyone who came by.

We didn't have to wait long before the doorbell rang. I smiled and grabbed the bowl of candy, Stefan right behind me as we opened the door. A group of kids with their high school-aged chaperon stood at the door beaming, candy baskets in-hand.

"Trick or treat!" they chorused. I smiled.

"You guys have some great costumes! What do we have, a vampire, a Jedi, Spock..."

"What are you dressed as?" asked a little girl towards the front. I beamed, mentally thanking her for the opening I'd been waiting for.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Stefan, ready to tell her we hadn't dressed up. I spoke up before he got the chance.

"We're Bella and Edward from Twilight!"

I felt Stefan tense next to me as realization washed over him, which only made me smile wider as the kids beamed.

"That's a good costume!" said the girl in the front.

"You look just like him," the boy next to her agreed, nodding at Stefan.

"Thanks! Let's get you guys your candy, your outfits deserve some extra treats."

We smiled and waved as we gave the kids their candy, and I noticed Stefan slipped the vampire an extra bar or two. We waved as they headed off, and as soon as I shut the door, Stefan turned to me, hands on his hips and a stern look on his face.

"Bella and Edward? Seriously?"

"Yeah!" I replied, not even a little bit phased. "It's a low key costume, enough that you didn't even realize you were wearing it, but I still get to do a couples costume with my boyfriend. It's the best of both worlds."

Stefan sighed a deep, heavy, long-suffering sigh.

"I'm changing before the party."

"No!" I cried, reaching out to grab his arm. He hadn't made to move away yet, but I wanted to be ready if he did. "Please wear it for the party too. Please? For me?"

I batted my eyelashes and gave Stefan my best adorable guilt-trip look. He stared back, his expression not budging an inch, until finally he sighed again, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling.

"Fine."

"Yes! Thank you." I pulled him to me, and grudgingly, he wrapped his arms around my waist as a small smile tugged its way onto his face. "You're the best boyfriend ever, Stef."

"I know."

He smiled again, then leaned down to kiss me. I leaned into him, and I think we would've stayed that way a lot longer if we hadn't been interrupted by another ring of the doorbell.

Reluctantly, Stefan and I pulled apart, sharing a smile.

"We should probably get that," I said. He hummed, not quite letting me go yet.

"I don't know if I can. You're like my own personal brand of heroin."

I laughed, which got a beaming smile out of Stefan even as I finally slipped out of his grasp.

"I can't believe you paid enough attention when we watched the movies to remember that but not enough to realize I was putting you in the same costume Edward wore!"

Stefan shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to let you have this one."

I paused, narrowing my eyes at Stefan to try to decide if he really had put up with the costume for me, knowing the whole time what I'd been doing, or if he was just messing with me. Before I could decide, he reached past me to swing the door open and another group of kids greeted us with smiles on their faces.

"Trick or treat!"

"Wow, another vampire costume. There seem to be a lot of those this year," he said, smiling at the kid in question. "I think yours is the best I've seen, though."

The kid absolutely beamed at the compliment, and I moved up next to Stefan as we chatted with the trick-or-treaters and handed out the candy. One of the kids actually guessed our costume this time, and Stefan was the one to tell them they were right, we were Bella and Edward. With his arm around me as we talked with each and every kid who came to the door, I could tell Stefan was warming up to the couple's costume idea, whether or not he'd been aware of what he was getting into in the first place.

I just hoped that warm feeling would be enough to carry him through whatever inevitable bad jokes Damon made at his expense all night once the kids were gone and the party began.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[sagan-starstuff]

XF Meta: Scully's Medical Training Timeline

At the request of @randomfoggytiger, I wanted to do my damnedest to make Scully's education and training timeline make even a little sense. I'm a physician (specifically a specialist in adult infectious diseases), and it's fairly clear to me that CC and Co probably didn't actually talk to any doctors about how medical training works. Love my girl - I'm a Scully Effect kid, I don't think I'd be a doctor at all if it weren't for the inspiration of Dana Scully. But her timeline is...iffy at best.

Disclaimer: My medical school and post-med school training occurred from 2009-2018, Scully's occurred in the 1980's-90's. From what I can tell, the durations of many residencies and fellowships don't seem to have changed much, but I can't say that for certainty for all programs at all institutions. I am also from the US, so I cannot speak to medical training in other countries.

Our girl was born in 1964, and so unless she skipped a grade (which some schools would do if students were classified as "gifted" or otherwise exceptional, she would have graduated from high school at age 18 in 1982 and went straight to college. Let's assume she didn't skip a grade, for the sake of argument.

You have to have a Bachelor's degree to apply to medical school. These degrees typically take 4 years, though if someone arrives at college with credits from dual-enrollment high school classes or AP exam credits OR if they take summer classes some people can complete them in 3 years. I don't know what the availability of dual enrollment or AP classes was like in the early 80's (and like CC, I'm too lazy to do the research to find out), so we can assume that Scully graduated from college in 1986.

Medical school is 4 years long - no shortening this at that point in time, and even now in almost all cases. So that puts medical school graduation in 1990 IF she's following a traditional timeline and went straight from college to medical school.

Now, if someone is going to go into practice they have to do a residency in at least one of a variety of specialties (Internal Medicine, Pediatrics, Surgery, etc.) in order to be board certified and practice independently. There are very, very few job options in clinical medicine if you DON'T do a residency, so if you want to practice, you have to do it. Residencies can be anywhere from 3-5 years, depending on the specialty. You can also further subspecialize after a residency by doing one or more fellowships (typically 1-3 years depending on the fellowship) before sitting for your board certification exams and starting independent practice. For example - after medical school I did a 3-year residency in adult internal medicine, then a 2 year fellowship in adult infectious diseases to be eligible to sit for the boards and enter my specialty, so 5 years further training after medical school before I could get a job, get board certified, and practice.

Scully is a forensic pathologist. She would have had to do a 3 or 4 year pathology residency (both were options at the time) followed by a 1 year forensic pathology fellowship. You CANNOT perform autopsies right out of medical school, if you are going to be a forensic pathologist you HAVE to do this training. So, following a traditional timeline this puts her as having completed forensic pathology training in 1994 or 1995. Pilot starts March 7th, 1992, so this is loooooong after she's canonically already an FBI agent and teaching at the academy.

But our girl's a smart cookie, so let's take a little leeway with her timeline. Let's say she skipped a grade some time in K-12. This puts high school graduation in 1981. Let's say she ALSO graduates with a bunch of AP credit and does summer semesters and finishes her undergraduate degree in Physics in 3 years. This puts her as starting medical school in 1984, with graduation in 1988. She'd still need to do that pathology residency and forensic pathology fellowship - let's assume a 3 year residency, then 1 year fellowship, so she'd finish training in 1992.

Still doesn't fit.

Let's go totally off the rails here - we know Scully was recruited out of medical school to the FBI, so she didn't do a traditional residency at all - UNLESS the FBI has an internal forensic pathology residency. It would HAVE to be accelerated in some way - some programs combine residency and fellowship by giving less elective time and more focus to the fellowship content. It's not common but they exist. Let's say in theory the FBI has an accelerated forensic pathology residency that takes 3 years, in addition to the 20 weeks of the FBI academy training. This has her finishing residency AND FBI academy training some time in 1991.

This is the ONLY way she could have finished forensic pathology training AND the FBI academy with enough time to be a fully certified forensic pathologist and FBI agent with some time left to teach at the FBI academy before being assigned to the X-Files on March 7th, 1992.

I can suspend my disbelief enough to be on board with this. You'd have to be pretty damned special, which we know she is, to get recruited out of medical school by the FBI. Maybe they even developed the accelerated combined residency/fellowship just for her! She's Dana Katherine Motherf***ing Scully, people!

Now, IWTB is where things get REALLY unbelievable. (Disclaimer: I have not watched IWTB since seeing it in theaters in 2008. I'll get around to rewatching it someday soon. Probably with a bottle of wine. Not a glass. A bottle.)

Mulder and Scully go on the run in 2002. We don't know how long they were in the wind, but by 2008, she's been allowed to resume a career and is practicing at Our Lady of Sorrows. Clearly in pediatrics - but general pediatricians sure as hell don't do stem cell transplants, so she'd almost certainly have to be a pediatric oncologist. We aren't told what her specialty is specifically, but that's what she'd have to be to do a stem cell transplant.

(That scene in the OR isn't even what stem cell transplants LOOK LIKE but that's a rant for another day, back to my point.)

MEDICAL BOARDS DON'T JUST LET YOU CHANGE YOUR SPECIALTY FOR FUNSIES.

(Deep breaths. Serenity now. Ok, let's do this.)

Scully would have had to do an ENTIRELY NEW residency AND fellowship in order to practice as a pediatric oncologist. Pediatrics residency is 3 years long. Pediatric Hematology/Oncology fellowship is 3 years long. In order for this to be even remotely possible, she would have had to START residency in 2002 to finish fellowship by 2008 and start her job at Our Lady of Sorrows.

And she's a former FBI agent harboring a known felon, on the run from government officials and alien hybrids who want her and Mulder dead.

There is absolutely no way even the smallest, most hard-up pediatric residency program is going to accept her with that hanging over her head. I'm not going to get into all the details of how rigorous and stressful the post-medical school residency application and match process is, but even if she didn't apply until she KNEW it was safe to come out from underground, she'd still have to explain a multi-year gap in her resume/CV to the program directors. Multi-year gaps in career and training without a reasonable explanation like a medical issue, time off to care for an ailing family member, time off for research, time away in a different, legitimate career are NOT looked on kindly when applying for residency positions. She would have a HELL of a time getting into a totally different residency.

It could happen - if anyone could do it, she could. But there's absolutely no way there's enough time for her to complete that training by 2008.

"But sagan-starstuff, it's CC, it's X-Files, we know there was no show bible and no one but the fans gave a shit about continuity or things making sense, there's no logic just vibes"

I KNOW, OK. I KNOW. And I love this insane, beautiful masterpiece anyway. I love exploring the possibilities of how and when it all could have happened with my fellow insane Philes who work so hard to glean meaning and order from this perfect mess of a show.

But couldn't CC have talked to one (1) doctor about what medical training is like at some point between 1993 and 2018? Just one?

Anyway. Yeah. That's my meta. Scully's training timeline makes no goddamned sense. Compels me, though.

@randomfoggytiger, this is for you. Honorable mention to @precedex-files who I ranted about this with in messages a while back.

[diaperedautistic]

finding diapers as a continent/semicontinent autistic

(This essay is not in Plain Language. Please tell me if you want a Plain Language version and I will write one.)

I was slow to toilet train: I routinely came home wet from kindergarten and was still wetting myself occasionally in third grade and later. This was mostly an executive function problem; I usually knew I had to pee, but didn't have the executive function to stop whatever I was doing to use the bathroom.

I didn't get much in the way of help for this: I was kicked out of diapers before entering kindergarten. In kindergarten and first grade, I was 'on a schedule', which meant staff would pull me out of class to take me to use the bathroom periodically, hopefully before I'd wet myself. As early as kindergarten, my parents yelled at me for wetting myself, and past first grade, yelling was all the help I got. No one suggested diapers as a way to avoid the shame and humiliation of accidents; it was apparently better for a third-grader to wet herself in front of her classmates than for her to wear diapers.

Eventually, like some autistics, I 'grew out' of it: I learned to absorb the executive function cost of interrupting myself to go pee, or the pain of holding it because I didn't want to interrupt myself, and I stopped wetting myself.

At some level, though, I always understood that diapers were something I needed: when I hit puberty, they became a fetish object; when I transitioned in my late twenties, they shifted to a non-sexual emotional comfort, and I started wearing them more often. As I worked through some of my childhood trauma in therapy, they shifted again, to a radical way of 'rewriting the story' for my younger self who'd needed them, and I started wearing them full-time.

(I want to stop here and acknowledge that I was privileged to be able to make this change in my life: I can afford to live by myself to avoid judgmental family or housemates, and I can afford to buy disposable diapers out of pocket. Many people can't, and I'd love to see diapers as a voluntary adaptation for autistics destigmatized and covered by insurance.)

Once I was wearing diapers full-time, something magical happened: my brain settled back into those same patterns from elementary school, using my diaper when I'm hyperfocused and using the toilet when I'm not. I find focused tasks easier and less stressful, since I don't have to interrupt myself to go use the bathroom in the moment or cope with the ongoing sensory and executive function cost of feeling and knowing that I have to go to the bathroom eventually. I don't worry about burning something on the stove, forgetting important context while programming, or losing the plot of a movie or TV show I wanted to watch. I can get what I wanted to get done more easily, and have more energy and cope left for other things.

Despite the obvious benefits, I still felt ashamed when I found myself wet after a period of hyperfocus; I wasn't 'supposed' to wet myself, and I wasn't 'supposed' to wear diapers.

A couple weeks ago, as part of a larger effort to find better accommodations for myself, I found @endeverstar's wonderful article "Finding AAC as a verbal/semiverbal autistic". It talks about how xe found speaking with mouth words difficult and stressful but was nonetheless forced into a bunch of speech therapy as a kid so xe could be considered "speaking"; nobody offered xem AAC as a kid because xe didn't 'need' it and it was stigmatized. Xe discovered AAC as an adult, quickly realized it was easier and less stressful than mouth words, and is at this point mostly-nonspeaking.

This was me, toilet training, and diapers. Everything suddenly made sense.

I found toileting without diapers as a backup difficult and stressful, but was nonetheless forced to so I could be considered "toilet trained"; nobody offered me diapers as a kid past the 'normal' age because I didn't 'need' them and they were stigmatized. I rediscovered diapers as an adult, realized they were easier and less stressful, and decided to wear them all the time.

Overnight, that last whiff of shame disappeared. Diapers aren't just a fetish object, an emotional comfort, or a way of 'rewriting' my trauma. Diapers are a valid adaptive choice for autistics, even those who are technically capable of always using the toilet!

So, to paraphrase endever*: if you're a continent or mostly-continent autistic person and you're wondering whether diapers might be useful for you -- consider this your permission slip! You're allowed to try them if you think they might help, and you're allowed to keep using them if you find them helpful. Toileting works for abled people, but isn't inherently superior; don't listen to anyone who says you're 'not allowed' to use diapers unless you 'need' them or that you should force yourself to always use the toilet if that doesn't work for you.

Everyone deserves access to the full range of communication methods that work for them, and likewise everyone deserves access to the full range of toileting strategies that work for them.

[lukeywritesstuff]

this request might be a little confusing to type out but hear me out😭🤣 could u write something ab the reader having a kid and the devils having a event where the players get to train with the kids! the readers kid is one of the kids at the event and luke falls for the reader somehow through that! idk i have this vision in my head but idk how to type it out😭

Little League

Luke Hughes x mom!reader

Note: don’t worry! I totally understand what you’re saying. I read this and kinda had a social media/irl storyline come to my mind so I hope that’s alright! Also I kinda made them slightly know each other, but like acquaintances and they have like mutual friends kinda sorta.

Warnings: a shit ton of fluff. Literally it’s all fluff. Like I don’t even think this has cursing in it. And if so maybe once.

My name is Y/N, and when I was 15 I had a son. He is absolutely everything to me. I was young, and dumb, but if I was given the option to go back and never hook up with some senior at my school, I wouldn’t take the offer. I love my little man too much.

When he was 2 he fell in love with hockey, so at 3 I let him start learning how to skate and grasp the basics of playing hockey, even though for his age it was just floor. Now at 5 he’s playing fully on ice and his team was even invited to practice with the New Jersey Devils, as his team, and we, are based in Newark.

Once we got to Prudential Centre the boys were sent to the main locker room, their names were on tape right under their buddy for the day. I was looking around and right under ‘Luke Hughes’ in full capital letters read ‘Ethan Y/L/N’. I walked my son over to the stall where his name was (obviously avoiding the logo) and I helped him change into his pads, uniform and skates.

After all the kids were settled and ready, coach Ruff started explaining to the kids and the parents how this practice session basically works.

It’s a 4 week training camp, and it’s every Wednesday that the devils are in town. (So 4 Wednesdays, but sometimes there’s a week between the practices without one cuz they’re away) after everything was explained, the Devils were brought into the locker room to meet with their buddies for the program.

The second Ethan saw Luke the smile on his face grew by about 100%. He watched him on Michigan last season as my sister goes there and is friends with some of the older players on the team, and they’ve met before, so he’s excited to see his old friend.

“LUKEY! You’re my buddy! I’m so happy! I missed you! Are we gonna shoot pucks and score on everyone!?” My 5 year old said acting like I just fed him 3 coffees with a side of 10 pounds of sugar.

“Oh yeah we are! We’re gonna be the best group on the ice! With the best cheerleader! Right Y/N?” He said and I smiled at them giving a thumbs up.

After the rest of the kids got to know their buddy a little more the teams were ushered onto the ice, and parents were to stay along the sidelines and not interfere unless there was an emergency.

The team had several smaller nets put up along the boards to practice shooting, cones near centre ice to practice skating, and pucks EVERYWHERE. The kids were all having a blast, and so were the professionals.

By the end of the 2 hours all the kids looked ready to nap, and honestly so did most of the players. Everyone went into the locker room and the players helped the kids with their skates before they talked to the parents.

“So, how was Ethan out there?” I asked the curly headed man smiling at me.

“He’s great. Future NHL superstar I think. The next Gretzky! Forget about bedard!” He said.

“I’m glad my kids THAT GOOD.” I smiled.

“Yeah he is. How are you though? I haven’t seen you since you and Ethan visited Sarah?!” He said bringing up my sister.

“Everything’s great here actually! He’s loving kindergarten now and I got a raise which is why I put him into this. As a little treat for him.” I smiled.

“You’re such a good mom to him. You know, since we’re both in Jersey, I think we should finally exchange numbers, and maybe we can go out for lunch one day Eth’s in school and you’re off and I don’t have practice!” He said smiling.

“You know what, sure Hughes. Pass me your phone and we can text tonight about said lunch date.” I said before taking his phone.

Ynstagram

Had a great time with the @njdevils and @lhughes_06. Eth will never forget this. Thank you so much 🫶🫶

╔═══════════════════╗

The second week was 2 weeks later as the devils had their first road trip of the season. The kids were extra excited because the wait was longer than they expected it to be.

The second Ethan saw Luke he ran to the man and attached himself to him, it didn’t seem weird because quite a few of the kids did the same to their buddies.

Today on the ice they were doing more team oriented practices instead of just one on one. So Luke, Jack, Dawson, and Nico were working together with Ethan and 3 other kids. It wasn't too eventful, just 2 on 2 scrimmage and small drills that 5 year olds can handle.

But this time after helping Ethan change and it was time for Luke and I to talk about his progress, he asks me out for the next evening, I said yes because Ethan was already gonna be at my parents so I'll be home alone anyways, why not spent that evening with Luke!

[faeriekit]

So, I've been thinking about working in a library. I know you took Library Sciences but what other courses/qualifications did you need, and could you please give me an opinion on why I should/shouldn't go into this field? Thanks

So, firstly, I didn't just take a couple library sciences courses; I had to finish a Master's degree in library and information science after my bachelor's. This was a two-year course if one went full time, which most people do not. Most people spread it out over several years...but I was paying out of pocket and the tuition fees build up the longer you take to finish your degree.

Real talk; it's very hard to break into libraries as a career. The easiest way in is networking. I will always, always, always recommend volunteering at a local library before you decide if this is the life path for you because the idealized work of what a library is supposed to look like almost never matches up with reality. The library is largely patron-facing customer service and possibly event-planning if you end up being roped into providing programming for the library as a responsibility. Most people think you can just sort of hide in the stacks and shush people, which... 😅

All my info is largely going to be US specific since I went to school and work here but working in a library, unless you're in a labor-starved area, is almost always going to be tough monetarily. You are a public servant. The easiest jobs to get in a library are the most labor intensive and may be only available part-time, even if they do not require an MLS or MLIS. Library jobs are chronically in short supply. Some people look for ages before they even land an interview, nevermind actually landing a job they compromise to take. I worked my way up from part time to a library student to a full on librarian, but that took time and resources and stable housing and a Master's degree and money I had saved up from a job where I had very little expenses at the time, AND I did it during the earliest parts of covid where a loooooot of people very swiftly retired. If you want a library career where you have enough money to support yourself long-term, can pay your bills, and get a pension, it is highly likely that you are going to need a Master's Degree in library science. Otherwise, you're going to be in a department where you don't need one but are limited in how far you can rise up ladder without one, like circulation (book movers) tech (tech) or administration (back-end business stuff).

So. Barrier for entry is pretty high.

I love working at the library and everything it entails. It's customer service, but I never have to sell anything to patrons! I love recommending books to kids! I love reading to them! I love visiting schools! I love doing crafts with the kids! I love setting up crafts for the kids!! I love picking out what we do for the next season! I love filling the bubble machine! I love setting up for the library's halloween party, and getting to see all the outfits! I love dressing up! I love seeing the new kids books when they come out! I love my coworkers! I love the building the library is in! I love that I work (relatively) close to home! I love the people I meet and the kids I get to watch grow up!! I see the babies turn into people and get all sassy and playful and start reading different books! I love my job!! (*turns into goo*)

Ahem.

So, between all that and the government pension, there's a lot going for a librarian job. I know other people love other parts of librarianship, like the archivists' satisfaction at maintaining and preserving their collection to the love and empathy adult services has for their adult students and aging patron base. I know that circulation loves being the movers and shakers and arbiters of access for the entire library-- and hell, if it had been financially viable, I would have loved to stay a circ employee. There are other back-end jobs in libraries too, like tech support and administration, although they never really see the patrons or books on the floor.

Ultimately, your career choice is up to you. I just want to let you know the risks before you pursue a library degree, since that's no guarantee it'll get you the job environment you like. Also there are a lot of weird things that happen in libraries— like midway through this post I had to stop because a random lady came up and asked me to start her crochet project...? She had no way of knowing if I even knew how to crochet. She just guessed. Whack.

Anyway, my realest advice is, before making any decision, to volunteer in a library for a while. You'll meet local library workers to network with, get used to the flow of the job, and have something to add to your resume for long-term benefits and maybe a letter of recommendation from the library down the line. Either you'll like it, or you won't! Either way,though, you'll still have something new to your resume.

Good luck! 📚 There's a lot of things to love about libraries, but uh...times is hard lol

[mjis0nfire]

DPxP5 - The Mansons' Host Kids

The foreign exchange program was a surprise, but not entirely unwelcome for Sam. Until her parents dropped the bombshell that they will be hosting two of the kids. For fuck's sake, one of them is literally a model despite being her age - blonde hair, blue eyes, thin and pretty, magazine covers and interviews- God the more she looks at her picture the more she looks like Star.

Her new host brother doesn't look all that better - a jock posing as a punk with that bleach-blond hair.

She hates it.

And she hates it even more when they actually show up and act all sunshine and smiles, especially the girl, Ann. It's just a reminder of the conventional 'family' Sam's parents wished they got to enjoy.

She doesn't even notice the piercings on Ryuji, Ann's variety in her bags, or how the two cringe and shrink in at how painfully cheerful her parents are to have them as 'part of their family'. She just gives them the cold shoulder. All of them. And rants to Danny about her frustrations when Tucker starts begging for Ann's number.

That resentment bubbles over one night when Ann stays with Sam to help clean after dinner. Especially as Ann tries to ask about her fashion to fill the very purposeful silence.

"You can drop the act, yknow." Sam cuts her off, annoyed.

A tone that seems to genuinely confuse the blonde. "Sorry?"

"The whole smiles and rainbows and tolerant shtick. I can smell the bullshit from here. Your poser friend doesn't help matters."

Ann's eyes widen a bit at her bluntness before she settles. "I'm not bullshitting you. And I don't think Ryuji would count as a 'poser'-"

"Please, he's got 'jock' written all over him. Like he's just trying to be 'cool'. It's not gonna work. Not on me."

Ann can't help but give a huff of a laugh. "And here I thought those cliques were just for crappy American movies-" She stops her tease when she sees Sam's glare her way.

"He hasn't run in over a year. Not competitively. And he dyed his hair our first year of high school. Mostly so I wouldn't be the only blonde in class."

That gets Sam's attention, softening her annoyance a bit. Come to think of it... It is odd that a Japanese girl would have flaxen blonde hair...

"I ask about your fashion because I'm genuinely interested. It looks good on you! And I know Japan has different fashion subcultures than here, so I don't want to be insensitive or compare it to something it's not, yknow?"

"Seriously?" Sam asks with almost a laugh in her voice.

"Seriously!" The blonde's smile brightens. "I didn't come here to poke fun at Americans. Well- not too much anyway." She quickly and jokingly corrects herself. A joke that actually gets Sam to chuckle a bit.

"We deserve most of it, honestly."

"Heeyyy, don't lump yourself in with that!"

The two girls finish the dishes quickly, but still linger in the kitchen for a long while, chatting and swapping stories and fashion tips. Turns out Danny’s host siblings are friends with Ann and Ryuji.

Maybe this whole thing won’t be so bad.

[punkbutsoft]

I’ve started to teach kids to knit 🧶.

Sorry if format is weird, I’m typing this on my phone.

So, context; I work at a Daycare that provides Before and After School programing. Basically from 6:30 am to 9:00 am and than from 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm there are children at the Daycare.

On Snow days and P.A. Days however, parents still work so the kids come to us and we take care of them until parents get off work.

The older kids at the building (9-12 years) were learning how to finger knit, which is something I don’t know how to do.

So, some of the kids (6-7 years) in my class, asked to learn, I told them I don’t know how but, I can show them how to knit with needles instead.

I didn’t really think the kids would remember but, I still brought my knitting supplies. Wouldn’t you know it but;

A brother and sister learned and then brought it home as a family activity

One of my most aggressive kids finds it very calming, he now has a scarf of his own

And 2 girls share a knitting project going back and forth working on it when the others hands get tired

In total 15 have at least tried to knit and 7/15 kids love to knit with me in the morning and afternoon. And 6/15 of those kids aren’t from my class. They saw the 6-7 year olds knitting, wanted to try, and some of them really like it.

They also have the greatest reasons to knit as well! Here’s a list of reasons to learn how to knit, as told to me for children aged 6-12:

I wanted to knit my grandma something b/c she made me something

B/c my sister/brother is learning

B/c you’re teaching

I want my own scarf

I want to make myself a blanket

I want to make my sister a blanket for her stuffie

B/c you make it look fun

So I can make my own clothes

I love being working with kids man 💜

[fancoloredglasses]

[RERUN] Gargoyles (Gettin’ medieval for the kids)

[All images are owned by Disney. Please don’t sue me]

(Thanks to Jan Schmelter)

(If you would like to see the wall of text that was the original review, you may do so here)

In the 90s, before there were a ton of cable stations devoted to cartoons and kids’ fare (The Disney Channel and Nickelodeon were it) and you could still watch a ton of cartoons between the time that kids would be coming home from school and the time parents came home from work (every TV station not affiliated with the “Big Three” (Fox was not yet the major network it is now, and its stations were often regarded as “independents” that happened to have Fox programming a few nights a week) had this format in the afternoon)

(Thanks to DuckTales Wiki)

In 1990, Disney decided to get in on this action with The Disney Afternoon, a two-hour block of cartoons using series previously aired on the Disney Channel, with such well-regarded shows as Duck Tales, Chip & Dale’s Rescue Rangers, Darkwing Duck, TaleSpin, and Goof Troop.

Then in 1994, Disney took a serious risk with its block. Instead of the kid-friendly mild adventure (and outright comedy) reruns, they premiered a show with a much darker (though still kid-friendly) tone that included characters being wounded and (gasp) killed! Needless to say, this got the immediate attention of my college-age friends and myself!

The cartoon is about a group of gargoyles (hence the series’s title) from the 10th century who, despite a symbiotic relationship with Celtic nobility (they defended the nobles’ castle at night and the humans protected them during the day when they were stone and helpless), were feared and shunned by the very humans they helped protect (almost sounds like a metaphor for racial tensions, much like the mutants in X-Men)

The clan of Gargoyles (well, the ones who the series centers on) consists of 7 warriors

...led by Goliath, the only one of them with a name (voiced by Kieth David who went on to voice Captain Anderson in the Mass Effect video game franchise)

...along with his mate (voiced by Marina Sirtis…we’ll get to her in a moment)

...his mentor (voiced by Ed Asner, who played Lou Grant on The Mary Tyler Moore Show)

...three younger warriors

...and a gargoyle-dog (dog-goyle?)

There are others, but as you’ll see they’re not that important.

When their main ally among the humans betrayed them, (though, to be fair, he was actually betraying the nobles. He assumed the invaders would leave the gargoyles alone after they won. WRONG! The invaders smashed the majority of the gargoyles while they were stone, killing them in a way that was technically kid-friendly) and the nobles blamed them for their defeat (Why? The invaders attacked during the day!) The court mage (who is known as the Magus) cursed the gargoyles to remain stone forever “until the castle rises above the clouds”. What dicks!

Fortunately, the nobles realized who really betrayed them, but unfortunately the mage could not undo the spell, so they took it upon themselves to care for the unborn gargoyle eggs as they fled (This will become important later)

Fast forward about a thousand years, when billionaire industrialist David Xanatos (voiced by Jonathan Frakes…I swear I will address this!) has the castle carefully taken down and reconstructed (making sure to use every piece) atop his skyscraper. Sure enough, this meets the conditions of the spell and the gargoyles awaken at dusk. Goliath discovers his mate was not demolished by the invaders, but was somehow still alive (after a millennium? Given Goliath’s mentor is old, they are obviously not immortal!) and told Xanatos about the spell.

As thanks, Goliath agrees to work with Xanatos, until it’s obvious that Xanatos isn’t exactly on the side of the angels.

Nor, apparently, is Goliath’s mate, who had grown more cold and ruthless (and has developed a hatred of humans) in the past thousand years (again, how? I mean, it is sorta-kinda explained in later episodes, but for now it’s a mystery). Eventually, the pair turn on the gargoyles.

(Thanks to Tooth)

About this time, Goliath meets...

...(and accidentally nearly kills) an NYPD detective named Elisa Maza.

Elisa becomes a fierce ally to the Gargoyles, eventually helping them find a new home since living over Xanatos’s roof could be hazardous to their health (and sorta-kinda becoming a mate to Goliath? Well, at least a romantic interest in a “will they/won’t they/is the biology even possible?!” kind of way)

Elisa is also inadvertently responsible for naming the rest if the Gargoyles. When she asked Goliath’s mentor what his name was, he was exasperated that humans needed to name everything, and asked if a nearby river had a name too. She replied it was the Hudson. He then threw his hands up and declared that he, too, might as well be called the Hudson, which led to the rest of the clan to choose their own names...

(Thanks to Chris bentley)

OK, time to address the Enterprise in the room. A lot of actors affiliated with Star Trek gave their voices to the series (the fact that Sirtis and Frakes played villains when so many associated them with the crew of the Enterprise-D was surreal at the very least) Every chapter in the Trek mythos to date was represented, with TNG being the most heavy.

(Brent Spiner voiced the fae known as Puck

…and LaVar Burton voiced a spider god), though there were voice actors from...

the original series (Nichelle Nichols voiced Elisa’s mother)

Deep Space Nine (Michael Dorn voiced an undead cyborg gargoyle (yes, the series had some weird characters) known as Coldstone)

Voyager (Kate Mulgrew played Xanatos’s lover’s mother,

...as well as Queen Titania of the fae)

…and even the movies! (Paul Winfield, who played the captain of the USS Reliant in Star Trek II, played a recurring role as blind man who befriends Hudson)

The show’s creator has said that, while he did cast Sirtis and Frakes for the roles, it was not originally his intent to fill the series with voices to please the Trekkies, but he did seem to favor Trek actors more as new characters were written.

Many sci-fi and (urban) fantasy tropes were visited, including time travel (again with the time-travel…however, I like how the series handled the concept: you aren’t altering the past by going back in time, events in the past happened as they did because your present self traveled to the past!)

The series was very well-written, especially for its time (X-Men showed that younger audiences could handle more mature content and could follow a continuing storyline…plus a series written as such could draw in an older demographic that could afford all the merchandising)

As always, let me know if there are any episodes you would like reviewed.

[nanowrimo]

Writing Tips for Every Age and Mental State

Not every piece of writing advice will apply to you —  and that’s okay! Sometimes, your writing strategies will change as you go through life or learn more about yourself. NaNo Participant Clara Ward shares writing advice that they've learned over time.

There’s no right way to write. Writing—like life—is about finding your best fit. What follows are tricks that worked for me. Please borrow what works best for you right now. (Then save a few ideas for future you!)

I wrote my first novel four decades ago, when I was thirteen. I’ve written while juggling three jobs or zero. I’ve written as a kid, a parent, and an empty-nester. I’ve learned from my own neurodiversity and mental health challenges along the way.

Each struggle taught me how to customize my writing practice. Here’s a list of what worked for me at different stages. Adapt as you see fit.

Stage 1: Meet Yourself Where You’re At

Outline - For my first novel, I sketched furtive notes on the back pages of a school notebook. I created headings for each page that became section or chapter titles later. Numbers helped me order the scenes and letters delineated details.

Note: Leave extra space for fun facts or snippets of overheard dialog. Years later, I heard a NaNoWriMo buddy joke, “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel.” My apologies to my high school geometry teacher, who received no such warning.

Avoid Distractions - I needed a closed door to write at first. I couldn’t read other fiction during the week or two when I frantically converted my outline into a rough draft. Luckily, I wasn’t in charge of meals back then!

Stage 2: Find Your People

Give Yourself Permission - I first heard about NaNoWriMo in 2004, when I was parenting, working, and volunteering as if there were two extra days in each week. I hadn’t written a story, an outline, or notes in over a year, but I knew exactly what I wanted to write. I signed up for NaNoWriMo and opened a family meeting by showing the webpage to my spouse and kids. I explained how I’d budget four hours a week for writing in November.

Note: I didn’t complete 50,000 words that first November. But the next year, my kids enthusiastically joined the Young Writers Program!

Enlist Support - Eventually, my kids and I designated one hour each day for writing. There were many distractions, but it felt great! We attended NaNoWriMo write-ins at a donut shop to build community, and my kids each persuaded a friend to join. (Yes, donuts are a sometimes food, but at least they weren’t asking for coffee!). With support and determination—and for me, a bit of sleep debt—we all met our writing goals most years!

Stage 3: Embrace Your True Strengths

Emotion Mapping - In the last couple decades, as attitudes and terminology evolved, I’ve learned a lot about my own neurodivergence and mental health. Oddly enough, the self-knowledge I gained by masking and compensating before I knew those words, informed both my writing and the tips given above. As I became more honest with myself, I brought more emotion to my writing.

Note: Sometimes it helps to skip scenes I’m not in a good headspace to write. I jot down key plot and character points inside curly brackets and skip to a scene that suits my current feelings. Since I don’t used curly brackets anywhere else in my writing, they’re easy to search for when I’m ready to go back.

Fascinations - After years of being warned about “info dumps,” I realized that my own fascinations (neurodivergent or otherwise) were assets that could serve my writing. At the beginning of 2020 I did a deep dive into researching sea creatures and ways to protect our oceans. At the back of my research notebook, I gradually outlined my 2020 NaNoWriMo Novel, Be the Sea. Parts of that outline cross-referenced pages of ocean research or articles I’d saved online.

Note: The system above worked well enough for me that I now have a book deal for Be the Sea, which will be published by Atthis Arts in early 2024!

Seriously though, this isn’t a post about how to get published on a 40-year plan. By matching your writing practices to your ever-changing self, you give all your stories the chance to be told. I wish you and your stories that success!

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, The Arcanist, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. Clara’s 2020 NaNoWriMo novel, Be the Sea, will be available from Atthis Arts in early 2024. For updates on this and other projects, follow Clara on their website. Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva from Pexels

[jellybeanium124]

pathetic vent post lol

so the thursday before last, one of my coworkers told me she's quitting bc she got a job in the field she wants to have a career in. I was happy for her and told her so, but I also felt kind of sad, because she's a woman close in age to me and I've been thinking we could be friends if I wasn't technically her boss for a little while now. so finally near the end of our shifts (we were closing) I buck up and ask if her she'd want to exchange contact info and stay in touch and hang out after she left.

and y'all she looked so happy and excited to be asked that. absolutely 0 hints that her delighted response wasn't genuine. so she puts her number in my phone, and even takes a silly picture for the contact pic, and I send a test text and she responds to confirm it's her correct number.

on monday I text her about hanging out later in the week, with ideas. on tuesday I text her again, with new ideas if she didn't like my first ones. I didn't mean to double text two days in a row.

nothing.

I wait till yesterday and send her one last text, explaining that I really do wanna be friends, I am more chill outside of work and she's only seen Work Nina if that's what she's worried about, but that I don't wanna bother her.

it's been over 24 hours now, and nothing. part of me wonders if she changed her mind and blocked my number.

it's just really disheartening because I've had another person string me along and then not respond/continually cancel on me pretty recently. after my college friend group broke up thanks to the serial sexual predator (which is a whole nother story, dw he didn't do anything to me, in fact he refused to talk to me the first time we met when I introduced myself and tried to make polite small talk, and I realized several months later that he didn't engage with me at all because he didn't wanna fuck me 🙃) things have been kind of dire in the irl friends department and it's sad and pathetic and I thought finally here was a girl I really connected with, and she liked gossiping with me at work, and she seemed really really excited at the possibility of being real friends with me, and then nope... not a single response to any of my texts. zip nada zilch.

it's just hard... I was basically socially rejected by everyone in my film program at my uni, then I finally started to make friends at the jewish club and a serial predator with an apartment full of guns who sells stolen lego sets on ebay and does cocaine ruins that, and then I'm at work and now that I'm a manager I'm the boss of most people there and I wouldn't be close friends with most of them anyways and the one girl who I think I could be really close friends with fucking ghosts me after I was brave enough to ask if she'd wanna be friends. it's been like five straight years of rejection for me. I always had friends in k-12, I wasn't a "popular kid" but I was well liked among the venn diagram of gays, nerds, theater kids, and band kids and I had a lot of friends in high school. I don't fucking know what happened. and now I'm on meds that are finally giving me energy and happy chemicals so I wanna go out, I wanna do stuff, I wanna walk around, and I don't wanna be an apartment slug anymore but I don't have anyone to do anything with and there's only so much fun you can have by yourself. and I'm still too shy to go to a bar alone because I know I'll stand in the corner paralyzed by social anxiety. I'm trying bumble bff rn but I'm so shit at responding to people and I kinda hate myself for it and I'm trying to do better but I keep not responding to people for too long and yeah maybe my ex-coworker is stuck in that cycle too idk.

oh yeah and the whole past year of antisemitism makes everything worse because I'm deeply realistically afraid that any goyim I meet are going to be hateful hamasniks <3 so that's a fun lil bonus.

jesus man... idfk. it's just shitty. it's just fucking shitty.