#since the only job site that got back to me was one that lied about the kind of job ot offered

[tea-with-eleni]

Well.... I was working on a cover letter for an astronomy science center. 

So. Thanks, Stolas? 

[babyhatesreality]

Hey!!! I loved your lates fic here

But I’m not sure how to think about Steve.

Would he still give her time out bc he thinks she is lying about something daddy said when she is telling the truth?

Imagine she gets in a little argument with another little one and the other one is telling her Papa that she said something mean/ a no no word. Would he believe his little one? Bc I don’t think so ☹️

AAAHHHHH I HAVE HAD THIS IDEA IN MY HEAD SINCE DAY ONE SO THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME THE CHANCE TO WRITE IT!!! <3

Listen to your Little

Pairing: Daddy! Stucky x little f!reader

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, reader is named but name scarcely used, pet names, language, anxiety, mentions of past emotional upheaval, someone tells lies, mistrust, baby gets unfairly punished, mean Papa, mean Daddy, angst, fluffity fluff fluff fluff, everything gets worked out in the end because I always need a happy ending.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. 

A/N- this takes place about 2 weeks after you've moved in with Stucky, when you're still- unbeknowst to you- in your probationary period with SHIELD.

You were excited- and nervous- but mostly excited! It was your first play date with Wanda and Pietro since moving in with your daddies. You'd all met before of course, at the big welcome-to-the-family party, and gotten along famously. But this was the first time you were going over to Aunt Natasha's and Uncle Bruce's apartment to play. You and Wanda had bonded over your mutual love of Care Bears and My Little Ponies, and you were super excited to see her collection and play ponies again. You were nervous about Pietro, though. He wasn't exactly mean to you, but he didn't like that Wanda paid more attention to you than to him when you both were together. He also didn't like that you and Peter got so close, so quickly.

"C'mon, none of that now," Bucky said gently, pulling your fingers out of your mouth as he bounced you in his arms. The three of you were making your way to the elevator to go to the Banner/Romanoff floor. Bucky had noticed that you were a little hesitant when you'd left the apartment, so he had immediately scooped you up to snuggle you on the way. You had started chewing on your fingers, a sign that he'd only recently learned meant that you were feeling distress. "I don't want you to bite your fingers off. That's MY job," he teased, before pretending to eat your fingers playfully. You squealed and giggled for a moment, but eventually laid your head on his shoulder with a tiny sigh.

"What's the matter, Lovebug?" Steve asked, leaning into your view point and rubbing your back soothingly. "Are you feeling okay?" He looked around as they stepped into the elevator. He knew that SHIELD was watching their every move, and if something was wrong with you, by god he was going to figure it out in a heartbeat. He kept patting you, but you didn't speak until the doors to the elevator had closed.

"What if....what if dey don't like me?" you said, just loud enough for them to hear it.

"Wanda and Pietro?" Steve asked in surprise. "They already like you, angel. Remember how you and Wanda were playing that you were the little ponies just two nights ago?"

"MY little ponies," you corrected, your head popping up to make sure your Papa understood the very important difference in wording. He smiled.

"Sorry, MY little ponies," he said, booping you on the nose. "You two had so much fun that you fell asleep before you could finish telling us all about it, remember?" He and Bucky shared a private smirk; that had been the night they had discovered that letting you tell your own stories at bedtime was a bad idea. You had literally not stopped talking during your bath, pajamas, and being tucked into their bed. They found it so cute that they couldn't bear to stop you, but you'd continued for a good hour past bedtime until your exhausted body overcame your brain and you'd fallen asleep mid-sentence.

That hadn't gone over terribly well with the review board. They understood that Steve and Bucky hadn't wanted to stifle you, but they were concerned that not adhering to a strict schedule, no matter what, might set a bad precedent. From then on, Steve and Bucky had been fastidious about your bedtime routine. They weren't risking anything that could potentially 'set a bad precedent' and get you taken away from them.

You didn't know any of that of course- all you knew was that you were feeing a little anxious about the visit. When you didn't answer Steve right away, he continued trying to help you through this. "Tell you what, Katie Cat," he said, grinning when you smiled softly at the special nickname. "If you feel icky, or if something is bothering you, you can tell me or Daddy, and we'll all come back home. Okay?"

"Don't wanna spoil your fun..." you mumbled into Bucky's shoulder. Bucky and Steve locked eyes for a moment. They had prepared for things like this. In all of the time the three of you had spent together before this, you'd been very honest about your issues with abandonment and self-worth, and how it all tied into your need to regress. You were scared to death to do anything that might make your new and already-beloved daddies mad or upset, no matter how little it seemed.

"Baby, this time is for you, okay?" Steve said reassuringly. "We just want you to have fun with your new little friends. Daddy and I see Aunt Natasha and Uncle Bruce all the time, so if you need to leave, you're not spoiling anything. Everyone will understand, and no one will be mad. Okay?"

"Otay," you whispered back, a shy smile on your face. Bucky pressed a kiss into your hair.

"That's our girl," he said, nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek. "Do you want a paci so you don't chew on your fingers again?"

You shook your head. "No, tank you," you said politely, making them both melt. "Gonna be a big girl." You leaned back and looked at Bucky, tilting your head. If you were gonna be a big girl, you really should be walking by yourself...."Big girl later," you decided, then nuzzled back into the safety of Daddy's shoulder, making him chuckle.

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

An hour later, you wondered what on earth you'd been nervous about. Wanda, Pietro, and you were currently playing the most fabulous game of Chutes and Ladders ever. The three of you had started the playdate with exploring their playroom. You were in absolute awe of the colorful and joyous chaos, and they had delighted in showing you everything. Then came the games. You hadn't played such a raucous, noisy version of Chutes and Ladders in so long and it was a blast. You were also apparently really good at it, as you placed your token on the winning block for the second time in a row.

"Wow! You are SO good at this game, Katie!" Wanda cheered, leaning over to give you a high five. "Here, high five Buttons now," she instructed, holding up her favorite teddy. You giggled and gently high fived his paw, making her laugh.

"That's not fair, that you won two games in a row," Pietro interjected suddenly into your joy. You quickly dropped your hand, feeling awkward. Pietro had been fine, if not a little quiet, when you won the first time, but it seemed like two times was his limit. You started feeling that little prickle of anxiety that you had when you were coming here.

"You're just jealous that she won and you LOST," Wanda said, sticking her tongue out. Pietro jumped up, enraged at his sister.

"I'm gonna tell Mommy that you stuck your tongue out!" he announced triumphantly.

"Then I'M gonna tell her that you're being mean to us and you'll get a time out," Wanda shot back, glaring at her brother. Pietro scowled at her, but sat back down.

"We're gonna play again and this time I'M gonna win," he grumbled.

"We don't hafta play dis game," you said hesitantly. "We can play something else. Whachu wanna play?" You bit your lip- you didn't want to lose your new friends on your very first playdate.

"This and I'm gonna win," he declared. You exchanged a quick look with Wanda, who shrugged and put her piece back at the starting block. Not wanting to rock the boat anymore than you accidentally already had, you quietly put your piece back at the beginning too.

You subtly tried to flick the spinner so you'd land on the lower numbers, but Wanda caught on immediately. "No, you gotta do it right. I want you to win again!" she said, making you retake your turn. You sighed and flicked, and of course, landed on a square that gave you a huge ladder up.

"You cheated!" Pietro said, pointing at Wanda after he realized how far ahead this made you in the game. "You made her go again and that's cheating!"

"Nuh-uh!" Wanda said hotly. "You're trying to cheat 'cause you wanna win."

"You're a big ol' dumbbell!" Pietro yelled at her. Your anxiety suddenly turned to anger at his exclamation. You knew that name calling was absolutely not allowed from any of you. On top of that, Pietro was just being mean. No one messed with your friends!

"Please stop being mean," you said, pushing yourself up to stand on your knees. You weren't quite brave enough to stand all the way up, but you definitely couldn't stay seated when your friend was being called names. Pietro's eyes narrowed at you menacingly.

"What did you say?" he said, almost daring you to say it again.

"I said please stop being mean!" you said, louder than you intended. Before you could even take a breath, Pietro zoomed out of the room. You looked at Wanda, startled. "Wha' happened?" you asked nervously. You knew that the twins weren't supposed to use their powers when they weren't on missions, so something bad obviously just happened for him to break the rules like that.

Just then, you heard loud steps pounding down the hallway. "Kaitlyn!" Papa scolded loudly as he came around the corner and into the room. You hadn't heard that tone from him before. You sat back down in shock, staring at him with wide eyes. What did you do for him to use your full name like that? "Pietro said that you were calling him names," he accused you, his hands on his hips and fire in his eyes.

"Wh-wha'? No, I didn't," you stammered, your mind spinning as you tried to figure out what was happening.

"No, Uncle Steve, she-" Wanda piped up. But Steve held up a hand to her.

"Not now, sweetie," he said, his tone just a touch softer, before he turned his glare back to you. You felt yourself shrinking down, feeling even littler than normal. "What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?" Steve scolded, his blue eyes narrowing at you.

"Papa, I didn' say nuffin' bad-"

"You know better than to call names, little girl," he said, almost as if you hadn't spoken. "There is no excuse for that kind of behavior. You don't treat your friends like that, and you don't call names, EVER."

"But-"

"But nothing. Come here, right now," he said, pointing to his feet. Scared to death, you shut your mouth and scrambled to get up and stand at his feet. "You're getting a time out," Steve said angrily, putting his hand on your back and ushering you out of the playroom.

You desperately wanted a chance to defend yourself, to ask why Papa believed that you would be so naughty. You looked up at him and inhaled as if to speak, but he immediately pointed a finger in your face. "Hush," he scolded. "Not one word." You obediently shut your mouth and tried to keep the tears from falling.

Steve led you to an empty corner in the dining room where he, Bucky, and Natasha had been sitting and chatting. Natasha and Bucky were nowhere to be seen, though. Steve made sure your nose was firmly in the corner before sitting down in the chair closest to you. "Now you think about what you've done, and when your time out it over, you're going to apologize to Pietro." It took everything within you not to make a sound or turn around at this injustice, but the fear of making Papa even angrier kept you in your place. You knew that you were not to move or make a sound in time out unless you wanted a longer one, so you kept yourself still.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching. "Oh no," Bucky said when he saw you. "What did she do?" he asked Steve. You could hear the touch of steel in his tone, making you even more frightened.

"She called Pietro a name while they were playing their game," Steve responded, his own voice still tight with anger. "I let her know that is completely unacceptable, and she'll be apologizing when it's all over."

"Name calling?" Bucky said incredulously. He knew you had a mischievous streak a mile wide, but you had never been anything other than sweet and playful. He would never have thought you capable of that in a million years. His mind was blown at his sweet little angel being that mean.

"Apparently, they were playing a game, and when Pietro said something about wanting to win this round, she called him a 'dumb meanie-head'."

"What?!" Bucky yelled as you trembled in the corner. "Oh, she's writing lines tonight too. We are NOT letting her get away with this kind of behavior." Your insides quaked- now they were both against you and you hadn't even done anything.

"Hang on," Aunt Natasha said suddenly. "What exactly did Pietro say?" she questioned her oldest friend.

"He sped in here very upset-"

"He used his powers?"

"Yes. I don't think he meant to be bad, he was just worked up," Steve explained. You tensed up in the corner at Papa making excuses for Pietro, but still not defending you. Unbeknownst to you, Natasha noticed.

"Hmmm," she said, pressing her lips together as she thought. "Just out of curiosity, did Wanda say anything?" You couldn't see it from your viewpoint of the two walls, but the rest of the room saw Steve blush, slightly.

"Well, she tried to say something, but I...didn't let her," he said, a tad bit sheepishly. "I didn't want her to try to lie to get Katie out of trouble. We...can't take any chances right now. We need to make sure that we're...providing a healthy environment with boundaries and rules. We're not taking any chances. Not with our little girl."

Natasha knew exactly what Steve meant and that his heart was in the right place, but she also realized that you didn't fully understand all the larger implications at play here. And she knew her twins well enough to know that there was probably a lot more to the story.

"I hear you," Natasha said. "And I understand. But...just indulge me for a moment." She waited to get the nod from both Steve and Bucky before calling down the hallway. "Wanda? Pietro? Come into the dining room, please."

You tried your hardest not to fidget, but this was the worst. Your new friend and your now-mortal enemy were going to see you in trouble, and that was so embarrassing you started to silently cry again, biting down on your lip to not make a sound. You heard two pairs of feet shuffle in, but then the silence was shattered by your defender.

"No, that's not fair!" Wanda shrieked, pointing at you still stuck in the corner. "Katie didn't even do anything!!" At that, the room exploded into accusations and soothing words and frustration and anxiety, until finally Natasha made herself heard over everyone.

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" she shouted everyone down. "Wanda, tell me what happened." Pietro made a sound of indignation, but was quickly silenced. "You'll get your chance, Pietro. But Wanda is going first."

Much to your relief, Wanda quickly told the story of what actually happened, emphasizing that you had NOT called Pietro a name- you'd simply said that he was being mean. "Which he WAS," she finished sulkily, glaring at him.

A horrible, sinking feeling was settling into the pit of Steve's stomach. "Pietro, you told me that she called you a dumb meanie-head," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking at the amount of damage he might have just done.

"It's what she MEANT," Pietro replied hotly after stammering for a moment, caught in his lie.

"NO IT'S NOT!" Wanda shrieked, outraged on your behalf. Pietro immediately started yelling back. Natasha quickly broke the argument up as Steve and Bucky both spun towards you.

"Oh my god, angel, I am so sorry," Steve said, his eyes brimming with tears. When you didn't make a move, his heart stopped for a second before he realized- he hadn't given you permission to leave the corner yet. You were being his good little girl, as always. "Lovebug, please come out of the corner. You should never have been in there and Papa is so very sorry."

You turned to him but couldn't look him in the eye. You didn't want him to see the tears that were still streaming down your face. But there was no way that he could have missed them. In an instant, he was crushing you to his chest, dropping kiss after kiss on top of your head in between apology after apology. "I am so sorry I didn't give you a chance to tell your side of the story, baby. Papa was very, very naughty today."

Bucky reached out and rubbed the parts of your back that he could touch, as you were still firmly held in Steve's arms. "And I'm sorry too, that I just jumped to conclusions," Bucky apologized as well. As someone who'd lost his own voice for years, he felt doubly guilty at taking away yours. "I will never do that again baby, I promise. Okay?" He moved in a little closer, exchanging a worried look with Steve when you didn't answer. "Angel?" he said softly. "Can you talk to me and Papa please?"

You finally turned your tear-stained face up to Steve. "I wann'ed to be a good girl today," you finally sobbed out. "Was I bad?" You were still too little to fully understand everything that had happened, but you were feeling some awful big feels.

"No Angel, you weren't bad at all," Steve said, feeling lower than shit. "You were very good to try to stand up for your friend, and I'm very very sorry that I didn't listen when you tried to tell me what happened. You are my good baby and you always will be." Steve expected you to yank yourself out of his arms and his life forever for his colossal fuck up, but the exact opposite happened instead.

You threw your arms around his neck and squeezed as hard as you could. You were so relieved that you hadn't been bad, and that things seemed to be getting back to normal, that all you could do was hold on to your Papa for dear life.

Natasha had let Pietro have his say while you and your daddies had been making up, but once he realized he was caught, he begrudgingly admitted that he had lied. He said that he'd been mad that he hadn't won and waited until Natasha wasn't near Uncle Steve to tattle. Natasha sent Pietro to his room promptly with the promise of a "long talk tonight with me and Daddy". She let Wanda worm her way into Steve's arms to hug you too. Wanda declared you the forever winner of Chutes and Ladders.

Steve and Bucky were both looking at Natasha, panic screaming in their eyes. What on earth was the board going to do with this? Would this be enough for them to take you away from them? However, Natasha smiled. "I got this," she said lovingly to her friends. She knew exactly how to manage this one with that damn board....

Later that night, Steve and Bucky each presented you with a piece of paper, in which they both had written "I will listen to my little girl" one hundred times each. Steve did two hundred, out of sheer guilt for putting you in time out on top of everything else. Your giggle at their self-induced punishments and the subsequent snuggle session started to make everything look a lot brighter.

The next morning, you were back to your normal happy-go-lucky self, thrilled with being babysat by Kate for the day. You had given your daddies big hugs and kisses before they left, promising to be good. Steve and Bucky, still feeling the residual pangs of guilt, made their way to their only meeting of the day, but one that they were very much ready for.

Natasha smiled as they closed the conference room door behind them. "Welcome gentlemen," she said, slightly teasing as they both took their seats sheepishly. "Welcome to 'Listening to your Little, 101'."

[maleficore]

I don’t even go here but your replies to deepdragons were so needlessly hostile.

“If you found it so disrespectful then why didn’t you block me?” This is childish and hypocritical. If you found their take so bad, why did you go out of your way to go to their blog, find the post, and then argue with them? Why didn’t YOU block them first so you wouldn’t have to see their takes? Why do people need to block you, to actively prevent you from interacting with them entirely, for you to not be rude to them?

People will have shitty takes and you will not agree with every post you see — that’s the nature of fandom. You can’t control how other people post or think and that’s annoying, I get it, but YOU can control how you interact with others. The way you were speaking to that person was so needlessly rude and hostile. Is that how you speak to people in real life? I’m so curious as to what your goal was in talking to them like that. Surely it wasn’t to convince any one of anything. Who would want to agree with someone being so dickish and annoying about something as inconsequential as the politics of elven aging? So, what was all of that for? Did that make you happy or have you just riled yourself up? Do you feel like you accomplished something by speaking to someone like that?

I really hate when people tear others apart for being wrong about fandom things. If you were wrong about something, do you think you would appreciate someone talking to you in the way you spoke to deepdragons? Or would you rather they approach you with respect and understanding? Golden rule and all that, yeah?

You did not have to seek them out and you did not have to engage with them. Next time, either speak to others with respect or just make your own goddamn post. Not everything needs to be a debate.

I also find it funny how you were coming at them for not being faithful for the lore or whatever and then, when someone with more textual evidence than you rebutted your statements and called for you to back up your claims, you were like “I can’t be expected to cite all of my claims like an academic paper!!” Fucking lol. The onus of proof lies only with the people you disagree with, huh?

Have you seen the original post? I'm guessing not because then you'd know that my reply pretty much mirrored the exact condescending tone used by the OP. I also didn't "go out of my way" to do anything. I've said so before and I'll repeat it again: I got an error while reblogging the OG post, went to check the person's blog for what's up with that and the first thing I saw was them calling people stupid for pointing out that They're Not Correct. I already had the post written at that point and I simply copied it from one tab to another. This is the internet, you post something publicly people can and will interact with it unless you stop them. I didn't block the OP because at the time I did not give a shit if they interacted with me or not, I was just setting straight misinfo I see regurgitated over and over again to the point I'm sick of it. Because of the attitude they displayed I was actually fully expecting to get blocked straight away myself.

I'm not actually a dick unless someone annoys me into it. Because sometimes people get annoyed and they're rude, that's just how people work. But I guess you know that? Since you're annoyed at me and wrote a whole essay trying to make me feel bad?

And just to finish this off.. none of my statements were rebutted. I got lore dumped on and half of it wasn't even interpreted correctly from the linked books. Yes, I don't need to cite like it's an academic paper because all the goddamn info needed was already in my first post. Astarion was not a child because he was a grown ass man with a government job. There's no basis for "Ascended Vampires can't love" because Larian homebrews their vampires so the written lore doesn't apply. That's literally it. People on this site just can't fucking read.

[she-karev]

Reuniting with Andrew (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev's Sister Angst)

Previous Chapter Here

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Two of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy/Station 19

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 16 Episode 19/Season 3 Episode 15

Summary: Amber continues to connect with Wren while Alex gives Andrew a special welcome back. Later she finds out that Jackson was shot while working the PRT. That night she gets a surprise visit at Jackson’s penthouse.

Words: 3441

The pit is less crowded than it was before with 12 of the beds occupied by first responders including Wren. Amber inhales to keep her emotions under control before going to Wren’s bed where she is still waiting for her cast.

“Hey sorry I was gone for so long I had an unexpected collision but I am here now and ready to put your cast on.”

Wren gives a knowing grin, “I remember where I know you from, it took a while but I figured it out while you were gone.” Amber looks interested while taking the supplies out, “The Outlier last week.”

Amber takes a moment before recollecting, “Ah! I remember that was the guy who choked on the steak frites. PRT was in the neighborhood and I had to do an emergency tracheotomy on site.”

“Yes!” Wren smiles, “My team arrived five minutes later, I was the driver but I saw you in the rear-view mirror throwing your gloves away like it was a normal day and you didn’t cut a guy’s throat open at a restaurant. I can’t believe how normal you acted after.”

Amber grins proudly, “Well you know I do tracheotomy’s here in a sterile room it only feels slightly weird when there’s a waiter next to you asking if a customer would like a drink. Plus, I got pretty used to operating inside a truck next to fires so this was just a walk in the park. Okay this is the part where you hate me, we gotta reset the wrist.”

Wren inhales and sits up, “Let’s get this over with.” Amber positions them to reset the wrist. Amber grasps the broken bone and counts to three before quickly snapping it in place causing Wren to groan in pain.

“I told you; you would hate me. The hard part is over now comes the fun part, putting your cast on.” Amber pulls out a sock for the first layer, “So the tracheotomy was fine by your standards as a paramedic?”

“Hell yeah, you handled that like a boss. The doctor at Seattle Pres told us you pretty much took care of half the work for them.”

Amber snorts as she puts the sock over the arm, “It wouldn’t be different from any other day doing their work for them. Don’t tell them I said that you know how fragile doctors egos can be, I’m speaking as one.”

Wren groans, “I know, I keep saying it’s a real coincidence their closed to trauma during a storm or a blizzard or a full moon.”

Amber chuckles, “Lucky were not a superstitious bunch then. Okay I’m gonna apply the gauze next you shouldn’t feel a thing.”

Wren lies still as she holds her injured arm out for Amber to wrap the gauze around, “So what was the collision?”

“Huh?”

“You said you had an unexpected collision that caused you to be late, was it a surgery or something?”

Amber groans under her breath, “Or something.” Amber looks up and sees Wren giving a ‘tell me more’ look. Normally she would resist telling a stranger about her relationship problems but for some reason she feels safe enough to talk to Wren. Maybe it’s because for the first time in weeks she made her feel good about herself unlike Andrew who made her feel like crap. Plus it doesn’t hurt that Wren looks beautiful even covered in soot. Amber clears her throat to start, “I ran into my ex-boyfriend while he was visiting. It was the first time I’ve seen him since he had a mental breakdown, lashed out at me, quit his job here and left without so much as a call back.”

Wren winces from that story instead of the fracture, “Ouch and how did you react?”

“I told him I wasn’t gonna be around for him to use as a verbal punching bag and that if he came to his senses not to come crawling back to me. It’s safe to say I made an impressive scene.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Amber rolls another layer of gauze around the arm, “I’ve had some pretty bad relationships myself, not crazy like yours but ones that left me with a bruised heart. It sucks.”

“It really does especially when you bought an apartment together and he kicked you out.”

“Damn and it gets worse. Are you staying with someone?”

“My friend, he has a penthouse with more than enough room and thick walls so I can cry my eyes out. And I don’t care that he gets the apartment he could burn it down for all I care and he could be inside and I’m pretty sure I would jump in joy. Nope forward march.”

Wren grins, “That is very admirable, most people would be a mess for weeks after that disaster rollercoaster.”

Amber takes out the red fiberglass, “Well I’m not most people.”

“I can tell and I can also tell that guy is the biggest idiot in the world to let a strong, smart and badass woman like you go.” Amber looks at her touched by her compliment before taking the scissors out.

Meanwhile

Andrew DeLuca walks down the hall rubbing his eyes and feeling worse after what Amber said. He’s letting it get to him and letting it sink in that a woman he loved is so angry at him she doesn’t care how she hurts him as long as he is. It makes him feel guilty but he ignores it as he heads down the hall to the library to figure out what’s wrong with Richard. He feels someone tapping his shoulder. He turns around and is met with a hard punch to the face causing him to tumble down.

“What the hell!” He looks up and sees that the person who punched him is none other than Alex Karev who stares at him with more fury than he did the first night he assaulted him. Andrew quickly stands up and looks both afraid and angry at Alex’s reaction.

Alex inhales and exhales before simply saying, “That’s for my sister.” Alex turns around and walks away from DeLuca who only looks on in shock before snapping out of it and heading to his destination with a throbbing left eye.

Later

Amber snaps off the fiberglass and presents the red cast around Wren’s arm, “Voila!”

“Nice it looks cool; do you want to be the first to sign it?”

Amber chuckles takes out her sharpie, “Sure what do you want it to say?”

“Maybe a get well and maybe a phone number that’s real?” Amber looks at her startled and Wren catches on, “Oh god sorry that was way too forward. I just thought we had this connection while we were talking and I know you’re going through a rough time right now and I am not taking advantage of you I’m not. I just thought you could use a night where you don’t cry to death and maybe get a drink with a paramedic who thinks your super-hot and cool and should let you know that for once. And you can step in anytime to make me not look like a babbling fool.”

Amber grins, “Um…I can leave you my number on the cast and you can call me later once I’ve thought about it.”

Wren grins, “I will take that.” Amber smiles and writes her name and number on the cast unaware of Qadri and Casey looking interested from the station.

“How does she do that?” Qadri asks perplexed, “When I get dumped, I lie in bed for months with tubs of ice cream meanwhile she gets a hot first responder. I want a hot first responder.”

Casey snorts, “Me too.”

Amber walks to the station with a smile on her face getting scandalous looks from her friends causing her suspicion, “What?”

“Oh nothing.” Qadri answers with a grin, “We just can’t help but notice you getting cozy with that paramedic whose arm you patched up, who is she?”

“Her name is Wren and we were not getting cozy, I was just signing her cast.”

“With your phone number?” Amber turns to Casey who has a grin too, “Hey life is short and you deserve good things Karev I am not judging here. Let me know if she has a brother or sister.”

Qadri steps in, “Brother for me if you can or a cousin or rich, old uncle I don’t care.”

Amber chuckles, “Okay it was nothing she asked me out for drinks and I said I would think about it.”

“What is there to think about?” Dahlia asks, “She’s cute, she’s a first responder, she’s queer, ask her out.”

Amber groans at the simple explanation, “I am fresh out of a 2-year relationship that ended in an explosion that left me alone in my best friends’ apartment.”

Dahlia looks shameful, “Okay fair.”

Amber remembers something, “Speaking of which, where is Avery? He and Warren should’ve been here an hour ago with the guy who attacked that girl, Darcie.”

Schmitt hears her and goes to them with a remorseful face, “Um Dr. Warren called just now and told us that he lost a patient.”

“No big loss there after you tried to rape a girl.” Casey coldly states.

“Also, there was a possible GSW on the scene.”

Amber is so shocked she looks at him blankly and asks in a numb voice, “A what?”

Later

Amber gowns up and runs to the ambulance bay with Schmitt and Bailey to attend to the GSW brought in by the ambulance. Amber is hoping it’s a random patient and not the guy who is pretty much the reason she is still standing right now. Her fears come true however as she sees Jackson inside the ambulance on a gurney with gauze around his leg that is covered in blood.

“Avery? You're the GSW?”

Amber asks them in a frustrated tone, “What the hell happened?”

“It's an extremely long story.”

Jackson dismisses Ben’s comment, “It’s really not that long. Junkie held us up for drսgs and then shot me.”

“With a gun?” Schmitt asks in shock, causing Amber to glare at him for his idiocy.

“Yes, with a gun, Schmitt.” Amber growls under breath following Jackson to trauma one, “Okay, my tourniquet's been on like 20 minutes. Page Dr. Lincoln and Dr. Hunt it’s a through and through on the calf.”

“Get him to trauma one.” Amber is still angry at Jackson and tears at him while the paramedics wheel him in, “One day. I leave you alone for one day and you get shot! Are you trying to make me have a heart attack?!”

Jackson winces at the yelling and they enter the trauma room, “Your absolutely right Amber I should have thought twice before letting a junkie try and rob me before getting shot in the leg. How could I be so cruel to you?”

Amber gets angrier with his sarcasm, “Boy I am gonna kick your ass once you get that leg healed up.”

“As long as you don’t do it while we check his injuries.” Link tells her as he enters the room with Hunt, “What do we got?”

Amber stops and informs them, “GSW on the calf bullet went through. There was bleeding but a tourniquet was applied on the scene.”

Hunt looks at the injury, “No infection. Our O.R.’s are booked so we’re gonna debride in here.”

“My lucky day.” Jackson sarcastically says with Amber pinching the bridge of her nose still pissed at him.

Link catches on, “Hey Karev we got this how about you go out and take care of the pit and we’ll update you as soon as we can.”

“I’m not leaving.” Amber tells him with a frown, “I’ve barely made a dent in scolding this idiot.”

“Which is why you need to go.” Hunt points out sternly, “Now we need a quiet and calm space to work here and quite frankly you are the opposite right now so please leave.”

Amber inhales and exhales for a moment before pointing her finger at Jackson with a glare, “We’re not done talking about this.” Amber snaps off her gloves turning to the orthopedic and trauma surgeon, “Let me know when I can visit him post op.” Amber throws away her gown and gloves in a huff returning to the pit leaving Jackson behind who looks at Hunt and Link with a pleading face.

“Any chance you guys can sedate her before she visits me?” Hunt and Link grin and get ready to debride.

Later

After finally finishing her shift Amber was going to confront Jackson but decided to sleep on it with renewed energy for tomorrow. She walks down the hall to check on Dr. Webber and as she expected her brother Alex is at the station looking at his tablet in torment, no doubt anguished at seeing his teacher and friend in such a dwindling state. Amber sighs at the sight before approaching her oldest brother.

“Hey how’s it going on your end?”

Alex chuckles bitterly, “Oh just my boss and friend who was the main reason I evolved into a successful surgeon and decent human being from my first day as an arrogant intern coming back from the O.R. where his hallucinations almost caused him to slice open his own stomach with a scalpel. It’s just your regular Thursday.”

Despite his nonchalant tone Amber can tell that he is struggling the same way Meredith is but like her is trying to mask it. Meredith, Jo and Amber are the only people in the hospital who can see the pain behind his eyes and are the source of comforts he so clearly needs right now. Amber takes the initiative and puts her hand on his shoulder in a comforting notion.

“We’re gonna figure this out. It’s not a hope it’s a fact he’s got some of the brightest people in there working tooth and nail to get a damn diagnosis and fix him.”

Alex nods, “Yeah, I know. I just feel like I should be doing something, maybe I should’ve gotten into neuro or general then I would be useful.”

“Alex you’re a smart guy but you’re no Dr. House, there’s nothing you can do in this situation except be there for support. God knows he’s gonna need it.” Alex still looks tormented and Amber can guess where his head is at, “Nobody caught this until the conference. All of us thought he was depressed and the events of his life recently, strange behavior would be common. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

Alex sighs, “Jo gave me the same speech this morning, it didn’t work. I’ve known him for years and yeah stuff happened but he never reacted like this.” Alex’s face shifts to anger, “I wish I could yell at Catherine for leaving him and buying Pac North out of sheer spite. If that didn’t happen maybe we would question why he was deteriorating and catch this thing sooner before it caused him to make a scene in front of the whole medical community.”

“I don’t know if it’s good or bad you shifted from blaming yourself to blaming Catherine. We’re all frustrated Alex and yeah maybe if Catherine didn’t do those things, we wouldn’t be so quick to depression but what happened happened. All we can do is set the blame aside and help Webber, he needs that more than he needs you to point fingers.”

Alex looks at Amber in thought, “Look at you being the stable and wise sibling.”

Amber shrugs, “I have my moments like you, just like we both have moments of being volatile and punching certain residents in the middle of the hallway.”

“Do not expect me to apologize for that.” Alex quickly defends, “And don’t expect me to sit idle by while the guy who kicked my sister to the streets crying walks down the hall like he didn’t do anything wrong. You and I both know if it was Izzie or Ava or Lucy here today instead of DeLuca you would…punch them in the noses so bad they send Avery for a consult.”

Amber scoffs, “I…” She tries to defend herself but she knows as well as him how vengeful she can be, “would.”

Alex grins for the first time that day and chuckles while clarifying, “You totally would.”

Amber also chuckles, “Yeah I would.” They suddenly burst out laughing over that statement for a few moments before they calm down with both of them still smiling. Amber exhales in amusement, “We Karev’s really can pick them huh?”

Alex snorts, “If it makes you feel better, I raise your one crazy boyfriend with four girlfriends who left me, had a nervous breakdown or both.”

Amber pats his hand in comfort, “Thanks. It doesn’t.”

Alex sighs at his sister’s pain, “Are you okay?”

Amber clears her throat, “I’m fine I’ve handled worse nuclear explosions and learned how to walk away from pain I didn’t sign up for. Remember I did that with mom and you if you recall.”

Alex looks down in shame over his attempts to ignore his sister in her time of need, “Sorry I’m on that list kid.”

“Well, the important thing is you’re not anymore, in fact you, Jackson and Jo are pretty much my main tethers to sanity right now. And you don’t have to fight my battles for me, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I know but my barbarian big brother instincts come out, I have no control over them like you have no control over your passive aggressive little sister tendencies.” They grin at their somewhat similar personalities, “Seriously kid if you need someone to give him a kick in the ass he deserves I’m here to deliver. Just tell me when and where chief.”

Amber chuckles, “I appreciate that but I don’t want you to go to jail and repeat that damn period of your life again. You wouldn’t survive jail and I wouldn’t survive your wife’s wrath when she realizes this goes back to me giving you the kill codes.”

Alex nods understanding, “Yeah Jo looks sweet but she is a killer. The offer still stands, let me know when you change your mind.”

“I will but for now I am going to change, head home, watch Law and Order reruns with some of Jackson’s expensive scotch and then hit the sack. Send me any updates on Webber and Jackson, I’ll see you in the morning.”

That Night

Amber slumps on the couch in Jackson’s living room ready to pass out before she can visit her friend once he’s out of the woods. She feels less angry now and more worried about Jackson. When she was told someone was shot in the PRT her mind went into overdrive imagining every case where Jackson was the one who was shot. Most of those scenarios ended with him dead on the scene and her being forced to grieve her best friend who gave her a home when she had nowhere else to go.

The thought of losing someone she considers a brother shakes her to her core and makes her want to strangle that junkie that shot him. The fact that it was a junkie makes her even more furious because that could have been her father with a gun, holding up an ambulance for drugs not caring who he hurts. It felt like her dad was haunting her from the grave wanting to make her suffer again.

She sips the expensive scotch Jackson keeps locked away in the liquor cabinet. She can taste nutmeg and citrus in the rich mixture making her grateful Jackson doesn’t skimp on the drinks. She discharged Wren after the trauma room with Jackson and she left knowing Amber is in a sour mood and needs to focus on work. Amber is too tired to check her phone for messages from Wren because she is still conflicted on whether to take her out or not.

As she is about to reach for the remote a knock on the door stops her up. She groans at the bad timing but gets up and goes to the door. She looks in through the peephole and the sight of who is on the other side catches her by surprise. A second knock snaps her out of it and she opens the door.

April Kepner is standing on the other side with a smile on her face carrying Harriet in a stroller. Her smile drops quickly when she sees it was Amber answering the door expecting Jackson instead.

Next Part Here

[itsdrippingred]

I dont know if you are taking requests but I would love to see a fic where clint have Tourette’s too. Maybe taking about growing up with ts and Natasha finding out? some tics he could have Verbal tics: popping clicking sound whistle throat clearing sniffing. Motor tics: Neck jerking, shoulder shrugging blinking hard or Repetitively eye rolling (gets him in trouble. please no Coprolalia because its actually stereotype and rare! Also tics go away when you are focused on stuff like shooting!

Hey! Thanks for the request! That’s a very interesting prompt idea. I went a head and wrote something for it. I hope you enjoy it! Also apologies for any typos... I wrote this at 3 am.

Misread signals

Since the day Natasha met him, the archer had been nearly completely unreadable. Which, in full honestly, had made him more than slightly harder to trust during their first few missions. The man seemed to have his tics like any other, however his never arrived on time. His obsessive need to clear his throat happened on and off the job, in serious and unserious situations alike. While lying and when telling the truth. To be honest she had at one point thought it was a long con to cover up when he lied to or told half truths to fury and maybe even herself... but as time went on she had since concluded it was just an annoying habit. Kinda like how some people drum their fingers others twist their hair. Everyone has an annoying habit.. Clint’s.. Clint’s was clearing his throat. And it was a habit she’d thought more than once of killing him for especially after having to listen to him over coms for hours during missions. Only for it to miraculously stop the second the mission got serious, of which she was usually thankful for. It always seemed at its worst before a mission though.. assuming it was a way of expelling nervous energy during pre mission jitters but he’d pick up the habit right back up after the mission. The othering that he did was blink. Hard. At first she had thought it was some kind of code. Or message. The longer she was around him the more she realized he just did it somewhat randomly, less frequently than the throat clearing, but it was still on an occasion. She would have thought it was due to fatigue.. but he did it enough that it made the spy wonder if her archer was starting to loose the eye site that had made him Hawkeye. Yet still after keeping a keen eye on her partner, he never missed a target.

What was even stranger to her was that it was near impossible to tell when he lied due to it.. you’d think that it would be easy. Most people pick up tics when they lie, some quit all tics all together... but you could never tell with him because he never did either. This, if which, frustrated the Widow to no end.

What frustrated her more was to find out that he had secrets he was keeping from her. Secrets that seemed small.. but was something she would have expected to know after 3 years of working with someone.

Now standing in front of Clint’s desk Natasha dropped a heavy file on the table top it hit with a satisfying thud. A rather displeased look on her face followed as she glared at her partner who despite her presence being made known had barely acknowledged her.

“What?” He asked not caring to look at the file as he slowly leaned back to look at the woman.

“I read your file.” Natasha stated flatly.

“You’ve read my file a hundred times, Tasha. This isn’t news to me.” He snorts. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t have a copy of it in your nightstand at home-”

“Your un-redacted file.” She corrects almost harshly and she watches his eyes narrow before he leaned back in his seat and clears his throat like she’s heard him do a billion and one times.

“And?” He leads flatly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had Tourette’s?”

“It’s not exactly something I’m proud of Nat.” He utters shifting almost uncomfortably in his seat. “Is that what this is about?”

“Of course, it is. I’m your partner I need to know this stuff..” She sighs finally collapsing into the chair opposite to his desk.

”It doesn’t change anything.”

“It does..” She insists before watching his facial features tighten. “It means I can’t justifiably fantasize about all the ways I’d like to kill you when you’ve cleared your throat 101 times into the com while we’re on missions.” She adds with a faint smile that seems to be contagious as the archer lets out a small chuckle.��

“Believe me, you’re not the first to think of that. Growing up with this, I got my ass kicked more than I’d like to admit.. and by kids only slight smaller than you—”

“You’re really going to make short jokes.”

“Absolutely.” He snorts before clearing his throat to finish the story. “Let’s just say it wasn’t my most shining quality growing up but as time went on I grew out of a few of them. Some stuck around, as you can tell, but there are things that help.”

Natasha nods. “Like you told me about your hearing.. if you live with something long enough, you learn how to live with it.”

“Exactly.” He says while bobbing his head.

“So the blinking.. isn’t you losing your Hawk like sight?”

With a chuckle he shakes his head. “No, not at all. Just fatigue. It’s a tic.. but for the most part it’s brought on by fatigue.”

Natasha nodded to the confession. “I hate knowing you got picked on for this and that people made you feel less for it. You’re not less.” She somewhat blurted in a soft manner.

“I know, Nat. It took me years to see that but I know.” He said with a soft smile of which she reciprocated. “Now that that’s out of the way. You wanna grab lunch?” He says switching gears so quickly that it pulled a chuckle from Natasha.

“Where do you wanna eat?”

“Jimmy’s Pizza, obviously.” He says with an eye roll as if Natasha didn’t already know this and grabbed his keys from his desk drawer before getting to his feet.

“Again?” She complains with a smile but stands to follow him out the door.

“They have the best pizza!” Clint exclaims as they both round the corner into the hall and out of sight.

[brenthellerblog]

Scaler Academy Review with Proof

Hello community, I am one of the ex-Scaler students from the April Batch. I got a job from Campus Placement and I got only one referral in the entire one year. Sadly, I need to pay them, hence I wanted to make people aware of some facts backed with proof, so that they do-not fall into this trap. I have seen a lot of things written about Scaler in the recent month. Scaler came out in public with a video on "What we do and Why we do", where they said their curriculum is focused on learning and not on jobs. But they end up getting disappointed, like most of us in our did.

In India, rarely people will come out in open to speak, because no-one wants to risk their future, so do I. People join such courses thinking that we do not need to pay now, we will pay when we get job. Hence they just join without giving it a second thought. But the main disappointment starts when you start paying installments for 24 months without getting any help to land up a job from the people whom you are paying. Let me bring to you some interesting facts about Scaler which proves that they sell their course on referrals and maximum people do join Scaler thinking that.

Their course costs you around 4.5L if you have a job paying around 15L base. It might cost you more if you have a good base salary. It is 15% of your base for 24 months.

We were near about 200 people in our April Batch who joined for the sake of a backup that Scaler might help us. Gradually with time, it appeared to us that they were hoping for us to get a placement on own rather then putting efforts to place us. Once we guys got a placement on own, the EMI plan was setup immediately, and they blacklisted us for future referrals since we crossed the slab. They say that they will keep referring us, but they don't once you are placed. The sole reason is they have got their money from you.

Only referrals were provided to Amazon which is considered to be a mass recruiter in India now, and every 3/10th people on Linkedin provides you a referral. Referrals to Lido learning was provided, but the people from my batch backed of, because the company had a legal case running. However some did join it, after joining those people had to use their laptops in work, they were not even provided with laptops, and those people are paying their installments and are really upset with the way they were cheated.

They state that they have 500 partner companies with them in their website. This is one of the other lies they have been spreading, they hardly have 8-10 companies, and they also hire a max of 10 people every year. If they had 500 partner companies, why were referrals not provided to us, May and June batch for Uber, Booking.com, Netflix, Google, Facebook, Tower Research etc?

In their recent video they released, if you ask them about referral stats, or anything is posted which goes against them, you will find that comment deleted withing an hour. Their new batch started this week, where to enroll people they published a blog which claims that 97% people were placed from the batch. The moment you take the entrance test and select people, you know those people are some of the best talents in India and will get a job. They released their placement stats, where you will not find a company which they mention in the above image.

Moreover they have not added a stat count on how many referrals did they provided to FAANG or other companies, which they boast of during the enrollment. The companies listed below are not even the names they mention in their websites. They have added 4 count to Amazon placed people in the name of PPO just to fool people around and boast them of fake numbers. Amazon Interns have confirmed that Amazon never confirms PPO chances before the internship ends. Moreover, Amazon did a intern drive for entire India and this was open to all. They claim to refer people to De-Shaw. What they simply do is, they go on to Careers site of De-Shaw and fill up your application form, and you get a test link(saying this because referral test of De-shaw is of 70 minutes, and the career site test is of 100 minutes). Then they term this as a company referral. Link to blog.

They have banners which states that there are all the top people teaching the course. Truth is, the people in the banner hardly take 3/4 classes each for the sake of the banner they posted. Most of the classes are taken by some guy who is not that good, or someone who is graduating in 2020 without any industry experience. Previously they gave good slabs to people joining them, they have started giving slabs of 7/8 to the new batches, which is a clear indication that they do not have companies to refer too.

They have some set of mentors who take the mentor sessions for the sake of 1.5K that they get per session. On an average every guy does 7-10 sessions. This is because whenever you approach Scaler for referrals, they will carve out a reason of the ground. Sometimes it will be, your problem % is less, sometimes your attendance, sometime your mentor session is less. And at the end when they are not left with reasons, they come up "What we do?, Why we do?". They claim they spend lacs of rupees for every student, hence their fees is that high. Let me bring you up some calculations.

Average 8 mentor sessions costs 1500 * 8 = 12k.(Source: Mentor). Everyday a class is taken by an instructor who teaches roughly 50 people(50 because most of the people do not join classes after 2/3 weeks) for 2.5 hours. In India, the average fees for an instructor teaching is 3k/hour at a maximum(it is 2k/hour on average). Lets take 10k. So 10k/200 = Rs 50 per day. Every month they have 20 classes, at max they will have 140 classes in 6 months. I have taken the extreme higher limit of everything. Which eventually costs you 7k across 6 months. Since they are not providing you with referrals, I am not adding any money count to it. They for sure do-not have 500 partner companies, lets round off 12 + 7 = 19k to 25k. The profit margin which they are making is immense, 4.5L — 25k is 4.25L per student. I say per student because, maximum people will eventually get placed with the talent they possv when you are binding them for 1.5 years under you in the name of a contract.

I started practicing at Interview-Bit in my second year. I was so pleased with the platform they had then. Then the Scaler thing came up giving us so many hopes. But eventually it is all about making money. The so known good guys(Abhimanyu and Anshuman) are exploiting Indian talent to earn big. This needs to stop. I will urge everyone to share this post as much as you can, the exploitation of talent needs to stop.

[rozinaaa]

Entrepreneurs Need To Chill

I always fall into this trap, and I never seem to learn from it, since literally every single entrepreneur ever (especially the ones that are extremely online and are hardcore social media addicts, which seems to be all of them) peddles the same meaningless handful of messages ("I made £100k in just one month at the age of 19! Here's what I learned", "Look at me, I've got loads of followers. Aren't I a celebrity?" etc) over and over again to the point where it not only gets boring, but is also patronising, especially to those that want nothing more than a regular 9-5 job, and an income that they can comfortably live on, with a decent amount of money stored away in savings.

I've drank their cool aid for about a week or two at a time (only to spit it out because it becomes too sickly sweet after a while, and it probably might contain alcohol, which explains why it's so mind numbing, and makes me feel guilty, but that's what kids in their 20s do, right?), but this time, it was out of necessity as I've now found myself out of work, and I need to market myself (although I'd sometimes rather not) if I want to be able to land another job, yet I always somehow find myself believing all of those hyped up lies (of living The Perfect Ultimate Capitalist Dream Life) that make me feel a little bit rotten and corrupt on the inside, which is what I don't like.

I feel like I can only be an entrepreneur for up to a month at a time before throwing in the towel (and I can already hear all of the hardcore entrepreneurs screaming and running for the hills as I say this), but that's okay, since I'd rather be comfortable than being constantly stressed and on the verge of burnout, where I do things for the sake of doing them because everyone else does those things.

Additionally, having all the entrepreneurs basically saying "uni bad, social media good" and "9-5 bad, relentlessly marketing, clogging up everyone's feed, and posting stupid selfies good" genuinely makes me feel like an outcast, because going to University was a fairly decent experience (although in this economy, I've realised that I probably might have been better off by going straight into work, but that's just life), and having worked a 9-5 job gave me that sense of comfort of knowing that I'd get paid at the end of the month and the certainty of my work that I've now been stripped away from, so although having a flexible lifestyle is often marketed as a dream, I'm already finding it to be a nightmare, since I've got all this time in the world to do whatever I want, and I know that I'll end up spending it just floating around without any sense of purpose most of the time.

Another thing I've realised is that ever since I put the curation front on my CV and on my LinkedIn profile (listed under "Experience"), it's taken all of the fun out of it, since I'm now expected to do it all the time, especially since others are watching, which is something that I don't like, not to mention that it's become a chore (especially as I've had the wise idea of deciding to create content to make it bigger than it has to be, which I've realised is just more work that I have to force myself to do), so it no longer feels like a hobby, but something that I have to do to fill the gap in my employment, even if I'm not getting paid for it.

Additionally, I've realised that my current setup for the curation front (where I use some random proprietary no-name no-code website builder and try to put fluid things neatly into different categories) seems a bit too overkill, and doesn't seem to work well for me, so I'm tempted to revert back to the original site (where I hand coded everything by HTML, added a short description to each link for context, and had everything in one place, although thankfully, the original site still exists), and just continue working on that, not to mention that I don't have to pay for the hosting every month, which I've realised is becoming money that's going down the drain.

This is the reason why I steer clear from the "entrepreneurs" most of the time, simply because they're way too power hungry, boastful, and competitive, where I know that I'm just playing some meaningless grindy rat race game that I know I can't win (not to mention that I don't even enjoy it, so there's literally no point, since I'm just pretending to be someone that I'm not, but that mask does eventually fall off sooner rather than later), to the point where it becomes easier to just not play that game at all.

I also know that I'm naturally a private person, even though I usually write whatever's on my mind, although it's just to process all of my thoughts as well as having an outlet to express myself, so this blog is more like a form of journalling for me, since I find that it's a lot more effective to type something than to write all of this by hand (where working for something like the MI5 seems like something I could easily do, since you legally can't tell anyone about the details of the work that you're doing (which is great since I'm already a natural pro at this in real life, where I've told people that work was okay, and that was it), plus you get to seperate your personal and professional life, since you're not allowed to take your work home with you) that just wants to be told what to do, have a sense of structure, and to just get on with the work at hand with minimal distractions, since I know that my mind itself can be a distraction at times.

All I know is that after multiple attempts at being an entrepreneur (and trying to improve my marketing skills, especially for times like this, where you can either get a job or not), I don't want to live that borderline self-centred corrupt and materialistic lifestyle, simply because that's not who I am, so I need to realise that there's literally no point in trying to swim against the tide, since that will make life harder for myself.

Anyway, here's to going against a bunch of random people's advice (since it's all just noise, and it usually comes at me like an avalanche and a game that I can't win, although they make it seem ridiculously easy, to the point where it becomes very appealing to play), and just finding a nice and permanent full time job at a large company, where I can just settle down, shut up and do the work (hopefully it's something meaningful and intellectually stimulating, but not so difficult that I have a hard time understanding what needs to be done), have coworkers that I can get along with, know that I'll be a productive member of society, have the comfort in knowing that I'd get paid a certain amount of money at the end of the month, and just saving away a large majority of it for something significant (like buying my own house in a few years time), simply because I can.

[clubsmarties]

Wally smiled not a trace of joking in his voice. "Wouldn't need to bat those eyelashes. Something tells me you'd get away with everything just because it's you." He chewed his inner cheek and laughed. "I know you would. You'd be too curious not to listen to them. What if I tell you a story in one of them? Would you really be okay perhaps missing a story of some sort?" He laughed fully amused and closed his eyes for a brief second before answering. "Not normally. It's only when around you that I talk a lot. I'm extroverted because the job requires it and I'm almost always pretending to be someone else but reality is I'm an introvert. You just happen to make me comfortable enough to talk your ear off."

Demoness. He tried it out in his head and smirked. "Oddly not unoriginal. Hmm. Interesting." Why that amused was a mystery to him but still left it at that. "You can always have more than one dream. Just because they're automated doesn't mean it can't still be made a reality." He shrugged and chuckled to himself. "I'm starting to think we may just be perfectly imperfect for each other." He hummed and could see her point. "We're you at any point scared out in the dark?"

"Everyone is afraid of something." He spoke softly as he let out a sigh. It always went back to his father. "I was locked in one at the bottom deck one time. It was a deafening silence that I hated. I don't know how long I was in there for. But I do remember my aunt's terrified shrieks after the fire department opened it up and I crawled out. Since then, I've gotten better at being on the sailboat Andy has. Just can't really do big boats yet." He smiled like he had just let her in on a secret just for the two of them. He smiled softly as she told him about one of her fears. "You know, it's interesting. You bring up a lot of good points. I think insane people like enclosed spaces. That's the only explanation. Or ones that use it for some sort of odd pleasure when it comes to being in tight spaces. Cave exploring can be fun but it depends on what your definition of it is."

The thought was hilarious seeing as he was one. "An emo kid?" Wally asked amused and stared at her briefly. The gesture was sweet and soft and it derailed any incoming thought besides how soft her fingers were against his hair. How nice it felt. Comforting. His green eyes shined a little brighter as he suddenly became a little shy. Leave it to Liz to make him unable to react confidently as he was used to. She discombobulated him in the best ways possible. Taking a beat he cleared his throat and semi shrugged his shoulders. "There are when I'm in the office. Usually those days I slick it back to look professional. Though I do have some leeway for missions. It depends on what it calls for, I can keep my long hair. When I'm on site working as a detective then yes I have to shave and look like an actual professional. But that doesn't happen too often. I usually can work from home except on days when a case goes active again. As you know," he chuckled as he laid his hands together on his lap. "My school days as Annie calls them."

He was always so attentive when Liz talked. Whether that was about something random or something important. Whatever she had to say was important to him. So, as she began he turned his body toward her giving her his full attention. His eyebrows knitted together as she started with that she needed a break but didn't interrupt. He knew better. "Had you already known asl before you got the job?" He did the sign for that's pretty rad and smiled. "I know very little but mostly conversational." Quickly shook his head as he hadn't known that lobster fact. "140 years. Makes you think about what kind of life they see or the stories that they have but can't ever tell people because they can't talk. What would you do if you lived for 140 years?" He gasped and let his jaw drop. "No, I feel like I've been lied to for years. I'd like the full blah blah blah. What else did you find out on your time out in the vast waters. Does that mean you are now expert fisherwoman?"

[halliewriteshockey]

An open letter

After much deliberation, I have made the decision to change the spelling of my surname from Grey to Gray. Here's why: 

Many of you are familiar with the issues I’ve had surrounding a woman named Michaela Grey, who took my choice of pen name as a personal affront to her. Over the past ten years, she has doggedly clung to her misguided belief that I ‘stole’ her name and that my decision to use it was an attack on her. 

I’m changing my name to Gray not because of this individual, but in spite of her. I know I have every right to use the name Grey, and nothing she says or does changes that fact. But over the last decade, it’s become increasingly clear this person is unable to be reasoned with. Since I first became aware of her existence, she has engaged in increasingly hostile behavior. She’s called me names, accused me of identity theft, and spread disgusting lies about me and what I write in attempts to discredit me. She’s recruited her friends to likewise attack me, often en masse, repeating the same vicious rumors and insulting everything about me. One of the most common themes, repeated by everyone who’s targeted me, is how bad my writing is, and how I’m a laughable excuse for an author. Another running theme is that I write ’horse porn’, a reference to my very first book, which no longer exists but had horses in it. (No equines got it on, though.) 

Ms. Grey has sent me malware through spam in multiple attempts to infect my computer. She has doxxed me on Twitter. She has claimed I’m altering my appearance in an attempt to more closely resemble her and thus assume her identity. She's accused me of willingly perpetuating her childhood trauma as if I had any idea what her life was like. She’s spread lies and vicious gossip, and even reported the recent fundraiser I held during my medical issues as fraudulent in hopes I’d be forced to pay back all the funds or face charges.

She has stalked, harassed, and bullied me for the past ten years, and even though I know I’ve done nothing wrong, it’s increasingly obvious she’s only escalating. I do not wish my name to be tied to such an unpleasant, toxic individual. She cannot be reasoned with, and has shown repeatedly just how low she’s willing to go on her vicious crusade against me.

Thus, not because she asked me (she didn’t), but because I want nothing to do with her, I have decided to alter the spelling of my last name. Obviously this will be a complicated process. I have to change my name on all my books, including the cover art, and every iteration of it currently online. This will take quite some time. I have changed my display name to Michaela Gray on Twitter and Tumblr, but my username of greymichaela will remain the same on both sites. I’ve built a fan base under that brand and I refuse to let a single individual destroy everything I’ve created.

However, any new social media will be under the name graymichaela instead. If Ms. Grey had ever come to me as equals and said, “it makes me uncomfortable that you’re using my name, and I would appreciate it if you would consider changing it,” I would have listened. I’m not the ‘fucking asshole’ she says I am. I’m willing to be reasonable, and I work hard to be approachable. But she never did that. Instead she chose a vindictive campaign of harassment and abuse from the very jump, as if it were personally targeted at her instead of a stupid coincidence.

She’ll probably think she’s ‘won’. That’s okay. I don’t care what she thinks, and if her narrative needs to twist the facts until she’s the hero and I’m the villain, that’s not something I can control.

I’m working four jobs to make ends meet. My son just got out of the hospital for suicidal intent. My daughter has severe health issues and no diagnosis yet. I’m a single mother raising three children with no help and no respite, and the last thing I need is more drama in my life.

Hence, from here on out, my name is Michaela Gray. I have no affiliation with, nor do I want anything to do with, the individual named Michaela Grey. Any further attacks from her or her friends will be reported to the authorities, along with all the evidence of her decade-long harassment campaign that I’ve been collecting for years. 

Thank you for reading

[letarasstuff]

Normal People don't know their IQ

(A/N): Inspired by me, who recently discovered normal people don’t know their IQ, while I was tested two or three times already...

Summary: A certain someone is the only way to get the UnSub. But there’s also something different that makes her special.

Warnings: Angst (fluffy end, I swear), language, mentions of rape and torture, mention of dead people, the usual CM stuff I guess Wordcount: 2.0k

✨Masterlist✨ _________________________________________

“Garcia, I need you to look into high school teachers, who are suspended or fired for inappropriate behavior towards students and live in the area of the kidnappings”, Hotch orders in a stern voice. But you can’t blame him, after all there are currently six dead teenage girls and one missing. One can only hope and work as fast as possible to get her back to her parents alive.

The team is working a case in Sacramento, California. Teenage girls get abducted on their way home from school, are held for exactly a week and are killed by a simple cut to their throat. The torture they have to endure beforehand isn’t as simple. The last two also show signs of rape.

The dumbing sites are different parks all over the city. The placing happens overnight only to have the girls found the next morning by a clueless jogger or stroller.

“Let’s go over the profile again, I feel like we are missing something”, Rossi commands. His gut feeling tells him only that much, he just has to find out what it is.

“It’s a white male in his mid thirties to late forties. He blends in, so he has to be or has been a teacher. Someone who looks like they belong into a school isn’t suspicious”, Spencer counts the facts.

“The victims all look similar, probably resembling an ex-wife or girlfriend”, Morgan adds. Before he can get into the depth of the torture a phone rings.

“My lovely crime fighters, I got an address. Charles Collins. philosophy and history. Got suspended for suggestive talk towards his female students. He is also said to stare at them and certain body parts for way too long and way too obvious. Gross. Annnd that- wait”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asks after a moment of silence, which is unusual for the ever bubbly tech analyst.

“You got your profile wrong. Collins doesn’t take these girls because of an ex flame.”

The team looks at each other in confusion. Garcia always stresses how she isn’t a profiler and can’t judge over people, because she only wants to see the good in them. How is she able to tell that the profile is off?

“Shoot baby girl, we don’t have much time left”, Derek urges her. He wants nothing more than to have this SOB finally behind bars. The whole team wants that.

“He has a daughter. Technically it’s not his daughter, it’s someone else’s, but he is her foster father. Go and please save both girls!”

Penelope doesn’t have to say it twice. After a brief thank you and goodbye the team is on their way to the given address. As soons as they get there, everyone notices the absence of a car in the driveway. Hotch sends Spencer, Emily and Derek through the back door, the rest goes in from the front.

“FBI! OPEN UP!”

It’s needless to say that nobody opens up. There is no other way than kicking the doors down.

After entering the house and clearing the first floor, Rossi points towards the stairs that leads to the first story. There are only two rooms. A bathroom right hand and a closed door left hand.

Morgan counts quietly down before also kicking this door down and screaming “FBI!” But he seemingly talks with air, because there is no one to be found. Once again the team swarms out to look for evidence or clues.

As Spencer looks through the room they cleared last, he sees various things that make him smile. Several bookshelves are flooded with all kinds of genres, authors and covers. At first he can’t make out in which way they are sorted. But a closer look makes him realize that they are sorted by the author’s birth year. The doctor is kind of impressed, because that means the person knows when they are born in order to find a certain book. He likes the idea, it is a nice little challenge.

While he investigates further a sound makes him stop. He sends a text to Emily and waits for her. When she enters the room Spencer gestures to her to keep it quiet. Then he points to the bed.

They lower themselves down to the floor at the same time on each side of it. A girl, no older than 14 years, lays there shivering in angst. With big doe eyes she looks at Spencer and whispers:

“Please don’t hurt me.”

A while later the team is back at the station with the girl sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. The temperature is already set down, though Hotch feels really bad for it. Still there is another girl out there waiting to be safed.

“Baby girl, what can you give us on her?” Morgan sets his phone in the middle of the table and switches the speaker on.

“Our little girl’s name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), fourteen years old. Parents were deemed to be unable to look after her since they are both heavy drug addicts and didn’t even register her crying for two hours straight. Since the age of six months she bounces through the system with nobody wanting to keep her longer than two years. They claim she is too smart for them and want somebody to look after her, who can challenge her intellectually.

“Collins took her in one and a half years ago. He got her signed up in several activities after school, like chess and academic decathlon. As of right now she is a junior with an opportunity to graduate next year. Her teachers describe her as incredibly bright with a complicated way of thinking.”

“Complicated way of thinking? Her intelligence was neglected for years, so she gave herself her own challenges. I found her books sorted by the birth year of the authors. She found ways of making things more difficult for herself, that’s why she fabricated strange ways of thinking. This is often found in children with high intelligence, who are not boosted enough by their environment”, Spencer explains, getting more and more furious.

His colleagues feel that this is a sensitive subject for their resident genius. JJ comfortably puts a hand on his shoulder, making the tense go away.

“Emily and Dave, I want both of you to interrogate her. We need to know where he hides the girls. JJ, try to hold the press off for a bit longer. Morgan, Reid, I want you to watch and look for tells or anything else”, Aaron orders.

Everyone works on their given task immediately.

You don’t need to be a profiler to see that (Y/N) is scared out of her mind. She has her feet on her chair and her head lies on her knees. When the two agents enter, she tries to at least fake some kind of composer. But she fails miserably at it.

“Hello (Y/N), may I call you that?” Emily begins in a soft voice. The teenager nods shyly. “Good, (Y/N). My name is Emily Prentiss and this is David Rossi. We are agents from the Behavior Analysis Unit from the FBI. Do you know why you are here?” The teenager shakes her head.

“Ok, let’s cut the chase”, David's voice booms through the small room. “You know exactly why you are here. From what we saw in your room you are an incredibly smart girl. How high is your IQ? 130? 135?”

“147 a-actually”, she nervously corrects the agent, never meeting his eye. The team notices this fairly quickly.

“Even better, normal people don’t know their IQ. So you know what your forster father does. You saw the news, you read the papers, you heard your classmates talk. In addition to that, the girls look alarmingly similar to you. And all of the sudden Charles is more often out than usual. So do us a favor and come clear.” Then he pulls out a picture from a manila folder on the table. Emily tries to intervene.

“Rossi, don’t. She is not the UnSub. (Y/N) is just unfortunate to be at the wrong place.” “She might as well be another UnSub if she doesn’t do anything to help us. Do you know how long you are going to jail for helping hi-”

“I don’t know anything. I- of course I saw what is h-happening. A-and I connected the dots a long time a-ago. You know, Charles lost his job and that’s a stressor. T-then Child Service was investigating him, because of the suspension’s reasons. I-I couldn’t do anything. I had no evidence, the police wouldn’t believe me. I asked him once wh-what he thinks about, you know, what’s happening. He slapped me and told me to not talk about it again. I’m so sorry, I wanna help. The only thing that comes into my mind is an old cabin he once mentioned when I first arrived at his. B-but I don’t know if it helps you. P-please, I don’t want to go to jail or juvenile, I-” Then (Y/N) breaks down into tears.

Emily is in an instant by her side trying to calm her down, while Hotch gives the information to Garcia. As soon as she finds the location, JJ takes a seat next to (Y/N) and the rest of the team flies out.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, Sweetheart. My colleagues will find him and he will be tried and convicted. He will never be a threat to you again”, the blonde tries to comfort her.

“Whenever I leave an abusive home, there will be another one that’s exactly the same. The only difference with Charles was that he seemed to understand me. He helped me. There’s nobody who is willing to do what he did for me”, she admits sadly.

It breaks JJ’s heart, because her words are true. Even though he is a killer, Collins did help her. But she is also determined to show the young girl that he isn’t the only one who can do that. That there are more people out there, who are kind and as helpful if not more.

Not long after this the team brings the man into the station, Morgan guiding him with a deadbolt-like grip.

Rossi spots (Y/N) in a break room with a hot drink in her hands. While making his way over there, Spencer follows him. He wants to talk with her as well.

“(Y/N) I’m sincerely sorry if I hurt you earlier. I didn’t intend to scare you, we just had to act quickly and you were the only source of information available. I also wanted to tell you, that your achievements are astonishing and I guarantee you a bright future, maybe even at the FBI”, he winks at the end of his last sentence.

“I understand, Agent Rossi. But doesn’t everybody know their IQ? I assumed everybody gets at least tested once in their life in some way”, she asks with surprise in her voice.

At that the older man is speechless. Of all things she could accuse him of legitimately, (Y/N) goes with the most innocent question.

“Actually, not everybody gets tested. A reliable test has to be done by a psychologist and most people don’t go to one. Furthermore there has to be a valid reason to do one, that’s why a great part of the population doesn’t know their IQ”, intervenes Spencer. He has to infodump, since the last time was over half an hour ago.

“But you also have to differentiate between the several kinds of intelligence, because intelligence is way more than being good at math. There…”

Rossi stopped listening to the excited interaction between the two geniuses. Instead he watches their body languages and facial expressions. He hasn’t seen both of them more at calm than they are now.

After all there might be a way for (Y/N) to get a little Happy End.

[minshookie]

Pillow Fight.

Pairing |Bully!Jungkook x reader

Genre | smut, angst.

Summary | “Another day spent babysitting your bully’s little sister...you should really quit but the pay is just too good.”

!warnings! | 18+ mature language, bullying, mentioned sexual acts, mentions of past bullying, NON-CON,financial struggle, Jungkook is a really shitty big brother.

| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|

(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)

Requested [open for request] words: 1k.

A/N: I rewrote this so many times! Lmfaoo! Buuut get ready because some of requests yall sent in are 🥵🥵.

“Orange is your best color.” Aera chirped dragging the paint drowned brush along your pinky nail. “I think you’re just saying that because it’s your favorite.” The young girl giggles continuing to color your fingertips. “Uhm are you staying all night miss y/n?” Nodding you brushed back her wild strands of hair softly with your free hand. “Soooo like a sleep over?!” She squeals closing the bottle of nail polish, her eyes glittering as she gazes into yours intent for answers. “Yeah!” You matching her energy only made her more excited, “yay! And-and can Jungkookie Oppa come?!” She bounced on her knees smiling ear to ear, fumbling over her words.

“Oh...Jungkook huh... Hmm what about no boys aloud?” You planted the idea praying she’d take the bait as you started cleaning her toy makeup, giving her a chance to think it over.

“What? Jungkook isn’t a boy, he’s my brother!” Giggling she pounced from the couch striding towards his room. At this point all you could do is laugh at her innocent lack of logic. She looks so happy who are you to burst her little bubble, for all you know Jungkook might want nothing to do with the both of you and your little mock slumber party.

Closing the toy purse you hid it back away in the large toy chest she pulled from her room, leaving it open you cleared the floor of the multicolored blocks and dolls. A whisper of a laugh escapes your lips as you overhear Aera’s begs and pleas mixed with Jungkook’s refusals....but finally the door creaks.

Please no. “Y/n, guess what?!” She drags your name out as her small foot steps pitter the floor, Jungkook’s thudding. She comes down the hall pulling Jungkook by his middle finger. “As if you weren’t undesirable enough, neon nails really helped it out.” Grumbling he throws himself on the couch you just tidied up. “Nice to see you again too Kook.”Aera bounced on her toes watching us have confrontation, unaware of the negative connotations.

Truth is you hadn’t seen Jungkook since you left for college and you hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again...that is until relationships fell apart, your roommate left and things got hard to pay for, and you were two bills away from being homeless. the job up at university paid $9.50 an hour while the busy Jeons still offered $12.00 the choice was clear. Take a little break, live with family, get back on your feet, and try again. But little did you know Jungkook decided to stay local with his schooling.All this aside the work was easy since Aera had grown a bit, but the thought of dealing with the person that made your life hell for four years made you want to quit daily.

“Can I do your nails Too?!” “No Aera, now be cute and get me something to drink.” He orders putting his feet on the coffee table eyeing you up and down,disgustingly. “No Aera I’ll get it.” You grabbed her shoulder. “No y/n! I’ll do it, I’ll do it quickly!” Setting free she bolted for the kitchen.

“So, you went to college got broke and came back sniveling to my rich parents?” You rolled your eyes, looking in the direction of the kitchen for any sign of Aera. “I thought you would’ve out grown your asshole phase, that’s very high school of you Kook.” He scoffed defensively, “and you using babysitting as your main income is high school of you, what happened your little rapper boyfriend leave you high and dry?” “You shut the fuck up.” You snapped back my reflex. He held his hands up in defense, “Suga blew up and left you in the shit show not my fault.” We argued in hushed tones as Aera ran back into sight.

“Here you go kookie!” She handed Jungkook the can of Coke, heaving for air. “Aera this is warm, cold...I want something cold, go try again.” He handed her the can, “oh okay Oppa sorry!” And off she was back down the hall. He turned back to me, “why’d he leave you...couldn’t make him bust?” you tried to hide it but his words stung, you’d been avoiding anything to do with Yoongi since he’d ghosted you weeks before you left for college. Bigger things waited for him in the world of fame, and you weren’t in the blueprint.

“Fuck you Jungkook.” “Come try it bitch.” Smirking he was satisfied with himself as you stood almost defeated. “Oh I forgot you’re scared of sex.” “Leave the high school rumors behind...ran out a material? Maybe you should get out more.” He rolled his eyes scoffing, “shut up before I make you.” “You like to pretend I’m still afraid you...make me, little boy...since you insist on being one.”

Jungkook’s come back was cut short by the thumping of Aera’s feet. “Kookie!Kookie! Ice! I got it all by myself!” She gave the cup of ice to Jungkook and then the Coke. “Good job, now pour it.” He handed them back and you took it from her small clutches much to Jungkook’s disliking. You poured him the drink, pushing his feet off the small table and placing the glass. “She’s not your little slave Jungkook.” He kept eye contact picking up the glass, “you’re right she’s not, you...go get me a coaster now or you’re fired.” His eyebrow arched cockily, his free hand waving you away. “As if! You can’t fire me Jungkook.” He got Aera sitting her on the couch beside him as she caught her breath. “Is that so? Try me, my parents might have hired you but you work for us...now work.” His gaze alone told you he wasn’t playing with you anymore.

Angered you stormed to kitchen pulling a coaster from the table before swiftly Turing on your heels, almost jumping out of you skin as you met face to face with Jungkook. “What the fuck do you want now?” “You said some shit I didn’t like.” You threw the coaster back on the marbled table, “I wish you’d grow up already.” You atempt to go past him but his muscular arm halts your plans. “I have to go do my job-” “I put on her show she’ll be good for the next hour.”

You don’t remember Jungkook being so brooding he looked down at you, his new tall posture slightly off putting yet attractive. “What now, you wanna talk it out?” You walked away siting at the island, “I’ll leave you be if you leave me to do my job Kook.” He came behind you, trapping you in his arms. Tattoos, he’d change a lot but not enough to leave you alone.

“I see you came and got the coaster, scared of me now?” What an ass, “no I need this job.” He hummed from behind you, no sign of him letting you go. “You know y/n, you’ve grown quite a bit.” You became more and more uncomfortable by the second, his breathing became deeper. “I’m aware, so have you.” Rudely he became handsy, groping your breast earning a shocked reaction. “Jungkook please-” “scared of me?” He squeezed you with a little too much force making you give a Yelp, he had you trapped, you were nothing but a game to him. “Shhh shh don’t want to startle my baby sister while she rests...that wouldn’t be very babysitter like of you now would it?”

Silent what could you even say? He had you trapped, your position less than hopeless he’d made you feel small and that’s exactly what he wanted. He’s always wanted that ever since you’d met him, and he always succeeds. He intruded under your top, skating his chilled hand over your skin leaving cold bumps in his wake he held your bra covered breast.

You griped his unexposed wrist trying at escape, knowing fully how downhill this could get. “Oh is the brave girl afraid?” “N-no your hands are cold as Ice Jungkook...please stop.” You lied continuing to push his muscular arm. “Oh? Let me warm them for you.” He removed his hand from the island almost causing you to topple over. Reaching down he found himself with his hand now between your legs fiddling with the pant button. “Jungkook! Please no!” His hand along your chest he pulled you back into his sculpted figure.

“You must not value your job as much as you say, scream again and you’ll be broke and fucked over and to think I actually liked you a bit.” He came to your ear, sniffing your hair eerily. “Little did I know how much of a bitch you were, I loved you when you were shy.” He finally got through your button, getting to your panties he gave you a two fingered massage along your core, you strained not to react to the unwanted pleasure. “Look at you pathetic and wet I bet you’re so needy I could make you cum right here.” He began to focus his nimble fingers on your aching clit. “Fucking stop it.” You could only whimper. “Why should I, we’re old enough now and you’re sopping through your panties I know you want it.”

He invaded under your bra, fondling your hardening bud. “I loved you when you were weak and innocent...I know she’s hiding deep inside of you, the little girl that would cry over me-”

“Miss y/n! I’m tired!” Her voice softly called from the living room. Saved by an angel, finally Jungkook stoped his assault backing off of you with a groan. “You’ll meet me in my room when she’s in bed, or else.” He grumbled leaving you behind to collect yourself, how could bad get so much worse?

[islesnucks]

DON'T MOVE ON - QUINN HUGHES X READER

here is the hughesy angst i promised, i cannot believe i wrote it that quickly

likes and reblogs are always appreciated, hope you like it!

Word count: 2.5 k

Warnings: just a bunch of angst and then fluff

Summary: a month after a huge fight that ended your relationship you find out from Brock that Quinn hasn’t been able to move on too

Masterlist

Add yourself to the taglist!

Today marked a full month since the fight that ended it all. You’d like to say you couldn't remember how it happened, how things got so out of proportion you ended up breaking up, but you did. You still remembered every painful detail.

It had been a long day, those that just drain you physically and emotionally to the point you want to get home and sleep so it's finally over. But you didn’t do that because the canucks were playing that night and you thought maybe watching the game at your boyfriend’s apartment and waiting for him to get back after it ended would make you feel better. You were wrong.

The canucks lost that night, it wasn’t a huge loss, just by one goal, a power play goal made by the other team after Quinn had taken a penalty. He obviously put the blame on himself and when he got home things got worse.

With both of you in bad moods things were meant to get nasty, but you never thought it would have reached the point it did. It started as a small fight but quickly things escalated. You knew you didn’t mean the things you were saying, but you weren’t thinking clearly. Suddenly all the little stuff that bothered you about each other started to accumulate and when he said you didn’t support him enough that was the last straw.

How could he say that when you were standing right in front of him in his apartment after having watched his game and waited for him? Even when all you wanted was to go to sleep and forget that day had even happened.

“I can’t believe you just said that. Seriously Quinn I do so much for you and this is how you pay me?”

“Then maybe if I’m such a bad boyfriend we should break up.” He knew that’s not what he wanted, but anger took over and he wanted to hurt you as much as you had hurt him seconds ago.

“Maybe we should.” you quickly replied and the room went silent. You looked at him, internally begging him to say he didn’t mean it, but nothing happened. The silence was deafening.

“Ok then. It’s over.” you finally said, already gathering your purse and leaving his apartment. Not having enough strength to give him a final look as you shut the door behind you and rushed out of the building.

You didn’t cry as you walked to your car or in the drive home, it was like you were on automatic mode, you just drove to your place in silence without a thought in your head.

But once you were inside your apartment it all dawned on you. Your vision got blurry and you let out a suffocated breath. Your legs stumbled and you fell down on the floor with your back against the wall, unable to take in everything that had happened. It was over.

That happened a month ago. You hadn’t talked to Quinn ever since that night. It had been the hardest month of your life. You didn’t realize he was such a huge part of your life till he wasn’t there at night to hold you as you sleep, making you a cup of tea while you studied, pointing at you in the crowd after a goal, rushing out of the lockers straight to your arms after a game, stroking your hair as you lied on his chest to help you relax after a stressful day. He wasn’t there anymore and you missed him with every bone in your body; but he never reached and you were too afraid to see him only to discover he was doing completely fine without you.

Focusing on your studies and work made it easier, you discovered if you had your head occupied the whole day you didn’t think of him. But nights were the hardest, lying alone in your bed with only your thoughts would make your mind go back to that dreadful night and you’d end up crying yourself to sleep. That empty feeling would turn from sadness to anger and vice versa, but no matter how hard you tried to get over him you couldn’t.

That’s why after weeks of pure silence it surprised you when you received a call from Brock. You debated on whether to answer or not, but figured if he called after all this time it was important.

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/N” he answered. “How are you?” You could tell he was hesitant.

“I’m … good I guess.” you replied followed by a long silence. “Why are you calling Brock?” you finally asked, wanting the exchange to be over.

Brock didn’t know how to phrase it, he knew why he was calling and what needed to be said, but he simply didn’t know how to say it without you immediately ending the call after hearing his name.

“It’s about Quinn- please don’t hang up!” he was quick to add.

“What about Quinn?” you asked. It felt weird to talk about him out loud, something you hadn’t even done with your friends.

“He 's bad Y/N. Really bad. He won’t come out of his apartment, only for practices and games, and then he rushes back home and we don’t see him again. We’re really worried about him, all the team and his friends, even his family. He hasn’t been calling them like he used to and Jack had to basically convince their mom not to take the first plane here to check up on him. Even Brady hasn’t been able to get to him. Plus he’s been shit on the ice lately, taking stupid penalties and getting into fights, he’s one bad game away from getting benched.”

“I get it Brock but I don’t know what you want me to do. It’s not my job to fix him.” you told him. The thought of Quinn suffering alone in his apartment broke your heart but after all he was the one who decided to end things and never reached you after it. You knew it was your pride talking, but he had put himself in this position.

“I know, I know. I’m not asking you to forgive him for whatever it is he did. Honestly we’re kind of out of the loop here because he won’t tell us what happened between you two. But please I’m begging you, talk to him. You don’t have to get back together, but I think he needs some type of closure or something. He can’t keep doing like this Y/N.”

You could tell by his voice he was genuinely worried, and you were sure this is something he had talked about with the rest of the team and friends. You hated to admit it but Quinn still had a place in your heart and right now it ached at the thought of him drifting away from his family and friends and even failing at the job of his dreams when maybe a simple talk could help him. So you decided to push your grudge aside, but not completely.

“I have a box with his things, tell him I’ll go by his place to return them and then we can talk.” you said, thinking that the box of his belongings you had packed some days ago and sited by the door waiting for the moment you were strong enough to give them back to him would be a good enough excuse. That was not the answer Brock expected but he knew it was the best he would get.

“Thank you Y/N. I know this isn’t easy for you, but thank you so much.” You hanged up.

-

You stood on the hallway in front of his door after knocking, waiting for him to answer. You kept repeating to yourself everything would be fine, that seeing him again after a month wouldn't be as hard as you thought, but the moment the door opened and your eyes connected with his, your heart stopped.

He looked like shit. Tired eyes, heavy dark circles around them, messy hair and you’d bet he had been wearing that old shirt and sweatpants for at least three days. You were also surprised to see that he was shocked you were standing on his doorway.

“Y/N?”

“I told Brock I’d stop by today.” you explained.

“You spoke with Brock?” he asked and then you understood his friend hadn’t informed him of everything.

“Yeah he called me yesterday to talk about … well about you.” you said, unsure if telling him you talked about him was the right thing to do. He nodded, still a bit confused but didn’t say anything. “Can I …” you said, gesturing to the inside of the apartment.

“Oh yeah sure.” He moved to the side to let you in. “Sorry about the mess.”

You walked into the all too familiar apartment where you had spent many days and nights, but now it didn’t feel like home anymore. The curtains were almost shut completely allowing little to no natural light at all inside, there were some clothes on the sofa and dirty dishes piling up in the sink. 

“So I’m guessing Brock forgot to tell you I’d stop by to drop this.” you said putting down the box on his coffee table.

“He probably did it on purpose. If I knew he was going to call you I’d have stopped him.” he simply said, like it wouldn’t be a dagger to your heart to hear he didn’t want to see you. Maybe after all he wasn’t doing so bad, or maybe it wasn’t because of you.

“If you didn’t want to see me I can go-” You started to turn around, ready to once again leave his apartment brokenhearted like many days ago, but his hand on your wrist stopped you.

“No! It’s not that I don’t want to, it's just that … it’s hard.”

“Hard?”

“Yeah Y/N, hard. I haven’t seen you for like a month. After that fight you just left and I never saw you again.”

“Well you never reached out Quinn.”

“You didn’t either.”

“Yeah but you were the one that decided to break up. You want me to process my boyfriend breaking up with me and then also call to check up on him?”

His hand was still on your arm, making you stand close to each other, so close that you could tell how his posture changed after hearing what you had said.

“I’m sorry about that, about the break up and about every other stupid thing I said that night. You were the best girlfriend I could have asked for.” he said looking into your eyes. You could tell he was being sincere and that softened something inside of you.

“I also said some stupid stuff I didn’t mean. We were too caught up fighting to actually think what we were saying.”

“I’m sorry.” he almost whispered before letting go of your arm and quickly wrapping his arms around your body.

You were surprised at first but didn’t hesitate to hug him back. By the way you were hugging, with his head low into your neck and your arms around his frame, it looked more like you were consoling him, and in a way that’s what was happening. At one point you noticed he was crying, you couldn’t see him but you felt the warm tears against your skin and the way his chest shook between your arms as he tried to hold it in but failed.

“If I could take it all back I would, I really would.” he mumbled against your neck in between sobs. You started crying too, unable to keep on pretending you were fine anymore, unable to keep on pretending you didn’t care.

“I miss you so much Y/N.”

“You do?” you asked, genuinely surprised to hear him say it.

“Are you kidding me?” He pulled away from you to look you in the face, but your arms stayed on each other. “Look at me, look at my apartment. I’m a mess without you. I miss you every second of the day, there isn’t a moment when I’m not thinking about you Y/N. I mean I’m doing so horribly I’ve got everyone worrying about me: my friends, my family, my team.”

“You never called so I thought you had moved on.”

“I didn’t. I can’t move on from you and even if I could I don’t think I want to”

You looked at the mess of a man standing in front of you, crying in your arms, telling you he regretted everything, he missed you. It was clear to see he had suffered as much as you had for the past month. There was no doubt in your mind you still loved him, you tried to push it away but there it was, strong as ever, beating deep in your heart. So you decided to go for it, let yourself be weak one more time and if it didn’t work out then that’s something you’d have to deal with later; but if it did you knew it would be extraordinary.

“Then don’t.” you said and he looked down at you with furrowed brows. “Don’t move on.”

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, eyes getting bright with hope at the thought maybe it wasn’t all lost.

“I’m willing to try again if you are. I still love-” you started to say but he cut you off mid sentence moving his hands to your face and your words died in his lips.

It felt familiar, like coming back home after a long trip. Both your eyes were closed, enjoying the kiss, savoring every second of it. Tears started rolling down your faces and you could taste them on each other's lips. Tears of joy because neither of you could believe this was actually happening.

“I love you.” he said once you pulled away to breathe, foreheads touching and lips millimeters away. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” he kept on repeating with the brightest smile on his face. You giggled before connecting your lips once again for another kiss, something you could never get tired of.

This time his hands moved to your sides, lifting you up in his arms as you wrapped your legs around him and let out a surprised squeal between the kisses. He walked over to the couch, threw away the clothes that were there with one hand holding you close to him with the other, to then swiftly lay on it with you on top of him.

“I’m never letting you go again.” he said, placing a kiss on the top of your head as you nestled yourself between his arms with your head on his chest.

“That’s fine by me.” you replied, earning a sweet laugh from him.

-

tagging those who asked or seemed interested:

@lovingbrock @mellany1997​ @timothyjimothy74 @itoldmycatsaboutyou @stlbluesbrat @dermybaby​ 

[diaperedhumiliation]

A story submittal I received, reposting.

Wife diapers me and cuckifies me

When i got out of the bathroom, Jeanne was waiting for me in our room, sitting on the bed, in a black babydoll underlining every detail of her figure instead of hiding them. She smiled to me, and, slowly, took her hand from beind her back. She was holding a Tykables Unicorns diaper, and waving it in front of me. 

- Lie on the bed. 

I shivered. I had confessed my diaper’s interest to Jeanne and, in the beginning, she let me use them alone, without judging. But she soon ended up participating, first with a few strokes, and then being willing to change me and add diapers to our sexual games. Thereby, i wasn’t surprised and just lied silently on the bed. She started by strapping my hands to the head of then bed, and then my feets to it’s bottom, slightly spread appart. Again, I was used to that and, if I seemed to resist, I was only pretending. Once I was bounded and unable to move, she got me to raise my hips and put a diaper under my bum. Then the game began. She languidly licked my torso, going from my chest to my lower belly. From there, she slided her tongue on my perfectly shaved thighs. Got me to languish was a pleasure she would never deprieve herself of, and I felt my sex grow hard while her strokes were getting closer to it. When I was fully erected, she went to the kitchen and came back with a bowl of icecube that she sucked. Once her lips, her tongue and her mouth were cold, she fiercly licked my penis, getting it to shrink. Soon, my dick between my legs was nother more thant a small bit of flesh, and, proud of her work, she whispered in my ear : 

- Here, that’s more fitting for a baby. 

Then, she applied a protective cream on every part of my body that would be covered by the diaper : my butt, my penis and the top of my thighs. When she was done, finaly, she folded the dipaer over me, trapping my sex into a soft and crinkly prison. She took her time to be certain that the diaper fit snuggly fitted, and when she was done, I genuenly felt like a baby. I could feel the pressure of the staps against my hips, the bulge of the diaper between my legs, and the warmth that was slowly rising in my crotch. More importantly, rising my head to watch my lower belly, I could only shiver at the sight of, instead of my penis, a plane area, covered with pink and childish patterns. 

Jeanne then went and pulled something out from under the bed : a segufix belt, in thick leather. 

- What is this ?  

I felt my breath accelerate when, without any answer, she strapped me to the bed, making any move impossible. Having my wrists and ankles boud was somehting, but, with this belt, I was  loosing any control over my body. I was pinned to the bed, fully powerless, and unable to move a inch. 

- I wanted to had some spice, Jeanne whispered. 

Then she sat on my legs, and started to lick my diaper. That was her favorite game. I felt her long hair slip over my belly bottom and brush my skin. I felt the stroke of her hands over my thighs, the weight of  her plump butt on my knees, and I could very well saw her tongue moving were my sexe was supposed to be. But, between it and her tongue, there was a thick layer of plastic that deprived me of any feeling. Excited and humiliated, I felt my penis trying to swell inside of the diaper, it’s bulk making it impossible and leaving me unable to get hard while my wife was licking my crotch. 

I was starting to moan under the excitement at the time when the bell ringed. Jeanne, hearing it, was quickly on her feets and laughed : 

- The spice has come.

She got out of the room and i feld cold sweat rushing on every part of my body. Being seen in diaper by my wife and being treated that way was something I had made peace with. It was a secret that we shared, as humiliating as harmless. But I was not even close to be willing for it the be revealed, and what was happening down there was terrifying me. Unable to move, I was nonetheless unable to do anything than wait, powerless, for what seemed to me ages. 

Finally, Jeane came back, followed by a man, around or age, probably 30, that couldn’t help but giggle seeing me. I was staring at this stranger that was trying not to laugh, in my room, and I couldn’t find the words. It was then Jeanne that broke the silence. 

- Paul, here is James. Since, you obviously - she stared at my diaper - can’t take care of me, I asked him to help me with it. I hope you don’t mind ? 

I was about to answer but she waved at me.  

- No need to answer. Let me explain you the rule for today. It’s my night, so you can’t talk. At all. No matter the reason. Understood ?  

Too stunned to understand what was happening, I signed yes with my head, and she kissed me, before going back to James. They started, on the bed, right next to me, even touching me sometimes, passionate foreplays that Jeanne punctuated with strokes on my diapers. When they were fully naked, James kneeled on the bed, his dick fully erected right over my diaper and, under my eyes, on all fours, Jeanne started to lick it. I couldn’t help but that stare at this sexe, that in my room, on my bed, over mine that was traped in a white a soft cage, my wife was fiercely sucking, her mouth doing energetic back and forth, and tongue sliding over the testicules that she would swallow looking at me. In my diaper, I felt my sexe trying to inflate as much as my plastic’s jail would allow, et, unable to only shake my hips to alleviate the pressure, I felt overtaken by a violent despair. 

After that, Jeanne took from beneath the bed one of those erotic swing that she suspended at beam at the ceiling. She adjusted it, and sat into it, the cruelty of the situation suddenly striking me. She had fixed the swing just over my diaper, and adjusted it so, once she sited, her butt would be less than a inch over the bulge between my legs. Lying rover me, she started to get penetrated by James, and, I started to see her swing under the blow of his hips, right on top of my trapped sex.  It lasted for a while, and as I couldn’t hold it anymore and was about to scream in disbelief, I felt a warm liquid invade my crotch. The diuretic that Jeanne gave me was working wonder, and, while a man was making her love over me, I was peeing myself, flowing my diaper with a hot stream I was unable to stop. I thought that was the most humiliated I could get, but the worse was still ahead. Soaked with my own piss, the diaper and swollen, and had gain just enough inch for me to now feel, at every back and forth, the butt of my wife against my diaper. And for her to feel the plastic against her skin. And so I saw her face brighten : 

- Did baby wet his diapee ?

-No way he did that !  It was James’ voice, where I could here mixed disgust and contempt. 

- There his a reason for him to wear diapers, you know, answered my wife. 

The kept on for a moment, and, with each rubbing, I could feel frustration rising into me, without being able to do anything about it. The friction was too light for me to hope feeling anything through my piss’s swelled diaper. But it was strong enough for me feel a slight shift that was enough to turn me crazy. 

Soon, they swapped position and unhanged the swing so James could take Jeanne doggystyle. She settled over me, and, while James was penetrating her, put her head on my chest and hold tight to me. The man was energetic with his hips’ blow, shaking Jeanne’s whole body, and, as she was lying over me, his back and forth were shaking me aswell. He was having sex with her, over my diaper, and I could feel every of his moves just like he was making love to me. My hips were moving at the pace he was printing out to Jeanne’s one. As for her, I could hear her moan on my chest, her mouth half-opened with the pleasure an other man was giving her, while I was myself unable to be even erected, my penis trapped in a soaked diaper. Panting, she started to lick my armpits, then my neck, and then under the pressure of her own pleasure, she stroked my diaper, her hand firmly pressing over the thick and squashy underwear. It took me less than a minute to cum from this stroke, in a grunting of pleasure. Very well aware of what happened, Jeanne whispered to my hears, her voice jerky from James’ hips’ blow : 

- That’s why he’s fucking me and you’re not. He’s been making love to me for fifteen minutes and still he hasn’t came. you ?  You do a cummy in your diapee, your pathetic dick not even erected, and it takes you a few second, and I don’t even need to touch you. I really don’t see any reason for me to let you cum any other why. Turning toward James, she added, laughing : 

- He just came ! 

- No way ?

- Yes !  He’s so premature that even if he wasn’t peeing himself I would have to keep him in diapers so he wouldn’t cum everywhere. 

They bursted in laugher and started rght back where they stopped, until James, in a manly grunting came in Jeanne, arched while screaming when I gave her a last and powerful blow. At the same time, I felt the enema doing it’s job, and, while, half lying over me, my wife had what looked as the strongest orgasm of her life, I felt my diaper fill once more, now with a warmth and mushy mess that soon covered my butt, and I felt tears rushing to my eyes. But I couldn’t cry. As soon as she orgasmed, Jeanne sticked her vagina to my face, and, sitting over me, forced me to give her a cunnilingus. It lasted for a while, and when I felt her contract, it was immediatly followed by a stream, thick and  sticky, that slided into my throat :  James’s sperm. 

- You gotta swallow it all. It’s your punishment for that, said Jeanne as she patted my bum, her stroke spreading the mess a bit more. 

It was much more than what I could handle, and much worse than what I had dreamed of. It was a feeling of full powerlessness that genuinely made me a baby, bounded into my diaper soiled with pee and poo. Until then, our games only gave me the illusion of submission, but, fur the first time, I really belonged to Jeanne. She had broken my dignity, not in our games, but in front of a man whose I was now feeling the salty taste of his sperm down my throat. 

The worse was that I felt, in my diaper, my penis as hard as possible. Of course, the thick absorbing matter was preventing me to have a full erection, but I knew very well that, without it, it would have been the hard I would ever have got. I never had been that excited, and Jeanne knew it very well. 

 - Look, she said to James. He’s so excited by what you just done to me. Now you can tell how much I need you. Play a bit with his diaper if you want. 

She covered my eyes with her hand, and I heard a sound i recognize quickly, the buzzing of a magic wand that we were using from time to time. She gave it to James, and he put it on my diaper, it’s buzzing shaking the thick mattress fill with piss. It took me less than 20 second to have a violent orgasm, the second of the day, that jolted my stomac. I came again, unable to hide the pleasure that twisted my brain, and James watched me do so, my moaning of pleasure making him laugh. 

- Did he came again ? No way ! I never saw that ! 

Jeanne stroked my face were tears of powerlessness were rushing. 

- Just image how fast he came when we were having sex. It was … Infuriating. Then she turned toward him and said :  Look, baby his crying, I think he misses his pacifier. 

Understanding the message, the man put his knees around my head, and, without letting me the time to react, he slide his still erected cock into my mouth while I was feeling, at the same time, Jeanne pressing on my diaper whithout being able to say if it was with her hands or another part of her body. 

In my mouth, Jame’s dick had Jeanne’s taste, and he force to me lick me over and over, grunting with pleasure : 

- I might not be a good fuck, but he’s hell of a good sucker. 

He took his time, doing deep and long back and forht into my throat, and, while I felt like I was about to puke, a feeling of warmth invade my crotch. I was peeing myself once more. My diaper was now as full as possible, and I could felt my pee and my poo that each of James’s hips’ blow was mixing together a bit more. Aroudn the same time i finally stopped peeing, he had a new orgasm, and holding my hair, cumed into my mouth and forced me to swallow. 

When he stood up, I was in another dimension. I had no more strengh to scream, and on my face were rushing silent tears. I lowered my eyes to my crotch, and found myself staring at a sight that would have desperate anybody but that got mo rock-hard. Or, more exactly, I was trying to get rock-hard, my filled-with-piss’s diaper repressing painfully my erection. Instead of my sex, where the was an immaculate and barely bulging diaper there was now a large yellow stain and a thick bulge of swollen and crincly plastic. Between my thighs, it wasn’t the lower belly of a man. It was the soiled one of a baby unable to control his body. And, realising my own and miserable state, I came a third time, wihthout anybody stimulating me. this time, my stream of sperm was accompanied by a genuine scream of pleasure, and it was the most powerful orgasm I ever had. Two minutes after it, as I was still shivering, James was laughing out at me. Next to him, Jeanne leaned over me : 

- I was willing to unbound you and let you make me love baby, as you really were pathetic and painful to watch. I thought that after two orgasms you’d last a bit longer but … Looks like not. So you’re in for a night in your diapees. Actually, for every nights. I hope you remember your tiny, tiny penis, because you’ll never see it again sweat hearth. 

Saying so, she kissed me before adding in a whisper : “ I love you though. But you make me wayyy more happier like that than when you pretend to be a big-boy.” 

While James was dressing, Jeanne took somehting else from beneath the bed. This time, it was a diaper even bigger and thicker than the one I was already wearing, a Tykables Camelot. With it, she was holding pink clothes, a pink Rearz Onesie with ruffles, the “princess” one and a diaper cover, pink aswell. She also had a satin dress from the same brand. She started to put me in the new diaper, that she pinned over my already used one, piercing small holes so pee could flow from one to another. She added a boosted pad a a drop a fragrance that would cover the smell of poope, and a powerful and small vibrator. She closed the diaper, and then covered with the diaper cover. She did it tenderly, just like if she was putting me in sexy lingerie, slowly letting me feel the satin against my skin. The second diaper between my legs was so thick that she had to refasten my legs to make room for it. From now on, even if i was let free, I wouldn’t be able to walk without waddling, and crawling would be much easier. 

Then she unfastened my arms one by one and, asking James to hold me tighth, she put on the onesie on me. Soft, it sticked to every inch of my skin perfectly, covering my body in a thin layer of pick fabric covered with princess patterns. When she snapped it behind my crotch, it molded my body perfectly, sticking to my belly and my back, and covering me with a second skin, pink and tight. More importantly, it was pressing my overfilled diaper against me, splattering and spreading my mess into my sowft jail. 

Finally, she put the dress on me, took a picture, and refastened the segufix harness, then showed it to me. With my swollen crortch,  the pink jail that was trapping my body, and the leather bound at my wrists and ankles, I looked exactly like in my fantasies. Except that a stranger was watching me over, just after he had sex with my wife. That turned it into a nightmare, that three back to back orgasm, making my want to wear diapers disappears made properly unbearable. And then there was what the pictures wasn’t showing :  the smell in the room, mix of sweat, poo, pee and baby lotion. This, and the inside of the diaper, sticky with my mess, my sweat and my sperm. 

One year had passed, and Jeanne didn’t lie. She had thrown away all my under wears, and forbidden me to take care of my diaper myself. Every time she would change me, she would hide my eyes, and, after a few month, I forgot what my penis looked like. I was not even sure I had one anymore. Between my legs, there was only a triangle of soft and thick plastic, pink or white depending the day, and always covered with childish patterns. Waht was behind was a distant memory. I also gave up any hope to cum another way than in my diaper. The mere idea of masturbating seemed silly to me. To masturbate, you needed a penis, you needed to be a man. Same if you wanted to make love to Jeanne. As for me, I had only a diaper between my les, and if I wanted to cum, I just needed to rub it agains’t anything. After a few strokes, the pleasure would come. Why and thanks to what, it didn’t matter anymore. I was cuming thanks to the diaper, and the diaper had became my sexual organ. 

In the exact same way, i would not know anymore if my diaper was dry or wet. Sometimes it was thick, sometimes it was thin. Sometime, when i was sitting, I felt it stick to my bum. That was it, and if Jeanne or the men that came to her house to make love to her were to forget to change me, I would soon have ended up in a leaking diaper without noticing it. 

I was now only wearing onesies, footed jammies, short and pink dress, satin stockings, diaper cover with cute patterns and others childish clothes. All of them, in any case, allowed for a quick and easy check up, that Jeanne never deprived herself of. 

My favorite activity had became my baby bouncer were Jeanne hanged me for whole afternoons, lettting me wave my legs and shake myself, elastics around my waist making me gently bounce in a movement that, no matter what, would leave me shaking with pleasure. In those moments, my brain seemed to turn-off, and if it wasn’t for my bib, Jeanne would found me drawling, my dress or my onesie covered in drool, unable to talk nor walk. 

Besides, I hadn’t walked for months. With the thick diapers I was wearing and the spreader pants that sometimes recovered them, it was much easier for me to crawl. And, just llike that, I didn’t talked anymore, picking words being too much of an effort for me. In any case, screams and tear were enough for Jeanne to understand me. 

I had became fully dependent, stranger to shame, and, sometimes, when men came to make her love, I would crawl to their bedroom to watch. A sudent impulse would drive me to scratch my head against those men thanks to whom I had nothing to do anymore and that were taking care of my wife for me. And, every time, the disdain in their look would make me emptied myself in my diaper, that I’d first fill with pee and poo under their look.  And then boucing in my soiled diaper, at the bed’s foot, I would cum, orgasmn after orgasmn, while they were making love to my wife whose hand gently patted my head. 

[pedros-mustache]

frankie tears up and kisses you senseless when you ask if you can be maria's mama officially send tweet

ahaha—i’m in pain. frankie and nanny forever own me. 😩 also: this kicks off my follower celebration requests! from now until march 6th, anything sent in will fall under the “#1.5k celebration” tag! 

1.5 follower celebration! (this is part of the rose between two thorns universe)

“hey, baby, can i ask you sumthin’?”

across the kitchen table, frankie lifts his head. his wire-rimmed glasses slide down the curve of his nose, and he adjusts them with his knuckle, a habit he’s formed now that he wears his glasses in the evenings. he says he’s getting to be an old man; you say he just looks smarter while cutting coupons.

“yeah. what is it?”

you hesitate. a heavy weights settles on your chest, squeezing your heart tight. hidden beneath the table, that same weight lies in your lap. you smooth your palm across the manilla envelope and fiddle with the metal prongs along the seal.

straightening your shoulders, you exhale through pursed lips.

now or never.

“we’ve been together awhile, right?”

frankie arches an eyebrow. he blinks slowly, long eyelashes skimming his cheekbones. “yeah.” the agreement falls from his lips in a long drawl, his uncertainty evident in the way he extends the monosyllabic word. 

“about two years, if you count the first three months or so before we really got together.” 

“uh-huh.” he leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, and the pinch in his brow deepens. “what’s this about?”

“well, i got to thinking about maria. to be honest, i feel like she’s my own flesh and blood. i know i didn’t give birth to her, and maybe it’s weird, but i see her like my own. i love her like my own. and now that we’re married—” sighing, you shake your head as you slide the manilla envelope out from under the table. “i’m not good with words. what i’m trying to say is in here.”

frankie eyes you as he takes the envelope from your outstretched hand. you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on, but he gets tired when the hustle-and-bustle of the day settles. maria is a handful; he’s started taking night classes while juggling his job at the construction site; and then there’s you and your needs and desires. despite his best efforts, he falls asleep nearly every night when you snuggle into bed beside him, reruns of an inane sit-com flashing across the tv. he insists he’s paying attention when you rouse him with a kiss to the cheek, but you both know it’s a boldfaced lie. your frankie works hard, loves even harder, so you don’t fault him for his frequent yawns or sleepy stares. if anything, that boyish, dazed look he gets on his face when he’s half-awake, half-asleep during yet another movie makes you love him all the more.

he opens the orange-yellow packet with a quick tug, ignoring the prongs entirely. you wince and hope the envelope holding one very important, very legal document was the only thing to tear in his haste.

sitting forward, frankie removes the single sheet of paper from inside the envelope. his eyes scan the words, his mouth moving in time with his race to the end of the document. your heart slams in your chest, your hands wet with nerves.

his gaze flicks up, and you swallow hard. his mouth opens, shuts, opens again. the hand holding the document drops to the table with a thud.

you lean forward. “well?”

“are you serious?”

of all the things you expected him to say in response to a set of adoption papers are you serious was not one of them.

you frown on a scoff. “yes, i’m serious! as serious as a heart-attack! i may not be maria’s birth mother, but i’ve raised her since she was practically a newborn. i know she calls me mama, and i love that, but i want to be her mother for real. i don’t want anyone to tell me that she’s not my daughter and that i’m not—”

launching across the table, frankie grabs your cheeks and smashes his mouth against yours. the words on your tongue, primed and ready for a fight, surrender to the smooth pull of his lips. you startle, but soon composure yourself, your hands coming to rest on his forearms. he kisses you well—long and deep and intent. he kisses you like he’s trying to drink you in, to make you one with himself. like you, words don’t come naturally to frankie, but actions do. you can feel his love, his admiration, his joy in the scruff that brushes your jaw and the tongue that skims yours and the lips that mark you as his own. when he pulls away, rolling his forehead over yours, still awkwardly stretched across the expanse of the table, you gasp for breath.

“is that...” you swallow hard, eyes fluttering open. “are you gonna sign it then?”

frankie laughs and kisses you again—three short pecks against your lips—before falling back to his chair. his cheeks are flushed, and the grin on his mouth is captivating, shining like the veritable sun. you’ve never seen him glow so radiantly. 

he points to the pen sat beside an unpaid bill in your stack of mail. “hand me that.”

“okay.” your hands shake as you slide frankie the pen. his fingertips brush yours, and he grabs your wrist, giving your pulse point a gentle squeeze.

“you’re sure?”

you nod without hesitation. “aside from marrying you, i’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. sign the adoption papers, frankie.”

he scrawls his signature on the dotted line alongside yours.

then he looks up, and the air in your chest stills.

“she—” he clears his throat, runs his hand through his hair, sets the pen aside. “i don’t think she ever wanted to be a mom. i think that’s why it was so easy for her to leave.”

you remain quiet. in all the time you’ve known frankie—worked for him, cared for him, loved him—he’s only ever spoken of his former wife once.

“i think that maria was made for you, and you for her.” he shakes his head, and the tears in his eyes reflect in the lens of his glasses as he looks up toward the ceiling. “sometimes i can’t believe how lucky she is. how lucky i am.”

slipping out of your chair, you walk around the table to perch yourself in frankie’s lap. he meets your gaze, and you brush a stray tear off of his cheek with the pad of your thumb. he leans into the touch.

“to think this all started with that horrible ad on the university bulletin board.”

with a chuckle, he squeezes your hip. “to think i considered hiring benny as a last resort.” he sobers and brushes his fingertips behind your ear. “i mean it, though: maria is lucky to have you as a mom.”

though you preen under frankie’s words, you brush it off with a shrug. “i’m lucky to have her. we’re a good pair.”

he huffs, his hand tightening on your hip. “yeah, spoiled to death! the both of you! i saw that target receipt. i know how much you spent on clothes last week.”

“oh shit!” tumbling from frankie’s lap, you skid across the linoleum as you race for the living room. “you weren’t supposed to know!” 

frankie is quick to catch you. he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts your feet from the floor, his voice a deep rumble in your ear when he says, “well, i know, mama. now how exactly are you gonna pay that debt?”

if you are stunned by the sudden shift in mood, in the way you clench under frankie’s innuendo, you don’t let it affect you. you play along because this is your life: you don’t get enough sleep, you don’t fool around with your husband as much as you’d like, you work too much, and there is a never-ending list of household chores calling your name. 

but at the end of the day, it’s you and frankie. you and frankie and your daughter and perhaps one day a few more pairs of feet running through the halls. 

and at the end of the day, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[thejudgingtrash]

Annabeth is a good person,but not a nice or pleasant one,IMO.

YES.

That’s it. That’s the post. Pack it up everybody, we just cracked the case and cleared up one of the most compelling fights in the PJO fandom since forever. Good job everybody, clap it out and there’s the door! Don’t forget ordering the drinks at Starbucks, Mitch! They’re on me!

Okay, but on a more serious note: YES. YES EXACTLY.

And before some of you roll your eyes or grab your pitchforks – put your biases aside and hear me out for once. I like Annabeth. She’s my in my top three characters only second to Percy himself. I love Percabeth. It’s my favorite ship in the entire series and to be frank, the only ship that I care about PJO wise. Hell, I spend my time creating my own headcanons or writing my own fanfics with Percabeth being the star in them.

But that is not to say that I’m unable to see how certain things have developed over the years or where they stand now in regard to Annabeth. I’m not here to ignore things that have been said and/or done due to or in the name of Annabeth and I’m not here to vilify anyone that doesn’t like her. And I’m here to admit that I’m guilty of some of the things that may be addressed in this meta essay that you will read in just a second. However, I try my best to assure you, that I’m for once able to recognize my own bias.

Warning: a monster essay lies right upon you.

This should count as a paper of its own.

Back to the statement on top: I would go out even further to reframe your claim, anon:

Annabeth Chase is a good character but not a nice or pleasant person.

Annabeth is a wonderful character but she isn’t a nice one. Or at least not nice to everyone. She is (construction wise if I dare say) the best character out of the series. She has her positive traits (she’s caring, she’s emotional, she’s encouraged and volunteers, she fights for what she believes in, she forgives (even if doing so begrudgingly)) but she also has her negative traits (she’s stubborn, she’s brash, changing her mind takes forever, she is prejudiced, she baits others). That balances things out. She is branded as the intelligent kid but does irrational things (like I’ve just said a) she’s a kid and b) she’s not a robot). She should probably know better, but we all make mistakes and hopefully grow and learn from them. The clouds in the sky do blur and cover our visions sometimes.

Annabeth had clashes with other characters or was about to have fights due to her stubbornness or jealousy (Rachel, Reyna, etc.) and has of course her problems with the mortal world and her family but she also found new friends, some things cleared up throughout the narration and she was/is quite popular in Camp Half-Blood.

The thing is: she doesn’t have to be nice or pleasant (as a character). Or at least not all the time. Her character is humanized. That is what or who she is. Human. She does stand out as a character, not just because she’s the (future) love interest. She feels like someone you could meet in real life and either adore from the top to the bottom or declare as your biggest enemy. And that’s totally okay if you lean either way – liking or disliking her. Or even feeling indifferent about her. Also great!

To say that she has been the best character that Riordan has crafted is easy to say, because she has been sculpted after Riordan’s wife. He had a model he could rub some of real-life events or traits on. That’s not the problem. The problem truly doesn’t lie on Riordan’s side for the most part for once.

The problem is inherently on the fandom’s side. What the fandom does, how it acts and how it treats Annabeth as a character is the problem. The problems vary but it’s mostly the mischaracterization of Annabeth, starting fights and fan/ship wars, internalized misogyny (in some cases) and how some of the Annabeth stans lash out (ha, got firsthand experience in that field among many of my friends and mutuals!). There is a reason why many people are wary of people that have Annabeth or Percabeth related URLs.

The fact that we see Annabeth mostly through Percy’s lens and (until the Heroes of Olympus saga hits) we never really see her in chill everyday situations is essentially Riordan leaving the back door of the house open, ready for all of you asshats to rob his mansion in Boston. Because a frame on a character means that we don’t get to see the character in its entirety (unlike we do with Percy in PJO for the most part). That means a bunch of stuff is left open for interpretation which is the reason why Annabeth gets so many polarized headcanon and opinions tossed around. I think that is one of the true appeals of Annabeth. You can add on stuff and it necessarily doesn’t have to contradict itself.

We have people calling her abusive due to a (n admittedly stupid and unnecessary) judo flip and we have people that act like she’s never done anything wrong. People sorta use this excuse to form and shape Annabeth however they want and distort her characterization.

People in the fandom act like Annabeth is some weird prized possession. We perceive Annabeth mostly through the eyes of others (Percy, Apollo, etc.) and when we had some sort of insight in her ways (MOA, HOH) it felt… weird? Somewhat? Like Riordan left two bullet points of her characterization and told the ghostwriter: aight, fuck it up, gringo, see you on Tuesday and greet Fred the next time you see him for me. 

There have been many posts lately (by Tharini, Simi, Sawasawako, Jewishpercy and Annie I believe?) that HOO Percabeth felt weird. That they felt weirdly constructed, that there was no conflict, no growth. It felt stagnating, like we’re turning back. We had five books prior where we had Annabeth and Percy slowly shifting from disliking to liking and crushing each other. True development. And when we finally got the cake it felt… dissatisfying. Like the cheap box stuff and not the delicious exquisite taste that we were promised.

I said it previously in my Percabeth ship roast, but let me repeat myself: many Percabeth related things are straight up fanon. Some of it is very old fanon so that’s been unable to distinguish unless you’ve read the books recently and subtract nearly 99,9% of things you see on Tumblr (and occasionally the other shitty parts of the fandom like Reddit, IG, Twitter. Although they mostly steal and recycle tumblr stuff oh well. But back to the topic).

The way people treat Annabeth is so strange. She’s either an innocent fluffy smush baby that’s never harmed a fly and all that she wants for Christmas is being Percy’s lapdog or she’s the devil incarnate, broke into your house, killed your parents Batman style, kicked your puppy and didn’t flush the toilet on the way out. I think this is what mostly makes people hate her or the ship Percabeth. And both extremes are wrong and right at the same time? She is multifaceted so both stereotypes are true and untrue and sorta cancel each other out in the same way.

The true reason why people dislike Annabeth is because the stans are doing the most. (The haters as well, don’t get me wrong, but oh boy. Piss of a stan and you’ll know what I mean). That isn’t inherently new. Are you guys old enough to remember the ship wars that have happened cross platform? Perachel vs. Percabeth? Oh boy, oh boy. I saw some kids on tumblr a few months ago trying to infiltrate both tags and start shit (and also fail). The fact that Rachel still gets used as the bitchy (ex) girlfriend in fanfics? It’s 2020 guys. I know this apocalyptic year is far from perfect and over but I think we can let this trope die, right? Right? I thought we’ve established that Rachel is a pretty chill charcter by now… right?

If you posted your stuff on FFN back in 2010-2013 and it wasn’t the typical cutesy Percabeth story (Goode High, the gods read TLT, punk/prep Percabeth, college AU, etc.) people would’ve come for your fucking throat. Not because the story or the narration was shit. But because the pairing wasn’t Annabeth and Percy (in the sense that Annabeth had to be paired with Percy. I mean Percy gets shipped with everyone and their mother but for Annabeth it was strictly Percy. As annoying as this whole Connabeth thing is – the people behind it actually had a point. She never had a different love interest unless it’s a Percy centered story and he goes off dating Athena, Artemis and Zoe at the same time for some odd reason. Yeah, FFN Percy ships are something). Or it wasn’t the action filled canon compliant story or it wasn’t an AU that was popular.

People were really stubborn, snobbish and wanted their stuff in the four five boxes that were the most popular ones and that’s it. People have been bullied off the site in many fandoms, so it’s not a PJO-only thing but it’s still sad that it happened. (Off-note: most of these FFN tropes are still alive and well and thriving on AO3. Don’t be so snobbish and pretend that every piece you’d find there is a holy grail. There’s a lot of trash you have to waddle through. Same with Wattpad, Tumblr or anywhere else where fanfics get posted. Also had this discussion with Annabeth stans. Sigh).

And Tumblr back then? Forget it, wasn’t much better.

That view has sorta changed (at least for people that have been in the fandom for several years or have managed to find a way to navigate through it) but some of the negative sentiment from back in the day has survived. Be it by new fans coming in or from old fans that never let their stance die. The aggression feels differently and somewhat not. (I don’t know if the anon function had been abused that much back in the day. I was an observer not a participant in the fandom).

Crack a joke at Annabeth’s expense (Kal’s famous “Annabeth is a Republican” post or Dee Dee’s and many others “Annabeth has the education of a second grader, chill with the college plans, girlie” stance) and you have people insulting you, making callout posts, unfollowing and blocking you (based on only that? Okay, honey), making aggressive counter-posts, etc. in a minute. If you respond with “It’s a joke, it’s not real” you have a 50/50 chance of either getting blown off or embarrassing them so that they apologize for once.

This isn’t just about jokes. You can make a headcanon that’s not the cozy cute convenient mainstream saga and people would react the same way. Or art piece (no, not including the whole Tannabeth Blackchase shtick done by Viria and others) or fanfics.

People project so much onto the unfinished canvas that is Annabeth Chase that any form of negative sentiment as little as someone not liking her to straight up criticism, regardless of how tiny it may be, seems like an affront. Like an invitation to a fight. Like an insult to them, their character, everything they believe in. Let me state something:

You are NOT Annabeth Chase. Annabeth Chase IS NOT you. Annabeth Chase is NOT real. Her feeling cannot be hurt. Someone criticizing, disliking, joking about her or even insulting her will not bother her. Someone making a statement about her is not an insult to YOU.

Let me repeat that:

Annabeth Chase isn’t real. Annabeth Chase isn’t you.

So think a little before you act? I get it when you’re a kid and new to fandoms or haven’t been up with fan cultures in the past and are back in the scene. But if you’re in your late teens or even older as an adult and you’re unable to understand that you aren’t what you like – you aren’t the extension of a fictional character – I feel incredibly sorry for you. Because that’s just incredibly sad. Someone disliking something you like isn’t an attack of your character. It shows you that you are you and the other person is a human just like you. That they just have different taste. Disliking something you like isn’t a crime, you know? But me feeling sorry for the way some of y’all act won’t mean that that’s even remotely okay. Especially if you’re no longer in the intended audience for PJO age wise and should know better.

This isn’t a “white stans” only thing. I’ve seen and witnessed firsthand how people of color, mainly women of color, act the same or not even worse when it comes to her character. People have projected their problems and real-life occurring events into her character (I’m sure that she isn’t the only character nor that this is the only fandom where this is happening) and in some cases like I’ve said cannot separate their own personality from the fictional world. Fights with woc happened because of Annabeth fucking Chase. So many things have happened in the fandom the past few months, mostly due to people being forced staying at home because of the quarantine but I’d say it’s 10% on quarantine and 90% on people for acting up like this.

So here’s a little story: There was the act of Riordan blowing the fandom up because of his own stupidity and being unable to apologize for his mischaracterization and lack of research (the whole Piper fiasco) back in June (?) and admits the upset fandom, people on Twitter, Tumblr and Discord legit thought that none of that mattered and that the outcry was destroying Annabeth Chase’s birthday. That’s right. People thought that Annabeth Chase’s non-existing birthday because she’s a fictional character had a higher priority than the rupture and prevalent racism in the fandom. Okay. This isn’t a great look, Annabeth stans. And this of course pissed a lot of people off. I made a post about it and someone not only berated three other people on said post but no, we had a mighty argument which had disrupted many friendships in our circle which haven’t recovered until this very day. We both had our parts in it and no one is innocent. But the cause of this still remains Annabeth Chase or how people prioritize her non-existing well-being. Anyway. I’m getting agitated just thinking about it.

Let’s go back to the characterization thing with Annabeth. Let me remind you:

Annabeth Chase is an asshole. There I’ve said it in a post ages ago (too lazy to look it up, sorry) and I’ll say it again. And that’s not me insulting her. That’s me actually loving that about her. Annabeth is one of the very few unapologetic female characters that really showed all young readers across the world that you can be a girl, a badass, smart, strong, standing up for yourself and what you believe in. You don’t have to be nice. You don’t have to hide your feelings. You don’t need a man in all cases but it’s also okay to accept help and defeat.

A large reason why I think she’s an incredibly important character in children’s literature/YA because many other novels (mostly (sadly)) have the “Oh, I’m a white skinny dark-haired girl that likes unconventional things like READING. I’m not like the other girls, that take care of themselves and pamper themselves by enjoying shopping and wearing make-up. No, I’d rather be one of the boys but a sweet cute little boy and not the jock fuck that drank vodka shots out of a filthy shoe once. Despite me calling myself hideous every man in a 10-kilometer radius falls in love with me and tells me I’m oh so sexy and by the way I’m only 16 years old” shit going on for no goddamn reason.

Yes, I do blame Twilight for this mostly in recent years, but this trope isn’t by any means knew. Pretty sure that you could even use classics as Pride and Prejudice and dissect them in the same manner (Bold statement: Lizzy Bennet is the OG Bella Swan. There. Go fight somewhere in the corner, people). The new wave of YA focuses on girls belittling themselves and only starting to believe in themselves because someone else (mostly the male love interest) tells them they’re worth it. And these books hit the mainstream because they’re incredibly bland and picture perfect white.

With Annabeth it’s different. She shows up for the job and is done with it. (Brie Larson would probably be the perfect in real life version of her. You either like or dislike her. Or you really don’t care). That is what is so refreshing about her. Her unapologetic nature. Can it be off-putting? Yes. Is it annoying? Yes! Hell, every time I read The Lightning Thief, I want to rip her goddamn head off. And it’s just so well written. Her shift from mistrusting Percy but secretly still believing in him to her opening up. Wow, Riordan did something right there.

Annabeth Chase isn’t a young character. She has existed along with PJO for 15 years. She’s on her way to the second decade. I’m pretty sure that with the success of Percy Jackson (and Harry Potter) many lives have been warped and shaped.

But when I say the problem lies mostly in the fandom, it doesn’t mean that Riordan’s completely innocent. The only problem that I have with Annabeth lies not truly with her but the fact that Riordan is only able to produce three variations of female characters:

The sweetheart (Hazel, Silena, Calypso, Hestia)

The strong feminist (Annabeth, Piper, Thalia, Reyna, Artemis)

The bitch (Drew, nearly every female goddess in the goddamn Riordanverse next to every female monster)

And these female characters only know three endings:

End up married with a mortgage, three kids, two dogs and a cat somewhere in Connecticut by the age of twelve

Get dumped into the hunt

Chill on Mount Olympus and only come down to be a nuisance and/or give a cryptic message before going back and doing a godly rave party or something

We know Annabeth as the badass strong female first (or the bitchy character we’re supposed to actually like. Choose your approach), the blueprint so to speak, so some of the other characters feel almost pale in comparison and almost not needed? Doesn’t mean that other characters can’t behave similarly, but it feels kind of redundant especially if their character arcs end in a rather anticlimactic way (Thalia, Reyna). The new additions are the much needed woc as the main story with PJO was inherently white (anyway stan black!Percy and Grover, folks). So it’s not to bash on the new characters, it’s more Riordan’s fault more than anything.

Since Riordan only knows three female character arcs it feels like he tried to copy the formula several ways with different nuances. Some more or less successful. This is where fandom actually comes in handy and helps create more distinguished and fleshed out characters in form of headcanons or fanfiction.

But even in these cases people still make it about Annabeth when it’s time for characters of colors to shine. Remember that whole spiel and discussion that broke out when people (Kal, diver-up, Caitlyn, Bee, reynaisalesbian, etc.) joked about or criticized that Annabeth thinks that she’s having it harder because she’s a blonde? In front of Hazel and Piper? If she would’ve been a real person that’s an invitation for getting decked. And then all hell broke loose because Annabeth stans couldn’t accept the fact that in the real world and/or in fictional worlds the woc/coc have it harder? That the white woman wasn’t the victim that needed the coddling? Yeah, that was mad pathetic.

I hope you people get my point?

Well fuck. I wrote so many things and have the feeling I’ve said nothing. Anyway, I hope I made sense. This is way too long.

TLDR: Chill about Annabeth please. She’s an important character but that doesn’t mean that everyone has to like her, regardless of being a character in the books or a reader/fan of PJO in real life. She isn’t nice or a sweetheart all the time. She also isn’t the monstrous asshole that some try to make out of her.

Peace out.

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Our Story - Prologue

theA/N: My first Chris Evans series. This is just a fluffy little series that has been floating around in my brain for a while, and because I've recently fallen head first into the Chris trashcan, I figured he’d be the perfect person for this little love story AU. I mean absolutely no disrespect with this, it's just a work of fiction. I also want to give a huge thank you to @percywinchester27​ and @girl-next-door-writes​ for being my betas for this story. You are both amazing and I'm so grateful for your help on this. 

Chapter: One

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader (unfortunately no Chris in this part) 

Warnings: Absolutely none. 

Wordcount: 1850

Four weeks after my twentieth birthday, I left my childhood home in Savannah, Georgia, and pointed my nose towards New York. It was hard to believe that eight years had passed already, but my twenty-eighth birthday approached in large strides to remind me of how much time had passed, and how much had changed. New York City was a stark contrast to Savannah, the city that never sleeps VS the most charming city in America. When I first moved here, it was my intention to stay for only a year, then I would be back in Savannah with my family and the man that I loved so deeply, Josh. 

However, life never really turns out how you intend it to, no matter how much you plan for your future. Josh and I used to talk at length about our future together, and I honestly couldn't wait to get started on it all, house, careers, and then a family of our own at some point. Then, after eight or so months of long-distance we finally broke and admitted to ourselves that it was just too hard. I know you might think that since we had stuck it out for that long, we surely could manage a few more months, but by then I had been asked to stay on in what was supposed to be a temporary position, and I had fallen in love, not only with the city, but with my work. I asked Josh to come to me, told him we could find ourselves a little apartment in Queens, or the East Village, something we could afford, and we could spend a few years together here before moving back home to start a family. I guess you’ve already figured it didn't turn out that way, and it ended, as long-distance relationships often do, in heartbreak. It was my first real heartbreak- amicable, civil, and soul-crushing. It was also then I realized, as we all, unfortunately, do at some point in our lives, that love does not, in fact, conquer all. 

If I'm being completely honest, I knew within my first month in this magical city that I would never want to leave, and after things ended with Josh, I felt as though I had deceived him in some cruel, unintentional way. Every conversation we had, had after that had been filled with lies and promises I never intended to keep. I had fooled myself as much as I had fooled him. After our break up, although completely heartbroken, I felt free and unburdened, which strangely made me feel even worse about the whole thing. Our love didn't end in some big blowout argument, or because we didn't want to be with one another. It ended because of the thousands of miles that separated us, and because in the months we spent apart, I changed in a way that could not have been foreseen. Never did I imagine myself in a big and busy city, but as I said, New York and me, it was love at first sight. 

You might be wondering what job took me from my safe and comfortable life in Georgia, thinking that it must have been some grand, once in a lifetime thing. It was not. It was a temporary job as a personal assistant. I found it as I sat by my computer one night, daydreaming about what kind of life I would live if I had all the money in the world, what life Josh and I could create for ourselves. That's when I came across the ad. A woman, Mrs. Wallace, needed an assistant. She was a very wealthy woman in need of someone to keep track of her very busy social calendar, amongst other things. I knew she was wealthy because she lived on Fifth Avenue, not that I had ever been to New York and really knew what that entailed, but I had seen movies and read books placed in the city and knew very well that Fifth Avenue was a very expensive street. There was little to no description of the job or what Mrs. Wallace was looking for in an assistant, other than that they had to be organized and were able to juggle multiple things at once. Beyond that it really came down to compatibility. I was nothing if not organized, so before I knew it, I had compiled an application letter and sent to her email. I told no one about this, because it was ridiculous for me to think I'd even get a reply back. In all honesty, it had all been forgotten by the next morning, and I didn't think of it again until three days later when, at dinner with Josh I might add, I got an answer. She would like for us to meet. We sent a couple of emails back and forth where I tried to, as politely as possible, explain that I did not have the means to travel to New York just for an interview. I stated that I appreciated her interest, and apologized profusely for not being able to make it out there. It was then she asked for my details, and about fifteen minutes later I got a confirmation from American Airlines that my ticket had been booked and paid for. Two days later I was sitting opposite Mrs. Wallace at a restaurant that I would never be able to afford, listening to her talk about the job I had applied for and what she expected of me. 

The very first thing that struck me about Mrs. Wallace was her age. For some reason, I had imagined someone in their fifties, full of botox, fillers, and whatever else middle-aged women put into their faces to look younger, but Mrs. Wallace was not that much older than me. At the time we met, she was twenty-seven, so younger than I am now, and strikingly beautiful. Thick, black hair that looked professionally blow-dried and sculpted so that not a single strand was out of place. It draped over her shoulders in loose Hollywood style waves and stood in sharp contrast to the white blazer she wore. Her skin was olive, her eyes deep brown, and her cheekbones could probably cut glass. When you put that together with her long, model-like legs, an hourglass waistline, and a very ample bosom, the woman looked like a greek goddess. To top it all off she had a warm and kind smile, and a kick-ass sense of humor. Kate, as she insisted I call her, was far from the stuck up, nose in the sky, botox filled woman that I had imagined in my head. We hit it off, and before dessert was served, I had a job offer. 

It's hard to explain, but I felt as though I needed to take this opportunity, that this was an experience I was meant to have in some inexplicable way, and I accepted right then and there without a second thought, or even a conversation with my family or boyfriend. Josh was angry with me at first, but supportive, so two weeks later I stood in front of 1040 Fifth Avenue and looked up at the towering building with its limestone and intricate carvings here and there. Kate greeted me at the front door as I stepped out of the car that she had sent to pick me up from the airport. This place even had a porte-cochere to protect the residents from rain as they walked from the door to their private chauffeur-driven vehicles. I would be staying here with the Wallace family, in the staff quarters with the rest of the staff of course, so that I could be available to Kate at all times. And that's how my New York adventure started. 

Eight years later, I am still working for Kate, still living in my little room in the staff quarters, but I love it. I have a little bathroom and everything I need. Food is prepared for us all by the cook, Rosalia. She is a little, plump woman in her mid-fifties, kind and compassionate, not to mention deeply passionate about the food she prepared for the whole household. Along with me and Rosalia, the other staff in our quarters are Magdalena, the housekeeper, and Mitch, who is Mr Wallace’s assistant. There was more staff, of course, like the private chauffeur’s, who didn't live on-site and throughout any given day, people would be in and out of the place like it was a busy office space as opposed to the home that it actually is. 

Now, Mr Wallace was a very busy man, working non-stop whether it be at his office, or at his home office. It seemed as whenever I saw him, he was walking in fast strides, either on the phone, or confirming things with Mitch who half sprinted behind him with his I-pad, trying not to trip over anything as he tried to keep up and take down notes at the same time. Henry, that was Mr Wallace’s first name, was a little older than Kate, not so much that you could accuse her of being a gold digger, but he was approaching his fifties now. He didn't look it though, he was a very handsome man, and kind. Imagine George Clooney, a man that just seems to get more gorgeous with every passing year. Kate and Henry were busy, always had their hands full with whatever it was, but somehow they always found time to share a meal together every day. Even if it meant having Rosalia heat up some leftovers for them at midnight. They were very much in love, and it was clear in the way they looked at one another, and how they always made sure to have that little moment to themselves every day. A couple of years ago, Kate had confided in me that she could not have children of her own, it was something that had weighed on her since she was only sixteen years old, but with Henry, she said, ‘I have all I need with that man, all the love I could ever wish for.’ It was a shame really, because I knew that Kate would have made an amazing mother, and Henry a great dad. ‘I'm alright,’ she had assured me. ‘I've come to peace with it, and learned not to dwell on something that will never be.’ 

So, that's the short version of how I ended up here, doing a job I adored in a city I loved with all my heart, so I think it's about time we move forward. Jump to the part where my real story starts. Spoiler alert; it involves a warm summer day in Central Park, a ruined dress, and an extremely handsome man named Chris. 

******

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