#the author really put a lot of thought into it

[brujaluas]

What your future spouse will think of you when you are starting to get to know each other??

i love my isabelle 🎀

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I'll tell you, I was doing the reading and I was like "wow", really shocked. I don't know what you did, but it caused an EXTREME impression on your spouse. When you meet them, you will probably be doing very well in life, especially in your professional and career field, and they will think that's great. That Lady Gaga song called Paparazzi came to mind, "I'll be your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me" something like that (I'm sorry if the lyrics aren't 100% accurate lol). They may be colleagues, something like that, but they will see you and recognize you as a very intense figure of authority and someone who really puts things in order and knows how to lead people. They see you as a leader, especially if you are a woman. They think it's incredible that you seem so impassive and well-structured. They may not be so good with words, but you make them nervous, so they end up talking nonsense that in their minds is incredible, but in reality it can even be an insult.

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what's happening with you guys? I'M NOT DOUBTING ANYONE'S POTENTIAL, but I'm shocked at how you manage to make REALLY strong impressions on them in such a short time. It's a mess here. I don't know why, but they'll consider you famous (?), they'll see you as a star like Maxxine screaming I'M FUCKING STAR, but anyway, they think you're somehow flashy and stand out to the public. If you wear clothes that show a lot of skin, they like it and will think a lot about it. They also think you'll have to give up a lot of things for this relationship or they have to change a lot of things for you. In a way, it's as if one or both of you are in a comfort zone, but you'll have to face it like having a relationship, ending cycles and starting new ones.

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They'll see you as a very rational, inflexible and bossy person. a difficult person to tame (?) (that was the phrase that came to mind, probably a thought that crossed their mind), anyway, they will think that you are in some kind of transfer of sectors in life (I don't know if that makes sense to you, maybe to a very small group of people), they will think that your life is turned upside down, experiencing many things, it is as if your life is very intense and you have to deal with everything at the same time but at the same time they have faith in you! They believe that you can achieve what you want, they root for you, like they know that you will be able to get there.

[em1i2a3]

Cradle

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Mom(Post-Partum)!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Starts off on a bit of a scary note, Fluff, lot’s of it, reader went through a C-Section, and there is a reference to that, there is accidental swearing, and once again Bucky is just a super soft sweet boi being his sweet boi self…But all in all, very fluffy, very cute, just pure vibes.

Authors Note: This is connected to ‘Forwards Beckon Rebound,’ it’s a little bit of a continuation of sorts but it’s more of a blurb, there’s not a lot connected, this could be read as a standalone too though, I think. Also, Adrianne Lenker has really been a mood for me lately, and thank god she has so many beautiful songs because this one was so frickin fitting.

Word Count: 3,443

Taglist: @sleepysongbirdsings (y’all I’m so mentally old I’m slowly getting used to what to do for these posts lol, so if anyone wants to be part of my Taglist I mean…Give me a shout :))

The last thing you remembered before going under was Bucky’s voice. His large hands framing your face, his thumbs running along the bags under your eyes.

”I promise I’ll be here when you wake up…” His voice was cracking, fear breaking through his words. He was terrified, you could see it in the way his dark blue irises scanned over your face, taking every detail in as if this could be the last time he saw you. Everything happened so quickly that neither of you had time to process anything. One moment you were in the hospital bed getting checked, the next they were preparing you for an emergency C-Section. You were panicking, scared for the baby, scared for yourself even.

You reached up and squeezed his fingers tight–a desperate goodbye you didn’t want to be saying–nodding through the tears that streamed down your face, then the cool oxygen mask slid over your mouth and nose, and you were taken under a sea of black.

————-

Coming back to consciousness felt like being dragged through wet cement. Your limbs were heavy and numb, as if they were being pinned down by invisible weights. Your throat was burning and your mouth was dry, you assumed it was probably from the tube they had put down your throat during the surgery to make sure your breathing was controlled, you heard them mention it in the chaos of them preparing you for the C-Section…At least you thought you did.

Thankfully there was no immediate pain, just a deep, tight ache that buzzed in your lower abdomen reminding you of what just occurred two and a half hours ago.

You felt like you were floating, half-aware, but half-asleep, until the sound of voices pulled you closer to the surface.

“You’re doing perfect hun,” A soft, coaxing voice said, you assumed it was a nurse. Her tone was patient, and warm, almost motherly even.

”I’m…I just haven’t done this before…I don’t think I’m doing this right.” Another voice cracked out, low and thick with nerves. It was Bucky. Your Bucky…Your rock...You could feel your chest twist at the sound of him so worried, but there was such relief when you heard that voice.

“You’ve been doing great. She’s calm, she’s breathing steady. Been asleep for the past hour after that big feed. You’re keeping her warm and giving her something steady to nap on, I’d say you’re a pro.” You could feel your body immediately tense at the word she. A baby girl. You had fought to keep the gender a secret from yourself, and now knowing gave you some sort of second wind in a way, a push to try and keep yourself over the edge so you could stay at least semi-conscious.

There was a soft rustle of fabric, a faint creak of a chair, and the sound of shifting. You forced your eyes open, just the tiniest bit, fighting against the weight that was trying to pull them closed again.

The first thing you saw was him.

Bucky was sitting stiffly in the reclining hospital chair, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, like he was attempting to curl himself around the tiny bundle in his arms, trying to make himself seem small in a way, which was nearly impossible given the sheer size of him. His hair was pulled back in a bun, and he was shirtless, with a soft pink blanket covering a portion of his chest and midsection, containing as much warmth as possible. His vibranium hand hovered awkwardly over the fabric, resting there for support, but not fully touching, letting his other arm do all the heavy lifting. You could see the way it was wrapped around her, his enormous hand cupping nearly her whole back with the most delicate kind of softness.

Your vision was still swimming, but you could make out the faint shape of a tiny hand–impossibly small–splayed out over the center of Bucky’s broad chest. Her little fingers twitched now and then, though there were no shifts or squeals, not yet at least.

The entire sight was almost too much to take in.

You could see how tense Bucky was even from across the room, his jaw tight, his brows drawn together. It was easy to tell he was nervous and worried that he might accidentally do something wrong, and every muscle in his body showed that through the way they locked and tensed into place so that he could hold himself perfectly still.

”I-I definitely don’t feel like a pro,” Bucky muttered, “I’m scared I’m gonna hold her too tight…She’s so small.” The nurse chuckled softly, adjusting the blanket a bit higher over the baby’s back with a practiced hand, moving carefully, and reading the tension that was running all over his face. She was treating him with the same tenderness she might offer a brand-new parent, even though she knew the situation.

“She’s not little. Nine pounds, two ounces is a chunky little peanut.” The nurse teased gently, patting Bucky’s vibranium arm reassuringly, “You’re just a big ol’ mountain of a man, and you make everything look tiny.” Bucky gave a small, uncertain laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes, even though it did ease him a bit. He continued to cradle the bundle against him, dragging his thumb along her warm skin, a small smile coming up on his lips as he looked down at a carbon copy of you, just in tinier form.

His head dipped slightly, his nose brushing against the crown of the baby’s fuzzy head, breathing in without even realizing he was doing it. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a second he looked younger and softer than you’d ever seen him before.

“Is it weird if I say she smells like spun sugar…Like Coney Island cotton candy…That real sweet, sticky kind of smell.” Bucky asked quietly, his voice rough with nerves and awe as he cradled the bundle tighter to him. The nurse let out a soft, affectionate laugh.

”Not weird at all,” She soothed, “Every baby’s got their own smell, it’s kind of like a new car smell…But for tiny humans, and you’re certainly not the first tough guy to melt over it, either.” You could see Bucky’s cheeks turn a faint red through the blurriness in your vision. You swallowed against the dry scrape in your throat, heart aching as you opened your mouth to form a word.

”Bucky…” It was barely a sound, just a breath in the air, but he had heard it. His head immediately snapped up, his wide blue eyes locking onto you from across the room, a wave of relief washing over him. His mouth parted, but no sound came out, and he looked wrecked. It was like he had heard the most important voice of his life. The nurse nudged him slightly.

“C’mon, big guy, let’s bring her to mama hm?” Bucky blinked up at her like he’d forgotten he could move, like the only thing that was keeping him focused was you and the tiny heartbeat that was pressed against his chest. Slowly, he shifted to his feet, the nurse helping guide him as he adjusted his hold on the baby with exaggerated care. You could see the way he kept his vibranium arm hovering uselessly by his side as he stepped towards you, and you could feel tears filling your eyes at the gentleness of it all.

You tried to lift your arms, desperate to reach for the both of them, but they barely twitched against the sheets. A helpless whimper tore itself from your throat.

”My arms are still numb.” You croaked, feeling the tingling heaviness that plagued your nerves. Immediately the nurse was beside you, smoothing a hand over your shoulder.

”That’s alright sweetheart, we can still get her tucked up against you, Bucky over here can climb in beside you and secure her on your chest for extra safety.” Bucky stood frozen for a second, looking down at the tiny bundle, then at you.

“I would like that.” You replied quickly. The nurse smiled at your response and held her hands out to Bucky motioning for him to hand over the bundle so he could slip onto the mattress, and fill the space beside you. The hand off was gentle, and you could see the look on his face when the soft warmth of the baby’s skin left him, like he was holding onto the fleeting moment. He kicked his shoes off and brought down the railing beside you, carefully sliding underneath the covers, the mattress shifting beneath the new weight he introduced to it. You knew it would be a tight fit, but you wanted him there with you, and no matter the close proximity, you just craved his steady presence, and he gave you that with no questions.

He slid his vibranium arm around your shoulders, curling it carefully around you, bringing you closer to him with such a protective instinct that you could feel your heart beating out of your chest, leaning into him, absorbing the warmth that radiated off his skin.

”Alright, now you’re gonna help me a little bit and just untie the top of her gown so we can get the little one tucked in.” Bucky nodded once, like he was taking orders on a mission. He reached up to the shoulders of your gown, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes, before gently pulling on the ties, loosening them slowly just enough to reveal the top of your chest. The cool air ghosted across your skin for just a fraction of a second, then the nurse carefully placed the tiny, perfect weight of your daughter onto your body.

The moment her skin touched yours, it was as if the whole world cracked open. The heat of her, the fragile rise and fall of her chest against yours, the indescribable softness of her cheek pressing into the curve of your breastbone, the way she nuzzled her little nose into you with her fists curling up tight against your body–it was overwhelming, but worth every second. You could feel the coolness of Bucky’s vibranium hand run over your bicep, soothing you the only way he could in those moments as he looked down at you, watching tears flowing down your cheeks. You were so relieved everything was okay, and now that your eyes were on her, the instinct of wanting to be closer pulled at every fiber of your being. Bucky brought his arm over her back so he could hold her closer against your chest, keeping her nuzzled on your skin so you could take in every moment, even though you couldn’t cradle her on your own yet.

“That’s perfect sweetheart,” The nurse said quietly, tucking the soft pink blanket loosely around all three of you, securing the warmth once more without actively separating everyone, “I’m going to step out and give you all some privacy, if you need anything the call button’s right on the bed rail.” The both of you nodded, but you weren’t even sure you heard her properly because you were so enamoured by the little bundle that was frowning against you.

The door clicked softly behind the nurse as she stepped out of the room, leaving the three of you wrapped in a bubble of silence. Neither of you moved at first. There was too much floating in the air around you–gratitude, wonder, a love so thick it was hard to breathe through. The only sound that could truly be heard was the tiny, steady coos of the newborn sleeping against your chest.

Slowly, Bucky shifted closer to you, and without a word he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was feather-light, the kind of kiss that would’ve broken you in any other situation apart from this. When he pulled back, his lips ghosted another peck against your hairline.

”You are…Incredible.” He whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he was holding in, “The strongest person I’ve ever met.” He added, another kiss landing right on your temple.

“I’m so proud of you Y/N…” You closed your eyes at his words, a fresh wave of tears burning behind the lids, as you leaned down to press your cheek against the tiny crown of soft fuzz that was your daughter’s head, breathing in to calm your heart from seizing up from the overwhelming sensation of love that coated it. You let the scent of her settle in your lungs, and it hit you that it was exactly how Bucky described it. Sweet and warm, soft and sticky like spun sugar on a summer day. You let out a little, tearful laugh against her head.

”You really are right…She does smell like cotton candy,” Bucky let out a low, broken chuckle, tightening his arm around you, his hand stilling against your bicep, shifting so he could get even closer to you.

“I thought I was hallucinating, so I’m glad you confirmed that. I assumed the nurse was just trying to ease my worries when she said it was normal.” You let out a quiet giggle, looking up at him.

”I think it was for the best. You looked so nervous…Like a gentle giant.” He blushed at the way you said it, realizing that you had been watching and listening to his interaction with the nurse for longer than he thought.

“Yeah well…I was scared,” Bucky replied sheepishly, his eyes flickering from you, down to the tiny sleeping bundle against your chest, “She’s a carbon copy of you…I didn’t want to accidentally do something wrong.” You smiled through the burning in your throat, bringing yourself even closer to him, nuzzling into the steady shelter of his body.

”You did amazing, Bucky…” You whispered. He let out a shaky exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours, his forehead tipping down to bump yours. You know how much he needed to hear that, and how much it soothed the nerves that were ripping him apart from the inside. The baby cooed gently, shifting a bit against you, her tiny fist moving along your chest, like she was trying to get closer.

The both of you watched her, your chests moving in sync, taking in deep breaths, and after a while, he broke the silence.

”So…” He said softly, his thumb stroking absently along your forearm, “Have you thought about what you’re going to name her?” You could feel a smile tugging up on your lips at the question.

”I have,” You responded gently, shifting slightly so you could see his face better. He pulled back a little as well, giving you his full, undivided attention, his eyes focused on yours, scanning over your face in anticipation.

”I’ve actually known for months,” You admitted, watching as Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. You usually told him everything, but this was a secret you kept safe until today, not wanting to be too reliant on getting a specific gender, because truly it didn’t matter, all you wanted was a healthy baby. He tried to hold himself back from looking too desperate for your answer, but you saw through it.

“I want her to have the name of the person who raised my second favourite human being in the world,” You said quietly, your voice trembling with such tenderness it almost felt like you were shaking against him. You could see the cogs turning in his head, his brows pulling together even tighter like he was trying to figure out what you meant by that. You loved seeing the confusion in his eyes in that moment, and it made you smile through the tears that began to build up in your eyes.

”Winnifred,” You whispered, “I’m naming her Winnifred.” You could feel the air get sucked out of the room, watching Bucky’s jaw go slack, blinking hard, once, then twice, like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he just heard. His throat bobbed in a rough swallow, as he took in a small breath.

”My ma…” He rasped, his voice breaking into pieces, his eyes glistening over with unshed tears as he stared at you like he was witnessing a miracle “You…You’re naming her after my ma?” You nodded, smiling through your own tears. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to ground himself, his forehead lowering until it rested lightly against yours, his breath shuddering out over your cheeks.

“You deserve everything good in this world, Bucky…And she would be so proud of you…I want to honour that.” You could feel him shake slightly, as he sniffled, pulling back to look at you again. The sheer sight of him wrecked you, his blue eyes swimming with tears that clung thickly to his lashes. You wished in those moments you could reach up to hold his face between your hands, but they were still tingling.

”You’re…You’re my sun, Y/N…” He whispered, his vibranium hand slipping from your bicep to cradle the side of your face with aching tenderness, “You’re the center of everything for me…I choose to be in your orbit every second of every day…And I don’t want to do anything else.” You could feel yourself choke up a little bit, as Bucky carefully leaned forward, kissing your cheeks gently, soft and slow, like he was memorizing you.

“Because I love you…So fucking much.” His breath ran over your skin as he said the words so lightly you could barely hear them over your pulse pounding in your ears. His confession hung between the both of you, filling the space and sinking into your body like sunlight after a long, brutal winter. You closed your eyes at his thumb dragging along your cheek, your breath trembling as you pushed yourself to speak.

”I love you too, Bucky…I always have.” There was a moment of silence, and you opened your eyes to look at him, seeing a small smile on his lips. It was such a relief to finally say it aloud, and it was the perfect moment to do it. He breathed you in for a fraction of a second, then without words he shifted. His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck, his fingers splaying out to anchor himself there. You tilted your chin, nudging your nose against his, then finally…His lips touched yours.

It was barely a kiss at first, it actually mirrored the way you had brushed the corner of his mouth with yours the night he had felt the baby kick for the first time, but only this was more like he was offering himself to you. Surrendering.

You let out a small exhale through your nose, and Bucky answered with a breath of his own, pressing a little closer, kissing you now with just the slightest bit of pressure. The softness of his lips captured yours in such an aching, and burning way…Because it was him kissing you with a kind of worship so raw and stripped down that it made your chest swell.

You kissed him back with everything you had, and with as much care as he gave you, trembling against each other with the weight of it all–the baby sleeping on your skin, the love that tied you together, the history, the hope, and the future.

When you finally broke apart, it was by small fractions, neither of you really willing to let go–your noses brushing, your breath still tangling together in the space between you.

“I’m all yours…” He whispered, letting the words fold into the fragile air, like a promise. Like a prayer. You closed your eyes for a second, breathing every inch of him in–his warmth, his steadiness, and his devotion.

“Forever and always, Bucky…Till the end of time.”

[loving-barnes]

EVAN BUCKLEY - SECRETS OF THE PAST

Author’s note: I thought I'd post a spicy one-shot with Buck. But my mind had a different idea. I wanted to include some (future) drama into the story, so I have a part where we have a glimpse into Y/N's life. Guys, I had to give us a backstory, okay? :D I hope you will like it. PLEASE, let me know what you think.

Summary: During a full moon shift, Y/N takes a chilling call that hits painfully close to home.

Pairing: Evan Buckley x female reader

Warning: mentions of suicide, abuse

Rating: 15+

Words: 3400+

Masterlist | Evan Buckley Masterlist

EVAN BUCKLEY - SECRETS OF THE PAST

The full moon was here, which meant a night shift at the dispatch centre. Y/N had to work again. Every newbie worked during the full moon. No excuses. It didn’t matter that some already worked during a night like this. As they said, it’s to experience the craziness of LA. As if not enough craziness was happening in her life outside of work.

“You have the package?” the voice on the other side of the line said.

Y/N’s eyes moved from her drink to the big box sitting in the living room. A few days ago, she received a package from her hometown. It was one of the last things her distant relatives sent her. 

It was a box with photos, documents, bits and bobs. She pushed the unboxing. There was no time or mood to go through it all. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the past. It was this fear that she’d find some skeletons in the closet. And she knew they would belong to her damn mother. 

“I do,” she replied. “Thank you for sending it to me. I hope that is all.” 

“Well, we went through it all. This should be it,” her aunt said. She was the sister of her late father. “The papers were finalised. You should receive the inheritance money shortly.” 

“I will send you 30% as promised,” said Y/N. “Can’t believe that it took almost two years to close this chapter.” Why? Her mother made everything difficult. 

“You don’t need…”

“Stop. I will. You’ve helped me a lot, and he was your brother. I’ll send you the money once I have it in my bank account.” 

Y/N sat down on the couch, the box silently calling to her. She could have a quick peek inside before the night shift. Once she ended the call with her aunt, she put the phone on the coffee table and stared at the damn thing.

Open me… Open me…

She pushed the box closer and got inside. She examined everything that went through her hands. There were photos of her mother and deceased father. Between them was the five-year-old version of her. It was from a time when they seemed like a happy family. She used to be tiny and innocent, hugging a stuffed toy. Little did she know that things would turn drastically for everyone in a matter of months.

Y/N took a sip of coffee, letting the bitter taste linger in her mouth for a moment longer. She put the photo at the end of the pile. Then there was a picture of her mother with a man. He seemed familiar. The bottom right corner had a date. The photo was from 1994. She examined the man some more. Those eyes, the lips. 

You know what they say: the world is a small place. What the fuck, how was this possible? What if this wasn’t him? Could it be?

She put the photo aside and started to dig through the documents. Y/N didn’t want to jump to conclusions until she found more proof. The box carried her old medical records from when she was a child. Everything about her childhood health was there. Then she got to an old yellow paper folder with more papers. 

Her phone rang. Maddie’s name appeared on the screen. She picked up the call. “Hey, Maddie. You are calling early.” Y/N’s eyes put the folder aside and looked back at the photo. Her thumb lightly stroked the face of the man.

“Hi! I was wondering if you’d like to grab an early dinner before shift?” 

“Well, I made myself some food to survive the night, but sure, I’m down,” Y/N replied. “What do you have in mind?”

“Great. I was thinking Chinese? I’m really craving Panda Express.” 

Y/N gasped at the mention of that restaurant. “Damn, I’d love that. Their orange chicken is amazing. You have me, Maddie.” 

The woman laughed. “Yes, I knew you’d be down. I’ll be at your place in fifteen. Be ready. I’ll call you once I’m outside. Bye.” 

Y/N sighed. She left the photos and papers scattered around the table. It was best to let it be, for now. For all she knew, it was nothing but a coincidence. Doppelgangers existed, right? 

She changed into appropriate clothes and put snacks into her handbag, and before she knew it, Maddie was already calling. 

Maddie was chipper that day. She had a bright smile, the happiness radiating off her; it was nice and scary. Y/N should have known there was something behind that smile. As they got to the restaurant and had their order delivered, the brunette spilt the beans. “Buck’s single again.” 

“Oh? How so?” Immediately, Y/N’s stomach turned. Did her advice ruin his relationship? Wait, that was like two months ago.

“They had a fight,” Maddie said. “Well, they’ve been fighting for some time now. And it got ugly. To sum it up, they broke up. Which means my brother is available,” she sang. The excitement bubbled more, and it made Y/N uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know what you are trying to do, but I am not falling for that.” 

“What? No, I’m not trying to do anything. I have just given you some interesting information you can process however you want.” Her voice said innocence, but her actions said meddler. “But my brother is cute, no?” 

Y/N glared at Maddie and pointed a fork at her. “He’s around my age. I’ve met him twice now, so I don’t know him. I’ll admit he’s cute. That’s it.” 

That answer satisfied the woman. She smiled at Y/N and put more food into her mouth. 

“I don’t know what’s going on behind those eyes, Maddie, but I hate what’s radiating off you. Like you have a plan in your mind.” 

“What? No, no,” she shook her head. “Nothing like that.” 

“Liar,” Y/N chuckled. 

They continued to eat the food. Maddie talked about her plans with Chim for Halloween. She was genuinely excited to attend a party with him. Y/N listened. However, her mind would drift back to what she found at home. That damn picture. It had to be a coincidence. 

“Hey, you okay?” Maddie’s question brought her back to the present. “You’ve zoned out.” 

Y/N shook her head and smiled. “I’m okay, just a bit stressed from this night. It’s the full moon. Last time I worked during the full moon, shit got crazy.” She knew how to lie. She learnt how to hide her emotions and struggles well.

“I remember my first full moon. I was traumatised by some of the calls. That’s when I realised Josh wasn’t lying about crazy shifts during the full moon.” 

Once finished, Y/N paid for the food. Maddie protested, but Y/N didn’t want to hear anything about it. “You’re driving me to and from work. I can pay for food if you don’t let me give you gas money.” 

An hour later, they were both sitting behind their assigned desks. The work day, or night, had begun. The first calls were dull. One woman was shouting at Y/N because she got the wrong order at McDonald’s. Then there was a drunk woman laughing most of the call because her friend fell into a deep bush and they couldn’t get her out. 

“What a bunch of idiots,” Y/N mumbled under her nose after she ended the call. 

“And it’s not even midnight,” Josh said as he passed her table. 

Her phone rang again. Y/N glared at Josh, who laughed at her face. She would have said something back to him, but she had to pick up the call. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” 

There was silence on the other side. “This is 9-1-1. Do you have an emergency?” she repeated. 

Y/N waited for a few seconds. As she opened her mouth, a soft voice spoke from the other side. “H-hello?” It belonged to a child. A girl. 

“This is 9-1-1. My name is Y/N. Can you tell me your name?” Her fingers were ready on the keyboard to type down everything. 

“Samantha,” the girl replied. Uncertainty. Timidness. Fear. 

“Hi, Samantha. Can you tell me your age?” she spoke softly to the girl. Simple questions will have to be done for now.

“I’m 13,” she said, her voice trembling. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help? Can you talk?” She asked the questions slowly, one by one. The hair on Y/N’s arms stood up. Something felt strangely familiar about this call, and it was just the beginning. 

There was a whimper, and it almost broke her heart. “I ran away from home,” she said. “I ran away from my mum. I can’t… I can’t,” she cried. Panic. Fear.

It felt like the whole world was about to collapse on Y/N. Those words brought back so many memories. All those buried feelings came back to the surface. “Samantha, why did you run away from your mum? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” She feared one of the worst answers, and she did receive one. 

It started with a cry. “She beats me,” she admitted. “I can’t do anything right. I don’t want to go back home. I can’t do this anymore.”

Y/N typed all the information into the computer. “Can you tell me where you are?” 

“She’ll find me. I can’t. I can’t tell you where I’m hiding. You’ll send her to me, and it’ll all start again. She’ll punish me for running away, calling 9-1-1. She will hurt me again.” 

“No,” Y/N shook her head even when the girl couldn’t see. “You did the right thing calling 9-1-1. We can help you. I can help you, Samantha. Tell me where you are.” 

“No,” she cried some more. 

“Listen to me, Samantha,” Y/N’s voice was desperate. Her eyes were glued to the screens. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I want to help you. I need you to tell me where you are, so I can send the help you need, okay?” 

There was nothing but soft cries coming from the other side. “She’ll find me. She’ll beat me up. I can’t do this anymore. Everything would be better if I weren’t alive.” 

Those words were a warning sign. “Are you planning on hurting yourself?” This time, Y/N focused on the sounds from the other side. A siren from far away. Wind. The girl was somewhere outside. 

“I’d rather be dead than be under one roof with her.” 

Tears collected in Y/N’s eyes. She understood the pain the girl was in better than anyone. She was once the girl on the other side of the line. “Samantha, listen to me,” her voice trembled. “I used to be you. I used to have a mother who abused me when I was a child.” 

When Y/N closed her eyes, her mind brought her to the memories she wished she had forgotten. She appeared on the kitchen floor, her mother holding a spatula tightly in her hand as she beat her with it. 

“Tell me where you are so we can help you get to a safe place and end the nightmare you live in,” she added after she swallowed the ball that formed in her throat. “You won’t have to live like this anymore.”

Silence. She was contemplating her options. “I’m on the bridge. 6th Street Viaduct,” she said. 

Y/N quickly switched lines. “All units, I have a 13-year-old female on the 6th Street Viaduct bridge. She’s suicidal and ran away from an abusive mother. I need the closest unit and medical assistance.” 

“This is 727-L-30. I’ll be there in two minutes,” Athena’s voice replied from the other side. Y/N was glad she was the one coming to the scene. Athena was a mother herself. She loved her children, and she would help this girl. 

“Copy that,” Y/N replied and switched back to the girl. “Samatha, help is on the way. Stay on the line with me, please.” 

“W-what’s gonna happen to me now?” 

Y/N took a deep breath through her nose. She tried to hold it together. It was hard. It was so close to home that she wanted to cry her eyes out. “Do you have a father, Sam?” 

“N-no. I’m all alone,” she sobbed.

“Any relatives? Someone you love from your family?” 

“I have some. However, my mother says no one wants to talk to me because I am the worst child ever. That I am nothing, just a worthless human being that she has to feed. She says…”

“Don’t believe her, Samantha,” Y/N jumped into her speech. “She’s wrong. You are so much more than that, Sam. You are not worthless, you hear me?” 

“You are just saying it…”

“No, I’m not. It’s the truth. My mother used to say it to me, too. She used everything against me. She isolated me from the world. She made me feel like everyone hated me. It wasn’t true. Please, don’t believe those awful words she says. Don’t believe what she has put inside your head. You are so much more than that.” The tears spilt out of her eyes, down her cheeks. Her voice trembled. She didn’t hide the fact that she started to cry. 

Y/N rested her forehead against her hands and sobbed. This was something she was aware could happen at some point. Some calls would be too close to home. However, now that it had happened, it was harder than she imagined. So much pain came back to the surface. 

“This is 727-L-30. I’ve got the girl.”

She let out a deep exhale, relieved that they got to the girl before she could hurt herself. 

“Dispatch, this is Captain of 118, we are on scene and have the girl in medical care.” This voice belonged to Bobby. Hearing his voice made her heart skip a beat. She almost forgot what she saw today.

One more deep breath. “Copy that,” she replied to him and typed down the information. 

That was the end of the call. Y/N closed her eyes for a moment. She needed to process it all. For now, the girl was safe. Everything else was in the hands of the law and CPS. 

A hand appeared on her shoulder. She gasped and turned to see Maddie standing above her. “Why don’t you take five?” Her voice was gentle. “Come on. Let’s get you some coffee.” 

Both women walked into the kitchen, where Maddie closed the doors, giving them privacy. Y/N poured them coffee, and they sat together behind a table. The silence was awkward.

“I heard what you said. Is it true?” Maddie asked. 

Y/N’s eyes moved to her. Sighing, she nodded. “Every word. One call and I was a child again, experiencing it all over again. One would say I should be over it by now,” she scoffed. “It’s easier said than done.” 

“We all have a fair share of trauma,” Maddie said. “And those who didn’t experience it have no idea what it’s like.” She took a deep breath. “My ex-husband beat me,” she admitted. 

Y/N’s lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, now,” Maddie’s lips curved up. She took a sip of the coffee. “If you’d like, we can talk about it. I can tell you my story if you are willing to share yours. It will stay just between us.” 

Y/N nodded. “I’ve never told anyone,” she sniffled. “Fuck, I knew it would be hard. I didn’t expect it to hit me like this.” 

The door to the kitchen opened. Sue, their supervisor, walked in. “Everything okay?” she asked. Her hand appeared on Y/N’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, just a difficult call,” Y/N admitted. “Too close to home.” 

“Do you want to go home?” Sue asked. “I can cover for you.” 

Quickly, she shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I need a couple more minutes to clear my head. Then I’ll head back to my desk. I know what I signed up for. I needed to experience it. I’ll be okay now.” 

. . .

Maddie kept her promise. She took Y/N for breakfast after their shift. The woman opened up about her own abuse by her now-dead husband. Good thing they took a seat away from prying eyes. They cried as they shared pieces of their lives that they tried to bury deep inside their souls. 

Y/N’s story had a better ending than Maddie’s. Y/N’s father saved her from the abusive hands of her mother. Maddie had to kill her husband to be free. 

What mattered was that they survived. The dark days, or years, were far behind them. Y/N was glad Maddie shared her story. Now, she felt like they had gotten closer. Friendships were something Y/N craved for. She had no one now. Her father died of cancer. Her evil mother was god-knows-where. The rest of the family lived far away. They weren’t close.

When Y/N got home, she didn’t go inside. Instead, she turned on her heel and got on the nearest bus to the 118 fire station. She needed to know more about the call. She had to know how it ended. 

Twenty minutes later, she arrived at the building. Her palms were sweaty. The garage door was open. She noticed firefighters walking around, doing their business. One step at a time. She walked inside, searching for a familiar face.

“Y/N?” Buck came out of a firetruck. He closed the door behind him. 

“Hi,” she greeted him. 

He smiled at her. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Were you present for the call at the 6th Street Viaduct? A thirteen-year-old girl called 9-1-1.” 

“Yeah, we were there,” Buck said. “Athena got there faster than we did. Were you the one who took the call?” 

“Yes,” she said. “Her name was Samantha. Her mother abused her and isolated her from the world. She ran away from home… wanted to end her life.” 

“Y/N?” Hen approached them, dressed in casual clothes, holding a duffel bag. “What a surprise! What are you doing here?” 

“She came to ask about the girl, Samatha,” Buck explained. “Y/N took the call.” 

“What’s going on here?” 

The group turned to Bobby’s voice. He ambled his way to them, eyes locking on Y/N. “Hi. What are you doing here?” he asked. 

Y/N’s eyes wandered around Bobby’s face. For a second, she forgot to breathe. Her mind went back to what she found in that damn box. The photograph she held in her fingers. The world was a small place. Anything was possible. 

“Y/N?” Bobby said her name. 

She took a deep breath and came back to reality. “I’m here about Samantha,” she told him. “I was wondering if you could tell me how it ended. I know Athena got to her, and you said you had her in medical care.” 

“The girl had visible bruises, and she was in a bad mental state,” Hen said. “We took her to the nearest hospital, where she ended up in the hands of paediatricians and psychiatrists.”

“Athena called the CPS and gave them her statement,” Bobby added. “As far as I know, the child’s mother was taken into custody. They opened an investigation, and the woman won’t be able to see her daughter anytime soon.” 

Y/N took a deep breath. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad she’s safe now. I had to hear from you. I couldn’t wait for a report.” 

Han patted Y/N’s shoulder. “She didn’t jump because of you. Your words changed her mind, and Athena safely brought her to us.” 

She kept nodding, processing the words. Bobby scanned her body language. He wasn’t blind. He could see that this call was personal. But he wasn’t the one to pry. At least not now.

“Thank you for telling me,” she smiled at them. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you.” 

“No, it’s okay,” Buck said. “We are all just about to head home. Would you like a lift? I can drive you home if that’s where you are heading.” 

Y/N yawned, starting a chain reaction. They all laughed. “If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“I offered,” he winked at her. 

Hen playfully rolled her eyes and said her goodbyes. Bobby did the same, leaving the two alone. Y/N couldn’t help but watch Bobby leave. She was sure it was him. She was sure that the man in the photograph was Robert Nash. How was this possible? Were they classmates from school? Were they friends? Did they happen to live in the same city? Or maybe she was just crazy, and the man happened to have facial features similar to Bobby. 

Yes, that was it. There’s no way her demonic mother and Captain Nash were friends. 

For now, she had decided to swipe it under an imaginary rug. 

Y/N followed Buck out of the fire station into his Jeep. As promised, he drove her back to her apartment. 

[cripplecharacters]

What exactly defines a token character as a bad representation choice and not as a "background character" who happens to be disabled? And can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

I know having relevant disabled characters is important, but when, besides the cast members who influence the plot, you have one of those scenes where a one-off character needs to be there, like when the autistic protagonist needs a ride in the middle of the road and a little person stops to help, or when the wheelchair user main character wants to talk to the magic council about a certain situation and the attendant is a blind person with a cane who checks the information of a braille book, is it safe from tokenism?

Hey!

For this post I will use "representation" to imply good/decent representation, not just the act of XYZ minority technically appearing on the page.

There's definitely a lot to discuss when it comes to tokenism, and there are a lot of different criteria that you can use to define what exactly it is.

So I'm gonna start with the main definition of what would differentiate a "token" from an unimportant character (=one that doesn't influence the actual plot) who just happens to be disabled: how you go about the fact that they are in your book(/comic/etc.).

If you put in the description of your work that it's "disability rep!" because there's this one guy in a wheelchair in one scene, that's tokenism: using a minority to simply boost/promote something as "diverse". That's the most annoying occurrence of it, there's so much media that people recommend as "XYZ rep" and when you look into it, the "rep" is a side character that shows up in two episodes and has like a line of dialogue. Sad!

To use one of your examples, tokenism would be if you claimed that your work has "dwarfism representation" in it because of that one guy who helps the main character in one scene. It's... just not that. That doesn't mean it's bad; if every single background character who wasn't a cisHet white abled Christian man (etc.) was supposed to be deep and thought-provoking then no one would be writing them, because that's not what a background character is supposed to be.

But - you could commit a tokenism with a character even if they are just a background extra who shows up once. Tokenism often goes with the fact that the token character could be swapped out for a non-minority one and nothing would change, since the key here is that the author doesn't really care: it's all just to say "hey, I got XYZ in my book!". So if you were to write a background character that you explicitly mention has disability X, but then they do something that a person with that disability wouldn't be able to do - that's probably a token (if not, it's still a badly made character). It's there to "represent" a group, but it doesn't make sense and there is no point so to speak because the author just doesn't care.

In that way, many disabled characters are just tokens - because the writer is writing an abled character, but keeps calling them disabled. When's the last time anyone has seen a character with albinism who was blind or low vision? What's up with all those deaf characters who read lips and speak orally so well that you literally forget they are even supposed to be deaf? Why is that "tragically unable to walk" character... walking for the entire duration of the book? They're just tokens done with no care nor research, it's all diversity points and quirky aesthetics. Everyone wants to be "inclusive", no one wants to actually have a disabled character who experiences disability.

Another thing with background characters is what role they serve. Most of them are fine - cashier has a skin condition, guy ordering a drink uses a speech generating device, mom of an annoying kid doesn't have a leg, cool. But sometimes it's worth to just ask "why am I making this specific character, whose disability has no impact on the story, disabled?". That is to say that if you need a prodigy piano player and your idea is to make them totally blind who always wears sunglasses, or to make the generic murderer have a big burn scar on half of their face, you're repeating a stereotype. "Role" also encompasses what happens to them. Does the one disabled guy just... die, and that's all? That's a token.

Those are the main things I'd avoid when it comes to background characters. Don't claim that they are what they aren't or represent what they don't, and if you want a disabled character - even just an extra - then either commit or just don't do it, and keep in mind where you're putting them in the first place.

Can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

They sure can, but they just aren't, usually at least. The problem with single character representation is that it puts a big burden on this one character: to represent a whole community. That's a lot. I've found myself in this exact spot before: small cast, one character is disabled, and I try to make the whole thing better and more authentic... every single time the result was adding more disabled characters, even if their roles were smaller. It's about the potential contrast.

There are choices that you can do when you have multiple characters of X minority that you should probably avoid if there's just one of them. If I see a work that has three blind characters and one of them wears sunglasses, my reaction will be "oh, cool, they have photophobia like me". If there's one blind character, and they wear sunglasses, my assumption will be that that's what just the writer thinks all blind people wear.

(Even though, that singular character could 100% also be photophobic. My assumption here is based on my experience, because that's how it usually goes.)

In that case you can find yourself in a place where you either need to subvert a bunch of stereotypes (some of which are based in fact!) or address it in one way or another in your work. That character could say "oh, I wear sunglasses indoors because even artificial light really hurts my eyes", but in order to do that, you need to be aware that this is a writing trope in the first place. Not to mention, if you do it too much, it starts reading as some sort of disability PSA. There's a fine line to everything, and the fewer characters of a particular minority you have, the harder it is to navigate it in a way that feels natural to actually read.

Sometimes the occurrence of just a single disabled character also raises some questions. Where's everybody else at? There are some exceptions to that (e.g. stories with a very limited character count) but generally speaking, everyone knows someone who's disabled in one way or another, especially if they're disabled themself. Books tend to make disabled people seem as a rare phenomenon, but that's really not the case.

Sometimes it borders on nonsensical worldbuilding - all those disabled characters who only get their mobility aids/meds because they Know A Guy (or are that guy)... I always ask myself, "what about all those people who don't know this one specific guy? what about everyone who lived before and after this one specific guy?", and I don't think the authors ever consider that. Unless the world population count is in triple digits at most, your character won't be the only disabled person. Writing in a way that subconsciously implies that they are is to me just another form of tokenism, because they're not only the only disabled character in the story, they're also presumably the only one in that universe overall.

This is just a lot of paragraphs to say that you probably aren't ever fully safe from tokenism unless there are multiple disabled characters who have at least somewhat important roles in the story - and even then, they can still be badly written, just in different ways.

Sorry for the long post but I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[engazed]

If I had known...

I know it's not worth an apology, but I feel compelled to offer one anyway.

I've drafted the next chapter of Blackbird, Fly. I'll read it over and make edits over the next day or so and will likely post it midweek. And I really thought this was to be the penultimate chapter. But I have a horrible habit of writing long chapters, and I did it again, so I'm actually going to split this climactic chapter into two parts: chapters 35 and 36. Because the chapter arc demanded it.

This aggravates me to no end because this bloody book is already 285K words, which is excessive. Blackbird, Fly should have been two books. I know that now. It's too late to split it (without deleting all the comments on chapters and reposting half the book), but in hindsight--and what I'll probably do if I create hard copies--I would end the first part after chapter 18. It's a natural place to end it, with the discovery and confession of Bill Murray.

This would have left me writing a tetralogy rather than a trilogy, which was never my intent but is what the story seems to have required of me. I'm grateful that fanfic doesn't place certain strictures (like word count) on authors, but at the same time, it's a lot to ask of readers to take on a 300K word fic. It's off-putting, I know. Thus, the apology. And if anyone knows how to split a book on AO3 without deleting and reposting, I'm all ears. But I don't think it can be done.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Feeding your favorite artist's or writer's work into any form of gen ai feels profoundly sad to me. It's like... Taking popcorn we've popped to share with anyone who wants some, carrying a sack of it outside of the room, and feeding it through a machine that produces... stale, slightly damp popcorn. And all of the reasons given are things like "I couldn't wait for the next part" or "I don't know how to write myself" or "I don't want other people involved in my fandom experience, I just want this template."

Do you really dislike us that much? Are we so bad and scary?

Every author that I've ever spoken to by saying "hey, I really love this aspect of your work," has been really kind and excited to talk to me about it. So many people here dedicate hours at a time to talk about their head cannons and play in the sandbox with anyone who bothers to answer a question, via text and art and audio. Not everyone can, but it's fun when we do. And every single one of them would love to talk about their process, how they got to where they are, and any resources or exercises they use.

Is it that you don't believe we don't deserve the time we need to make something we like enough to share it? We should give you content no matter what, on your schedule?

I don't have time to write as often as I would like because I work a very stressful job, and the mental toll can sometimes be... a lot. When I force myself to try to make anything in that condition, I end up with something I don't like. It takes time to get in the right mindset. And then it takes time to actually put the words down - even if I'm not editing much, I only write at about 20hsh words a minute. My boyfriend writes 2 thousand of words in a good day, but when each chapter is 3k+ words that is still more than a day of writing. The author's giving you 17, 18k words per update? They're amazing, and still people. We're not machines, literally, so... Let us have the time?

I think most people who use gen ai would say "no, that's not it!" But I think if that's you, you should ask yourself if you ever actually thought to ask yourself those questions.

[takenbtwind]

So I wrote a ketek for my brother's wedding

(and I’m going to make you read the whole story about it before I show it)

When my now sibling-in-law was first trying to flirt with my brother, they started reading Brandon Sanderson because it’s my brother’s favorite author (they had to read a lot of Brandon Sanderson before my brother noticed they were flirting lol)

So actually, the main reason I started reading the Stormlight Archive last year was that I was asked to officiate their wedding ceremony, and I thought I could get some good inspiration from reading my brother’s favorite book series (I acquired a new blorbo and read so much slash fic entirely as a byproduct of wedding ceremony prep. Ha.). I decided to close the ceremony with a ketek.

Writing keteks is HARD. Exploring the subtle different meanings words can have when they’re used twice in a sentence, having to use articles and prepositions sparingly because it’s hard to make them fit both ways, etc. 

But my brother and his spouse are people who a) acknowledge that relationships require a lot of effort and celebrate the work they put in, and b) talk about how they find the presence of the other very calming, which I hope I captured in the ketek. I really wanted to add more bird imagery, because they both like birds, but I couldn’t quite make it fit.

Here it is:

Home calmly alight, we will together build love for all time, all for love built together, will we alight calmly home

[therealtransquito]

Alpha Female

Part One - Limited Vacancy ♡

Summary: Omega Aaron Hotchner has it bad for, [Y/N] Chipper, his alpha coworker. Featuring the "There Was Only One Bed" trope

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Omega Aaron Hotchner/Alpha Female Reader

Author Note: I gave the reader a last name because I felt like it read better. Hope you enjoy!

♡♡♡

Agent Aaron Hotchner had a dirty little secret, he had managed to keep his secondary gender a secret to everyone that wasn't his family, that included from his doctors from the FBI. Aaron presented as an omega at 14, when his mother realized what happened she immediately locked him in his room, told everyone he had the flu, and contacted her private omega specialist she saw and got him heat surpressants and heat blockers. From that point on Aaron presented to the world as a beta and had managed to get away with it for the past sixteen years.

It wasn't something Aaron was too worried about hiding, he didn't fit into omega standards anyways, most people thought he was an alpha on scent blockers until he told them he was actually just a beta (which even that wasn't true but literally no one needed to know that). He wasn't really interested in alphas either, he'd only ever been with betas and when they ask about his genitals (considering he has a smaller penis because he's an omega and also a hidden hole between his balls and asshole) he explained he was an intersex beta, which most people were cool with, or at the very least, sympathetic.

He wasn't worried until the BAU got a linguist, Agent [Y/N] Chipper, who was the most breathtaking alpha he'd ever seen. She didn't wear scent blockers and she smelt absolutely mouth watering; madrain orange trees, jasmine, ylangylang, moss, rose, patchouli, and a vanilla musk. Aaron honestly had never been more greatful for his blockers and surpressants because if her scent didn't send him into a heat on their first meeting, she'd at the very least be able to smell how much he wanted her to claim him. It was such a forgein feeling to Hotch that for the first couple weeks he felt like he was going to crawl out his skin anytime she was within 10 ft of him, but he learned to manage.

They were currently on a mission in South Florida and, as always, all the omegas on the case, including the head detective, were fawning over [Y/N] and she was eating it up. Hotch couldn't blame her, she was a sexy and charming alpha in her prime, she should be praised. He was staring at her from across the prescient, as the head detective, Detective Martinez, was giving [Y/N] her personal number, his grip on his pen was tight and his jaw clenched even tighter.

Prentiss walked up to him, "If looks could kill, Hotch, Detective Martinez would have been dead about a minute ago." Reid chimed in at that, "She'd have been dead approximately 87 seconds ago, and it'd have been a lot of overkill." Hotch looked at both of them, "I have no idea what you two are talking about." That caused both his subordinates to stifle laughter and he rolled his eyes.

Emily, who was an alpha, put a hand on Hotch's shoulder, "I know people treat you like an alpha, Hotch, but you're still a beta, it's totally normal for you to be this attracted to Chipper, no need to be embarrassed. Besides, Chipper isn't only into omegas, she likes betas as well." Hotch sighed, "Agent Chipper is my subordinate, it would be unprofessional." Reid, an omega, piped in at that, "That would only apply if you were an alpha and [Y/N] was an omega or beta, or you were a beta and [Y/N] was an omega, which none of those things apply. Since [Y/N] has a dominant secondary gender and you have a neutral secondary gender it's fine."

Emily snorted, "It's kind of bold to call betas neutral," Reid shrugged, "They're submissive to alphas and dominant to omegas, so they technically fall under neutral." Hotch made a face, "Can we focus on the case?" Emily raised her eyebrow, "Can you? You were zoned out on Chipper and Martinez for about five minutes."

Hotch blushed and looked down at the file, refusing to allow himself to look anywhere else, "Yes, forgive me for my distraction." They dropped it and focused on the case. Hotch enjoyed the peace while looking through files.

That was unti Morgan and Chipper walked in, the former laughing, "Detective Martinez has it bad for our ol' girl, gave her her number and offered to take her out for drinks on her." [Y/N] rolled her eyes, "She's nice and cute, but she's not my type." Reid raised his eyebrows, "Oh yeah, then what is?"

[Y/N] smirked at Reid, "I like omegas who are a bit of a challenge and honestly... I perfer them to be physically bigger." Morgan looked at her and said, "That says something about you, but we promised not to profile each other." Emily side eyed Hotch then looked back to [Y/N], "Are you surprised? She's a small alpha, the bigger the omega or beta she can make submit only goes to show how dominant she is."

Hotch let out a deep sigh, "The case, guys." They all got back to work and Hotch tried to ignore Martinez and not think about how [Y/N] would look down at him with lustful and power hungry eyes after pinning him down and fucking him. How she could hold him there with just telling him to be a good omega and stay still for his alpha. How she could knot him and knock him up with her pups. He shook his head and focused.

--------

They were on another case in South Berwick, Maine and heading to their hotel when they got a call from Garcia. Morgan answered the phone, "What's up, baby girl?" Penelope's nervous voice came through the speaker, "So I tried my best but due to limited lodging some of you are going to have to share a room. Rossi has his own since he pays for his own rooms. Morgan and Emily in a room since you're both alphas. Reid and JJ in a room since they're both omegas. And then Chipper and Hotch in a room since Hotch is basically an alpha." Hotch could only think how if only Garcia knew she'd have made Rossi given up his room so he wouldn't be an omega forced to share a room with an alpha, but she didn't know and it wasn't like he could ask Morgan or Emily to trade since they like rooming together since they agreed on night time tempatures, sounds, and lighting.

Once they got to the room they'd be sharing and turned on the light, they saw it, one bed. [Y/N] popped her head back into the hallway, since they were all just opening their doors, "You guys have one bed too?" Morgan nodded, "Yep, and if Emily tries to steal my pillows this time I'm going to smother her." Reid also chimed in, "I'm literally going to be JJ's pseudo child tonight." Rossi smirked, "How would you feel if I said I had two beds?" [Y/N] looked at him and he waved his hand, "I'm kidding, but I recommend you build a dam to protect your ears from Hotch's ever flowing drool." Hotch rolled his eyes as he set his go bag on the bed.

They all went into their rooms, [Y/N] joining Hotch, looking at him, "You want to take a shower first?" Hotch nodded, he didn't want to be in there after [Y/N] and smelling her more than ever in the steamy bathroom, "Yes, thanks, Chipper. Choose whichever side of the bed you want, I won't take too long." With that he took what he needed and quickly headed off to shower.

He showered quickly, knowing [Y/N] would want to shower too and get to sleep. He used his scent blocking shampoo and bodywash just as he always did, with his conditioner being Cedarwood scented since it was already part of his natural scent that was hidden. He got out and got dressed into his sleepwear before heading back out into the room with [Y/N].

[Y/N] was sitting on the end of the bed, reading her copy of Demian by Hermann Hesse, and she looked up when she saw Hotch emerge from the bathroom, "Enjoy your shower?" Hotch nodded, "The water pressure is pretty nice, better than what I expected. Which side of the bed have you claimed?"

[Y/N] smirked and chuckled at Hotch, like he had just asked the silliest question he could think of, "The side closest to the door, I hope you don't mind. I like being close to any forgein sounds or smells that I need to be alert for when I sleep." Oh yeah of course, because she was an alpha she'd want to be at guard of the door for herself and whoever she's sharing a room with, "Of course, I'll take the one next to the window, I like it when the sun hits my face in the morning. You gonna shower before you sleep?"

The alpha nodded, "Yeah, I'm going to hop into the shower now. I know you probably want to get to sleep, feel free to do whatever you need to make yourself comfortably and sleep, I'll do my best not to wake you if you do fall asleep." Hotch smiled, "I appreciate it, [Y/N], enjoy your shower." She took her stuff and shut herself into the bathroom.

Closing the door and taking a deep breath, [Y/N] let out a sigh of relief, she had not anticipated sharing a room, very much less a bed, with Hotch, her beta boss, who she had a huge crush on. She undressed and turned on the shower to as hot as it would go before getting in.

As she washed her hair she wondered if Hotch was really comfortable with this sleeping situation, wondered if he picked up on her attraction to him, or if he simply rather be rooming with a beta or omega. Washing her body, she thought about how Hotch wore scent blockers and she more than anything wanted to smell what his scent was like. Beta scent blockers were weaker so she knew he had Cedarwood to his scent and she hooked onto that smell and was desperate for more.

After getting out of the shower and getting in her sleepwear she did her best to be quiet, just in case Hotch had fallen asleep. All the lights were off and she could see Hotch laying on his designated side, facing the widow. She smiled, he seemed so peaceful in his sleep, breathing evenly.

[Y/N] quietly moved across the room in the dark and made her way into her spot in the bed, instantly relaxing, even though she was near the source of many of her butterflies. As she got comfortable she had to fight the urge to curl up behind Hotch and shove her face in his neck for comfort, but Hotch wasn't hers and she highly doubted he'd appreciate being handled like that, especially in his sleep. .

She drifted to sleep and both her and Hotch slept soundly and peacefully. At some point in the night [Y/N] had moved to spoon Hotch, one of her arms firmly around his waist and her face buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Hotch in turn relaxed even more in his sleep, a forgein feeling of safety washed over him.

It was before the sun rose that [Y/N] woke up to the smell of an omega hitting her like a brickwall, and she was confused for a moment, that was until she tightened her arm around someone's waist and took another deep breath of the omega scent. She couldn't help her arousal that was growing and when she opened her eyes and saw who the mystery omega was in her arms she groaned, "Hotch,"

The sound of his name and the sudden movements woke Hotch up, and he felt [Y/N] erect against his ass, her face right against his neck, and her warm breath on his skin, he couldn't help it, he let out a weak little whimper. His scent blockers had worn off and his surpressants were wearing off as well, he'd need to take them before 7 am for them to have their desired effect. The digital clock read 4:28.

Hotch could smell [Y/N]'s alpha scent all around him and it was almost suffocating, "[Y/N], please," he didn't know what he was asking for, was he asking for her to touch him more, or for her to move away so he could compose himself. [Y/N] grabbed his hip in a tight grip, lips moving to his ear, "Please, what, Hotch? What do you need?" His breath hitched and he let out another whine, "M-my ssurpressants, i-in my go, ah, go bag."

[Y/N] hummed, the omega, Hotch, needed his surpressants and what kind of alpha would she be if she didn't help him with even such a simple task? She pet his hair as she got up, "I will find them for you, stay there and relax." She started digging through Hotch's go bag and found not only his surpressants, but his scent blockers too, and she grabbed them both and a water bottle, bringing them over to Hotch.

Hotch immediately sat up, taking the surpressants and the water, knocking them back quickly, "Thank you, [Y/N], I'm sorry that must have been really unexpected for you." He was still blushing and trying to compose himself and [Y/N] couldn't stop looking at him.

[Y/N] was blushing too and gave him a small smile, "You're fine, Hotch, I'm sorry for reacting the way I did initially, I hope it doesn't change how you view me." Hotch was confused for a second, but then realized [Y/N] was embarrassed about the way she grabbed him, scented him, and how he had felt her erection, and it didn't change how Hotch saw her, if anything it made him want her more.

Hotch gave her a small smile, hoping to ease her nerves, "I don't fault you for that, and I have nothing but the most respect for you. You didn't take advantage of me and helped me when I could barely ask for it. I just hope, me being an.... omega, doesn't change how you see me as a leader of our unit." [Y/N] shook her head, "JJ could be the unit cheif and I would still respect her just as much as I respected you when I thought you were a beta. If anything you had to do more to get to your position than any alpha or even beta. And I imagine you'd like me to keep this secret for you?"

Hotch swallowed and nodded, "I know me being an omega isn't a shameful thing, I know I wouldn't lose my job, but I don't know how to do this job as an omega. I had the benefit of people thinking I was a beta or even an alpha posing as a beta, but if people know I'm an omega then I loose a lot of intimidation factor and people will think I'm weaker than I look because of their own stupid beliefs." [Y/N] sat down next to him, "I understand, Aaron, you don't have to explain yourself. The unsubs we deal with... I understand why you wouldn't want them to see you as an omega. I'm sorry, but know I'm here for you."

[gowerhardcastle]

Feedback in Interactive Fiction

Just sitting, writing a game with no feedback can be incredibly difficult and demoralizing; you're just sitting there, accumulating page after page, and it can feel like you're just doing it in this complete vacuum.

And interactive fiction is, I think, *extra hard* to get feedback for--the barrier to entry feels higher. You can't just hand someone your story, and then, even if they play through, they've only seen (if you are branching interestingly) a sliver of the story.

It's hard enough to get someone to read a short story you wrote and give you honest, useful feedback that isn't "oh, yeah, I liked it!" because they are your friend. Getting that for interactive fiction, getting some real conversation is--I don't want to say crazy difficult, because I have seen it--but let's say very, very challenging.

That's the nature of the beast, though.

I mean, I've been immersed in Choice games for a decade now, and when I go to the Choice of Games Reddit and people ask about certain paths through games that I have played multiple times, some of those aren't even familiar to me. I have nothing to say on those threads, because I don't even know that romantic path they're asking about! It's hard to have a conversation about IF, and that's why the Reddit threads are almost all asking for recommendations rather than a discussion of a game--because done well, most players of a game are reading quite distinct games.

This, in addition to the incredible array of truly excellent works-in-progress brewing right now. It's hard to find people who want to get immersed to the level of being able to offer feedback.

And then there is the other problem, which is that it's quite challenging to give feedback: it's a pretty sophisticated skill, and I know this because I teach it (or try to) in my classes. People have a lot of trouble knowing how to move from microlevel feedback (you need an "s" at the end of this word; you spelled that wrong; this character's eyes were blue in this chapter but brown in that chapter) to macrolevel feedback (I didn't think this part was funny; I got confused by the end of Chapter Two; you need more transition into the fight scene).

Microlevel feedback feels safe. Macrolevel feedback is hard and puts yourself out there in a scary way. And you run the risk of the author getting defensive. This is why when you make students read each other's essays they will look at each other and say "It was good, I really liked it!" with no other feedback unless they are taught otherwise.

We're all super busy, and many, many, many people who are best qualified to evaluate interactive fiction are writing interactive fiction themselves. And if they are, their precious time is spoken for!

I feel this as well as I'm working on a really, really long sequel to a really, really long first game in a series, which is itself a takeoff on another pretty long game. It's like...how do I present this to someone for feedback? My solution has been to make this game relatively standalone and understandable as is, but even so, there's a getting-overwhelmed-factor at play.

I've written more about this effect here (for free membership) and how odd it is to be in the middle of a series and try to talk about the middle game, and just some thoughts about series in general.

I have also apparently hit some button or other and initiated a 25% "End of April," membership sale, which, all right, let us celebrate spring together in this fashion. It's not maypoles and cloved fruit, but it'll will do, I suppose.

[casluvshotchner]

The Bigger Kids

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Angst, comfort

Word count: 854

Summary: Your dad finds out that your brother’s friends are bullying you.

Warnings: Um, idk? Bullying? Injuries?

Author’s note: I started writing fanfiction again and I am really enjoying it and finding comfort in it. Lol.

It was right after school. You were on the bench, waiting for your dad to pick you up. Your feet were flailing off the bench, making your raincoat squeak. You were having a rough day; three of the fifth grade boys in your brother’s class had been calling you names every time they saw you for any period of time.

When you heard footsteps walking behind you, you thought it was a teacher. But instead, it was the same three boys.

“Please stop… go away…”

“What? Are we not allowed to be here? You don’t own the bench.”

One of the boys pushed you, overestimating his strength and sending you backward, where you hit your head on the metal side of the bench. It hurt terribly, of course, and you started to cry.

“Aw, stop being a crybaby.”

“You’re such a wimp.”

You look at them with your tear-filled eyes.

“I’ll get my daddy!”

They just laugh.

“And what’s your ‘daddy’ gonna do? Huh?”

They continue to push you around, with one of them recording, until a teacher came and stopped it. Once she got them away from you, she knelt down in front of you.

“Aw, honey. Are you okay?”

You wiped your cheeks and nodded.

“It hurted.”

“I can only imagine it would, dear. Is your dad coming to get you?”

You nod.

“Okay, that’s good. I’ll wait inside with you, and then we’ll go tell your dad what happened.”

You shook your head.

“No… I don’t want him to know…”

“Sweetie, have these boys been mean to you for a while?”

“Yeah… but I don’t want him to know… It might make him sad…”

She had a sympathetic look on her face as she sighed.

“Okay, then. We don’t have to tell him right now. But you should still tell him. We do have to tell him you got hurt, though… that’s a pretty nasty owie on your head…”

She reached over to graze the back of your head with her finger, and you whimpered and backed away.

“No…”

Then, you saw your dad’s black SUV pull up to the school. You hugged your teacher goodbye, and then went over to him as he came out of the driver’s seat. As per usual, you hugged his knee. But as he went to put a hand on your head, you whimpered again.

“She hit her head on the bench pretty hard…. She seems okay, but she has a pretty nasty gash on her head and she’ll probably have some bruising on her shoulders and arms.” The teacher explains.

His heart broke as he quickly swept you off the ground and held you in his arms and then inspected your head.

“Baby, how did you get this?”

You didn’t want to say, so you said nothing.

“Honey, what happened?”

When you continued your silence, your teacher spoke up.

“Some boys have been picking on her. Today, she was waiting for you on the bench and they started to hit her, and they pushed her backward really hard, from what I gathered from her story and what I witnessed…”

You could feel your dad’s arms tighten around you.

“Daddy, don’t be mad…” you ask softly as you sniffle.

“Oh, honey… I’m upset because they hurt you…” He started to caress your back gently with his hands. “Who did this? Was it some boys in your class?”

You shook your head. “It was three of Jackie’s friends…” you murmur, hugging him tight as you’re held on his hip. Your dad looks up at the teacher.

“I will be calling the principal when I get home, thank you for your help.”

“Of course, I love y/n. Such a sweetheart. As I said, she seems okay, but I’d probably treat the wound on her head and keep a good eye on her. Just in case. Have a good night, Mr. Hotchner.”

He says his farewells and carries you to the car, strapping you in your car seat much gentler than he normally would, which said a lot. He was always gentle with you. He knows how sensitive you are. He was now well aware of how delicate you were. Much more than normal.

Once he’s in the driver’s seat again and is on the road home, he starts to talk to you.

“Sweetheart, why wouldn’t you tell me that Jack’s friends were being mean to you?”

You lowered your head.

“They told me not to tell you…”

He sighs.

“Y/n, you know that you can tell me anything, right?”

You nod.

“You have to tell me things like that. Have to, have to, have to. I need to know if someone’s hurting your feelings, baby. You’re five years old; you’re too little to be handling that all on your own.”

When you both got home, he called the principal while treating your head wound. Then, he got you (and him) into your pajamas, and you spent the rest of the night in his arms. He made care to watch over you and make sure you were okay, giving you all of the comfort he could.

[disarmd]

I adore listening to you talk writing! Truly would love to just sit in a coffee shop and pick your brain for hours about it. Since I can't actually do that, I thought I'd do the next best thing and send along some questions that you can feel free to answer or not :) 1. Have you or do you write original fiction? I'm being a bit nosy with this one but I'm so curious because of the way you talk about writing, etc, etc ^_^

2. Per chance do you have any tips to avoid procrastination? I really like writing but I have such a hard time just getting *started*, I find I do everything but the writing! And then sometimes I have the opposite problem, I'll get started but I won't be able to finish. I'll put it off and put it off and next thing you know a month has gone by and I haven't written more than a few sentences. Wishing you all the best with your current writer's block! I hope you can work through it ASAP!

You are truly so so kind for sending me this ask, nonnie, thanks for chatting with me about writing. I’m absolutely pretending that we’re having a lovely latte in a coffee shop with a massive greenwall ☕️🌿

1. I’ve written original fiction in an amateur way, but I’ve never had a go at getting published or anything. I was majoring in writing in my first undergrad before I switched, and then in my twenties I did a lot of continuing ed writing classes, and had a writing circle where we met every two weeks and workshopped each others’ stuff, but the volume of fanfic I’ve written is much higher than original. I’ve obviously thought a lot about it so I’ll just share where I landed, but I’d be really curious to hear what you or anyone else thinks on this topic!

So for me, I’ve thought before that I should try to focus more on original stuff mostly because of the secrecy around fanfic. I can’t talk about writing with rl people, so I have this hobby that I spend so much time on that's completely secret. I do sometimes wish I was able to show people the stuff I write (or like… some people, occasionally, anyway). But if I think about what you “get” from fanfic vs original, it’s like. Fanfic: community. Tons of people to talk to about the thing you're interested in. A level of interaction with people who read your stories that you wouldn’t get for original unless you’re like the 0.01% of successful writers. even if you get like three comments, i think that's probably three more than the average short story author is going to get. And you get to write exactly what you want, in exactly the way you want to do it. Vs with original, you’d be able to talk about it in real life. theoretically there would be some monetary compensation - but there is no chance I could earn as much writing as I get from my actual job. And you lose that complete freedom to just write literally whatever you want because now it’s become a commodity. For my writing in particular, I know I’m not as good as great writers and what what I write is not widely appealing, so I don’t think that it would be possible for me to be published, but that’s my rationale for not even trying haha.

Anyway, I'm so curious to hear anyone’s thoughts on this - I’m assuming it’s something many of us have thought about before and I’d be really interested in where others have landed.

2. Re: tips to write more... there are so many different facets to this! if you mean you have trouble getting started writing, maybe just create a routine. write 15 minutes every day at 8 pm or whatever. If you mean you have trouble starting a story, i think there is a feeling that comes with the wanting to write a specific story that is very motivating compared to the feeling of just want to write, in a vague way. having a particular story you want to tell and knowing all the aspects of the story, not just a concept - like you know the characters/settling/conflict/plot arc/etc. the full story. makes it much easier to start writing that story.

to the second part, in terms of finishing: there has to be motivation to go through the work of writing, so it really helps to have someone that you’re excited to share it with. It’s very common for people to share drafts with friends to get that encouragement to keep pushing through to the end. I sent Liza the first 5k of In Abidance like a month ago, and then the next 5k after that, and it helped because a) it motivated me to finish drafting those continuous sections of the story so now I’m not thinking about The Full Story; the first 10k are done and in the different gdoc with Liza where they’re safe, and b) having a nice friend say encouraging things makes it feel a lot better compared to being completely alone in the gdoc. I reread the comments Liza left in the gdoc as a comfort when i'm spinning out about writing more. and then my motivation for writing the story at all is that i want to write it for odds, who's been the kindest, and made the experience of writing this series so completely satisfying. they left this incredible comment last night and it got me so excited that i wrote 800 words before bed.

so not writing to an imagined audience or trying to please hypothetical strangers, but writing is an act of communication and i don't think anyone would finish anything if there wasn't one person they planned on sharing it with. have a writing buddy that you share your writing with every week or month can be very motivating. if there's a story you know one person wants to read, then you can write it for them... and you feel so much more motivated to actually finish it, for them.

but to also consider things a bit more broadly, if you like writing but are having trouble doing it - is it because you've been working at a difficult job all day long and don't have creative energy left when you get back home? are you too burned out from following the terrifying and unrelenting current events and don't have capacity to write on top of staying regulated? or, on the more fun side, is it that the other stuff you're doing instead of writing is just genuinely more appealing and that's where you want to spend your time? because that's fine too, like we don't have to write if there are other things we prefer. or if we're burned out or otherwise don't have capacity.

I'll be a bit more vulnerable because this is a long post and probably not that many people are still reading, but I don't have writer's block - i've been writing an average of 2,350 words/week for the last two years straight (I checked the actual stats on ao3 haha. and that's only published fic, it would be higher if we included all the wips). i'm not blocked from writing, it's just i've been feeling quite sad, which for me looks like self hatred, so the unpleasantness of continuing on while the mean voice says very cruel things. the reason why i muse about writing so much is certainly because i find it interesting, but it's also that i'm always trying to figure out how to be better because i feel tormented by all the ways i suck.

with the way people talk about productivity on social media, I could tell you that my "hacks" are to try to write a bit before bed almost every day and have some longer writing sessions on fri-mon (weekends & work from home days haha), and to move around throughout the story to write what is most urgent and interesting to me, and to only start stories when I mostly know the ending, and to set deadlines for myself that i have to stick to, and to motivate myself by sharing with friends, and all of that is sort of true, but i can make myself do almost anything because i have a nonstop internal monologue telling me that if i don't, i'm worse than worthless.

the myth of productivity is that you can reach a point where you feel like you've done enough and you just have to keep pushing until you get there, but in fact that point never comes.

so i'll just end with that, because any time I talk about anything with an achievement orientation (writing more! writing better!), i want to acknowledge the full picture.

[babypheeb]

˚₊Just until the rain stops₊˚

Pairing: woonhak x reader

Warning: just fluff

Word count: 458

Author's note: yall if it's bad don't bully me english isn't my first language😣🙏🏻

Read under the cut😽👇🏻

Here you are again on a late-night shift. Your coworker, who usually does them, has been sick the whole week. The worst part of it all was the walk back home at night.

Today was quiet; in the morning, only a few people came in, and now the only thing that you can hear is the quiet hum of the convenience store's fridge and the rain pouring outside.

You sit behind the register, contemplating how you should go back home in this weather.

After a while, you check the time, only 15 minutes until the end of your shift. Hopefully, the rain stops by then.

You start cleaning up a few things before closing. Suddenly, somebody rushes in through the door. "Uhm, sorry, we're closing up," you say before looking up.

To your surprise, you see a boy your age looking like a drenched puppy. "Oh, uhm, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize that. It was just raining really hard outside. I thought it would be a good idea to stay here until it stops raining since there aren't any buses driving at this hour. I didn't think you would be closing right now."

You look outside, the rain now pouring heavier than before. "Oh, I guess, it really is that bad... well, you can just stay here. I'll just finish cleaning up. If you need anything, let me know." You slightly smile at him before going back to cleaning up.

While cleaning, you feel him staring at you, but the second you look back at him, he looks away, awkwardly looking around, trying to hide his flushed face.

After you finish cleaning up, you look out of the window, noticing how the rain stopped. You sighed, relieved, and quickly put on your jacket, taking the store's keys and looking at the boy who was still standing there.

"Do you need anything? The rain stopped, you know.." he looks back at you. "Oh, I thought it was pretty late and dangerous for a girl to walk alone... is it okay if I walk you home?.. I'm not a creep, I swear.."

You smile at his silliness, nodding and taking your bag before getting out and waiting outside for him to follow.

He gets out, and you lock the doors beginning to walk with him at a slow pace.

On the walk, both of you have a long conversation. You find out his name is Woonhak, and both of you have a lot in common. Both of you seemed to enjoy the conversation a lot.

You get to your home, and you turn around to face him. "Thank you for walking me..." You smile at him sweetly.

He smiles back. "No problem... how about I walk you tomorrow again?"

[turtleshorties]

TMNT X Reader: Drunk in love

Authors note: I'm so happy to be back writing, and I'm excited to do scenarios again! This is my first fic I'm writing in years. I hope you enjoy! <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language.

Warnings: Mention of alcohol and drinking. Everyone in my stories are 25+!

It was getting late, the darkness had already settled over New York a long time ago. The turtles had just finished patrol for the night.

He had said his good bye to his brothers as they made their way home to the lair, and he made his way to the roof of the building just across the bar that you were at. You and your coworkers had gone out for dinner and drinks.

"Bye guys, see you all Monday!" you said as you parted ways with them.

You've known the turtles for years, and they've become your best friends. Especially him and you are close.

He watched you closely as you made your way to the alleyway the two of you had planned to meet in.

"Hello there." I smiled happily as you made your way to him and almost tripped, but he was quick to catch you.

"Careful (name), don't want your pretty face getting hurt." he smirked, as you hugged each other. "Let's get you home safe, trouble." he picked you up bridal style.

"At least I'm your trouble." you said as you held onto him, making him blush.

Safely home he had laid you down on your bed, going to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. He came back to your room and put the glass on the night stand next to you.

"You should get some sleep." he smiled caringly as he fixed your comfy blankets and pillows.

"Please don't go!" you begged him as you reached out for his hand. He held your hand gently in his.

"I'll stay." he promised.

There was a quiet pause as you looked in each others eyes, there was a longing for each other. The two of you were really close friends, anyone could assume you were already together. Always hanging out, greeting each other with hugs, and just like now, always taking care of each other.

You still held his hand. "You know that I love you right?" you admitted softly, your thumb gently caressing the back of his hand.

Your words caught him off guard, not really sure how to respond as he thought it could be the alcohol talking. "You should get some sleep, we can talk in the morning, sweetheart."

The next morning you woke up to the smell of pancakes. As you woke up, you started to get some flash backs from last night. You remember that you went out with coworkers, and you met up with him and he got you home safely, and did you confess to him?

You made your way to the bathroom to freshen up and get dressed, putting on your comfiest clothes. Taking a deep breath you made your way to the kitchen.

"Good morning! It smells delicious in here." you smiled as you watched him flip another pancake.

"Good morning, sunshine!" he smiled turning around to give you a hug. "Did you sleep well?"

"I sure did." you answered, still thinking of the flash backs from last night. This was your chance to talk to him.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked curiously before you could say anything. "What's on your mind?" he continued.

You took a deep breath. It's now or never. "You know that I said something last night to you..." you started. "I really meant it." his eyes widened a little bit as you confessed. "You really mean the world to me, and I like you a lot."

He was thinking a bit trying to find the right words to use. "(name), you mean everything to me too." he confessed, walking closer to you. "Last night I thought it was the alcohol making you say all of that." he looked you in the eyes.

He put his arm around your waist to hold you close and you put your arms around his neck as you both leaned in for a kiss. It was a lot of love, longing, the passion and need for each other as your lips moved in sync with each other.

"I love you, (name)." he said between kisses. "oh shell I love you." you smile into the kiss as it's getting more heated and passionate.

Then suddenly the firealarm went off, giving you both a heart attack as the kiss made you both forget about that pancake on the stove. It gave you both something to laugh about and another memory to the future together.

~The end~

Thank you for reading <3

[fangirl-nadir]

Is no one gonna talk about how only close friend and family are supposed to refer to half-foots by their first name, and how by the end of the manga most of the party call Chilchuck "Chil?"

[teathirty]

I just read Dark Heir, wasn't this supposed to be a duology??

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

How You Get The Girl

Contemporary romance

follows a basketball star who left the sport 8 years ago after an injury, who unexpectedly becomes the foster parents for her niece who she encourages to join the high school basketball team

and the team’s coach, who happens to have been a massive fan, and also needs a co-coach

they start to become friends, and when the latter reveals her insecurities about dating and relationships, the other offers to practice dating her so she can figure things out. but of course they start to fall for each other..

lesbian MC, questioning demisexual MC