#they ignore the fact that I have a degree in psychology and took classes in childhood development because I don’t have the experience

[theamazingannie]

Not my mom asking me what my brother’s email and password is and me knowing it lmao. Why does no one around here even acknowledge that I’m more of a parent to my brother than they are

[sematarygirls]

🍼 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── rafe thinks academic!reader wants a baby

   Rafe was absolutely certain that you were trying to subtly hint at wanting to have a baby with him. At the first comment, he assumed you were ovulating because you always did get a little bit of baby fever when you were, but then, you just kept showering him with random facts about the development of infants and toddlers to the point that he started to believe you were dropping hints.

Rafe wasn't someone who liked to play games. He preferred to be told things straight up, no beating around the bush, but being with you, he'd noticed that you had a habit of trying to subtly slide what you wanted into conversation, so you didn't have to directly ask. Almost like you were trying to make him think it was his idea, not yours—apparently, those psychology classes were really paying off.

It had gotten to the point where he had confided in Topper and Kelce, asking them if that's how it sounded to them—bad idea, Topper and Kelce are the last people to go to for relationship advice—to which they both agreed that it definitely sounded as though you were trying to suggest Rafe should get you pregnant.

The idea was completely out of the blue. You both were still so young, and you were still in school trying to get your degree in psychology. You two had only been dating for a couple of months and had never discussed marriage or engagement because it all felt so new to both of you. After all, Rafe was still reforming from his playboy ways and party lifestyle, and you hadn't been in many relationships prior to being with him.

He had originally decided to try his best to ignore your little comments, hoping you would eventually drop the subject altogether. Rafe had never really thought about kids, and he definitely didn't think he was dad material, his fear of turning out like his own father overshadowing the desire deep down to have a child—one he often pushed aside and tried to ignore.

But, you hadn't given up. If anything, it seemed like your mentions of children became more and more frequent—whether that was true or he just believed it was because he was hard-core stressing about it remained unclear. Eventually, Rafe decided he had to address it and make sure you knew that he wasn't planning on having kids with you antime soon, even if it seemed a little harsh to say considering how enthusiastic you seemed.

"Did you know after about a year, the pace at which children learn words accelerates rapidly, and by eighteen months, the average child is learning a new word every day?" You tore your gaze away from your phone screen to look over at him, a bright, proud smile on your face. You were sat in the passenger seat of his truck after he picked you up from your classes, intending to bring you back to Tannyhill, so you two could hang out.

"Okay, you've really gotta cut that shit out," Rafe said, a lot harsher than he intended to. He had already had a bad day, and he just wanted to relax with his girlfriend, not try to decode you and your baby talk. He was tired of dancing around the issue, and his stress only brought that out, making him snap at you.

Your brows furrowed, smile faltering at his words. He had never spoken to you like that before, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why a little fact of all things had elicited such a reaction. He usually loved hearing all about your little facts, constantly telling you how sexy your intellect was to him. "What?" You simply asked, too hurt and confused to vocalize why his outburst seemed so completely out of the blue.

"Listen I," he took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening for a moment before he relaxed again. "I don't want to have a baby with you," he said bluntly. Noticing how cruel that may have sounded, he decided to add an: "Atleast... not right now, alright?"

Your face was a mask of pure confusion. You weren't so much hurt anymore as utterly lost. Where did the topic of you two having children come from? "Rafe, what are you talking about?" You asked, not understanding where he could have possibly got the idea that you wanted to have a baby with him.

He glanced over at you, his own features morphing into an expression that mirrored yours. "All the baby facts and shit. I thought," he paused, wondering if he had read the situation all wrong, but that didn't make sense. It had been pretty fucking apparent to him, Topper, and Kelce that you were dropping baby hints. "I thought you were... yknow trying to tell me something."

You processed the new information for a moment before bursting into laughter to which Rafe glanced rapidly between you and the road, his brows only furrowing farther as he watched you laugh as if he'd said the most hilarious thing conceivable. "Oh, baby," you said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder when your fit of hysterics finally died down. "No, I definitely was not hinting at anything. I am so swamped with school and work that I barely have time for you, let alone a child."

"What?" Rafe asked, relief flooding through him at your confirmation that you weren't trying to subconsciously trick him into wanting a baby with you through your little psychology tricks. Simultaneously, he felt extremely dumbfounded as to your motivations. "Then why have you been talking about kids so much recently?" He quirked an eyebrow, pulling into the driveway of his family's estate.

"Because we're covering the development and learning unit in my psych course, which obviously focuses a lot on the earlier stages of life aka infancy and childhood," you explained, watching realization dawn on him like a light bulb turning on in a dark, empty room. "I didn't think I had to spell that out for you since i'm always hitting you with random facts from class."

Rafe parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt so he could turn to face you. "Okay, so just to be crystal clear, you weren't trying to use fuckin'...i dont know- subliminal messaging and weird psychobabble voodoo to like, make me want to get you pregnant?"

You laughed, unbuckling your own seatbelt, so you could face him too. "No, you idiot. You're so ridiculous," you grinned, leaning over to give him a peck on the lips. "I promise you I don't want children right now, and if that ever changes, I will talk to you about it and not use subliminal messaging or weird psychobabble voodo."

"Okay, good," he nodded, opening his car door. "Topper and Kelce swore that you were trying to play some kind of mind game."

"Why would you listen to Topper and Kelce of all people?" You asked, following suit in getting out of the car, your brows furrowing as he mentioned the two people who have yet to hold a stable, healthy relationship for any period of time. "They're the world's biggest idiots."

"Yeah, you're right," he grinned, walking over to you and slinging his arm around your shoulder as you two walked to the front door. "I'm sorry for snapping at you," he murmured. pressing a kiss to your temple.

"It's okay," you reassured him, sliding your hand onto his back and rubbing soft, soothing circles. "Just promise you'll talk to me next time instead of letting it build up and fester until you get to the point where you feel like snapping."

"I promise," he vowed, ushering you into the house. "Now let me show you—my beautiful, intelligent, and amazing girlfriend—how sorry I really am," he gave your ass a little tap, making his intentions clear as he steered you toward the staircase, your giggles echoing through the empty house.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed / @fallbhind

[thedreadvampy]

On the other hand, and moving away from direct Mechanisms Discourse (which I prefer to not get over involved in tbh but also this ISN'T about that it's just jumping off it) - it absolutely is deeply classist to assume that somebody is illiterate or ignorant because of poverty/assumed poverty, and that's a huge problem. but also I think on a broader social level (at least in the UK) there is an idea in the left that it's classist to acknowledge the connection between poverty and illiteracy, while the truth is that illiteracy is a problem of poverty (poverty not in the sense of just Not Having Money but in the sense of system denial of adequate resources). Poverty doesn't = illiteracy but illiteracy is very much a problem of poverty - not a failure of a marginalised individual but a failure of the system marginalising them.

Adult illiteracy is a surprisingly large issue in eg both rural and urban Scotland, but it's not because poor people are stupid, ignorant or unwilling to learn - it's because schools are inadequate or inaccessible, classes are managed not taught, teachers are stretched thin and schools are underfunded so don't have resources to help struggling students, if you get to secondary school still unable to read and write you're completely locked out of the educational system unless you can access a school with the resources to teach you individually, and because of this, classism and a lack of support, poorer kids are more likely to switch off school as early as possible.

Social geography is also a big issue. In urban areas, schools in poorer areas get bad reputations, so they're underfunded, so they do worse, so they're funded less, etc, until they're a bare minimum of staff just trying to get through the day in collapsing buildings with no resources and five textbooks. Where better-funded schools can afford teaching assistants, 1:1 support for struggling students, decent food provision for kids, follow-up on children in need of support at home, more teachers for smaller classes, maybe counseling and psychological support, maybe Special Educational Needs classes for older kids to work on basic literacy and numeracy to catch up, worse-funded schools have one underpaid unsupported teacher trying to manage a class of 35 kids with wildly different needs. They don't have the resources to help support kids with issues that might affect their schooling, like parental abuse or neglect, trauma, a parent in prison, care responsibilities, hunger, homelessness, neurodiversities that affect their ability to learn in the prescribed way, learning disabilities like dyslexia, physical health issues including visual or auditory impairments...all things that when supported are highly surmountable but when unsupported often end up with children being perceived and treated as stupid, disruptive or evil. The problem then compounds itself because the kids are badly treated which makes them more disruptive and less able to learn, and more and more work is needed to help them which teachers continue to not have any capacity or resources for.

Rural poverty comes with its own schooling issues as well, in that poverty is generally correlated with remoteness. Poor rural communities are often hours away from population centres, so either you have tiny highly local schools serving a handful of families where a single teacher needs to invent lesson plans that somehow balance the needs of 11 year olds and 4 year olds of all abilities, or your kids need to somehow get into town every morning before you get to work, which may mean dropping them off at 6am, having to part pay for buses, taxis or ferries, sending them on their own, or leaving them with friends and family, and realistically the way that often shakes down is that they don't go. You teach them at home, and they may not even exist for the truancy office to know about.

Literacy is also connected to family culture. Both my parents were people with degrees from educated families, and my mum was a full time parent, and the result is that school didn't teach me to read - I was already a confident and enthusiastic reader. Even richer families may hire tutors for small children, pay for extracurricular learning, etc. The poorer a family is, the more likely neither parent is available to spend time reading with their kids, because they're working full time - at that economic level a single income household is almost entirely unviable so either both parents work or there's a single parent working extra hours or they're just exhausted from worrying about the bills and what's sold to them as a personal failure to look after their family.

One thing it's easy to forget is that while people in the UK still do drop out of school in their teens to work, a generation ago it was almost the norm for a lot of communities (especially the children of farmers, miners and factory workers) to have left school well before the end of compulsory education, both because of school being a hostile space and because of the need for an additional income. Now as well as then, a lot of kids drop out to work as unpaid carers, disproportionately in poorer families that can't afford private care or therapeutic support. Literacy aside, generations of leaving school with no qualifications doesn't tend to teach you that formal learning is as important as experience and vocational learning, and you don't expect to finish anyway so why put yourself through misery trying to do well? But it includes literacy. I grew up in a former mining area and a lot of people my dad's age and older were literate enough to read signs and football results, but took adult classes in middle age or later to get past the pointing finger and moving lips. and if you're parents don't or can't read, it's a lot harder for you to learn.

There's a lot of classism and shame tied up in the roots of illiteracy. Teachers and governments and schoolmates will often have vocally expressed low expectations of poorer students; a rich child who does poorly at school has problems, a poor child who does poorly at school is a problem child. They're often treated with hostility and aggression from infancy and any anger or disinterest in school is often treated not as a problem to be solved but as proof that you were right to deem them a write-off. Poorer or more neglected children (or children for whom English is a second language) will often be deemed "stupid" by their peers, and start at a disadvantage because of the issues around early childhood learning in families where parents are overstretched.

Kids learn not to admit that they don't know or understand something, because if you start school unable to read and write and do basic maths when a lot of kids your age are already confident, you get mocked and called stupid and lazy by your peers, and treated with frustration by your teachers. So kids learn to avoid people noticing that they need help. That means that school, which could help a lot, isn't somewhere you can go for help but a source of huge anxiety and pain - more so when you factor in the background radiation of classism that only grows as you get older around not having the right clothes, the right toys, the right experiences, my mum says your mum's a ragger, my mum says I shouldn't hang out with you because you're a bad lot - so again kids switch off very early and see education as something to survive not something helpful.

The same is very much true of adult literacy. A lot of adults are very shamed and embarrassed to admit that they struggle with reading and writing - a lot of parents particularly want to be able to teach their kids to read, but aren't confident readers themselves, and feel too stupid and embarrassed to admit out loud that they can't read well, let alone to seek out and endure adult literacy classes that are a constant reminder of their perceived failure and ignorance (and can also be excruciating. Books for adult literacy learning are not nearly widespread enough and a lot of intelligent experienced adults are subjected to reading Spot the Dog and similar books targeted at small children's interests). Adult literacy classes also cost time and also money, so a lot of people only have the space for them after retirement, if at all.

And increasingly, illiteracy (or lack of fluency in English) increases poverty and marginalisation, and thus the chances of inherited literacy problems. Reading information, filling out forms and accessing the internet in a meaningful way are all massively limited by illiteracy, and you need those skills to access welfare, to access medical care, to avoid exploitative loans, to deal with any service providers, etc. Most jobs above minimum wage and a lot below require a fairly high level of literacy, whether it's office work or reading an instructional memo on a building site or reading drink instructions in McDonalds. Illiteracy is a huge barrier between somebody and the rest of the world, especially in a modern world that just assumes universal literacy, and especially especially as more and more of life involves the internet, texting, WhatsApp, email, and so on - it's becoming harder and harder for people with limited literacy to be fully involved in society. And that means the only mobility is downwards, and that exacerbates all the problems that lead to adult illiteracy.

People who can't read after the age of 6 or so are treated as stupid. People who can't read fluently when they're adults are seen as stupid and almost subhuman. There's so much shame and personal judgement attached to difficulty reading, but the fact that illiteracy is almost exclusively linked to poverty and deprivation is pretty conclusive. Illiteracy isn't about the failure or stupidity of the individual, it's about the lack of support, care and respect afforded to poor people at all stages of their life. Being illiterate doesn't make you stupid - many people are highly intelligent, creative, capable, thoughtful, and illiterate. I know people who can immediately solve complex engineering problems on the fly but take ten minutes to write down a sentence of instruction. It isn't classist to say that illiteracy is caused by poverty - it's both classist and inaccurate to say that illiteracy says anything about the worth, intelligence or personhood of the poor, that it's a result of a desire to be ignorant, or that it's evidence that people are poor because they're stupid, incapable, ignorant or bad parents. The link between poverty and illiteracy is the problem of classism and bigotry, no more no less, and we deal with it by working against the ideas that both poverty and lack of education are a reflection of individual worth.

Illiteracy isn't a problem of intelligence, it's a problem of education, and that matters because education is not inherent. it's something that has to be provided and maintained by parents, by the state, by the community. you're not born educated. you are educated. except more than a quarter of the Scottish population isn't educated, because the system doesn't give a fuck about them and actively excludes them or accidentally leaves them behind.

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part six

I keep forgetting to post this story OOPS

Warnings: panic, general self-deprecating thoughts, unrequited love thoughts, maybe slightly ooc!Tony, I think that’s all

Sam, Steve, and who you learn to be T’Challa, now King of Wakanda after his father died in the bombing at Vienna -- which makes his obsession with clawing Bucky’s eyes out make much more sense -- are shoved in a vehicle alongside you.

You have no idea what they did with Bucky -- other than he’s still alive -- and you have no fucking clue where you’re going, but the ride is long. Too long to be in a car with Sam and Steve, especially with Sam trying every second he can to get on T’Challa’s nerves.

“So you like cats?”

“Shut up, Sam, please, for once in your life,” you groan from your spot next to him.

Even Steve gives him a look.

“What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don’t wanna know more?” Sam asks.

“Your suit…” Steve narrows his eyes. “It’s vibranium?”

“What is that?”

You don’t get an answer.

“The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle, passed from warrior to warrior. And now, because your friend murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of King. So, I ask you, as both King and warrior,” T’Challa pauses. “How long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?”

The silence is deafening.

“It wasn’t him,” you blurt, earning yourself a glare. “Laugh at me all you want, but it wasn’t Bucky that killed your father. Don’t get revenge on the wrong man.”

T’Challa turns to face forward, refusing to say another word.

You do the same, instead focusing on what Bucky is feeling. You wonder if he can feel just how pissed off and panicked you are. You’re pissed, of course, because all of this fighting wasn’t necessary. You jumped off buildings for that man, and he still insists that he doesn’t know you.

Maybe you’d be able to write it off as a dreadful miscommunication for the past decade of your life, but you can’t. Not when you can physically feel that he is lying. The tightness in his chest doesn’t lie. Neither do his eyes.

But God, you wish they could.

You turn your head to hide your quivering lip. The last thing you need is to break into a sobbing mess in the back of this vehicle with three men surrounding you — especially when one of them was just trying to kill the same soulmate you’re upset over.

You know it’s not true, but part of you does wish Bucky was dead.

It was a lot easier on you to fantasize and dream about him when you thought he was dead.

+++

The government facility in Berlin looks far more secure than anything you’ve ever seen. Having guards posted all around when the four of you step out of the vehicle almost seems like overkill. They already took your weapons, what are they expecting any of you to do?

You glance over your shoulder to see Bucky in a small container. Your heart breaks at the sight of him, being restrained and in such a tight space. But the fact that he won’t even look your way breaks your heart even more.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Steve asks, having the courage to voice what you want to know.

“Same thing that ought to happen to you,” the man replies. He’s short and wears a gray suit. It’s hard for you to take him seriously as an authority figure when it looks like his pants need to be hemmed. “Psychological evaluation and extradition.”

You cross your arms over your chest, keeping your mouth shut. Sharon stands next to the man, but at least she looks like she’s on your side — or Steve’s, since she obviously has a thing for him.

“This is Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander—” Sharon begins introducing him, but you stop her.

“A guy too big to introduce himself?” You raise an eyebrow. “Wow.”

Everett barely smiles, but it isn’t friendly. “Yeah, uh, who the hell are you?” It’s taunting, but you’re too exhausted to give in.

“No one,” you wave your hand, letting Steve keep going.

“What about a lawyer?”

Everett finds that about as amusing as your sentence. “A lawyer, that’s funny.” He turns to address Sharon. “See that their weapons are placed in lockup.” Then turning to the four of you, he says, “We’ll write you a receipt.”

As if on cue, men pass by holding Steve’s shield and uniform, Sam’s wings, and your gun and bullet proof vest. You had almost gotten away with the vest, but once they felt it, they wanted it off -- probably afraid it had some explosive inside it. So, now you’re without your protection, and you miss the weight of the vest. Something about it soothed the ache inside you.

Sam looks ready to burst at the seams. “I better not look out the window and see anybody flying around in that.”

You’re ushered forward by some guards and you go without resisting. You see Steve take one more look at Bucky, but you don’t bother. No sense in looking at someone who doesn’t want to see you, anyway.

Everett walks ahead, leading the way across a glass bridge to the other side of the facility. “You’ll be provided with an office, instead of a cell.”

“How kind,” you snort.

He ignores your comment. “Do me a favor: stay in it.”

You roll your eyes. What does he expect you guys to do? Start a fight when the ratio of unarmed super-soldier to heavily armed guards is about 1 to 1,000 in here?

Natasha joins the group, giving you a particularly cold stare before talking to Steve. “For the record, this is what making things worse looks like.”

You manage a chuckle. She has a point, after all.

“He’s alive,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

Yeah, you think. A lot of good that’s doing to everyone.

By the time you reach the other side of the bridge, you’re ready to ask T’Challa to claw your eyes out instead. You won’t even put up a fight. You’re just tired of holding these tears back and feeling this burning pressure in your chest. You don’t know if it’s yours or Bucky’s emotions at this point, all you know is that you want to be left alone.  

The weight of it all is crushing down on you now that there aren’t guns firing at you.

He doesn’t want you.

Your soulmate doesn’t want you.

Fuck.

You wipe a stray tear away, spotting Tony Stark up ahead. Tony seeing you cry is not something you ever want to happen, so you chew on the inside of your cheek instead, hoping you can slip past him quick enough that he won’t notice.

But, of course, that’s too much to ask for when you’ve got Sam and Steve next to you. And when the three of you are now criminals.

“Colonel Rhodes is supervising clean up,” Tony says to someone on the phone. But, because he’s Tony, he has to glare at the three of you while he says it. “Consequences? You bet there’ll be consequences. Obviously you can quote me on that because I just said it, anything else? Thank you sir.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. Here we go.

“Consequences?” Steve inquires, very obviously not giving a damn from the sounds of his tone.

“Secretary Ross wants you prosecuted,” Tony pauses, looking pointedly at you. ���All of you.”

You glare at him. “I wasn’t expecting to be an exception, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Tony replies, always having to have the upper hand. “What I was thinking, is that when I paid for you to have top of the line combat training, I didn’t mean for you to use it on something like this.”

“For God’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring Steve and Sam’s bewildered stares. You should’ve known he’d use this moment to blast your secret to everyone.

Your training is something you kept under wraps because naturally, if someone knows you’re going to be a challenge, they normally take it. You wanted to be as off the grid and as normal appearing as you could, so you quietly trained while loudly posting about your degree and only your degree. No pictures with Sam or Steve in them when they’d come to visit. Just you or your best friend, nothing more. You wanted to appear as though you were staying out of the way of any and all affairs that could deal with The Winter Soldier. You knew you’d be left alone if you acted as if you didn’t care. You even went on random dates and posted about them. You slipped under everyone’s radar just like you wanted.

“I’m not doing this right now,” you push past Tony in search of an empty office.

“No, I think we are doing this now,” Tony pulls you back by your arm, which you wrench out of his grip immediately. “I paid for those classes so you could defend yourself, and now you’re a criminal. How do you think that makes me look?”

“I don’t know. Grab a goddamn mirror. It’ll tell you.”

Your sarcasm only fuels his anger. “Listen to me—”

“No, okay?” Your voice cracks and you hate it. You hate the way Steve has been looking at you, like you’re about to break into a million pieces right on the floor in front of everyone. You hate that Tony thinks he can just lecture you about something he has no fucking clue about how it feels. You hate that Bucky doesn’t want you and you hate that he’s in a tiny box right now and that if you never would’ve met Steve two years ago then you wouldn’t be hurting like this right now.

Tony stares quietly at you, waiting for you to finish.

So, with as much strength as you can gather, you finish. “I’ve just jumped off buildings and almost taken bullets for my soulmate who does not even want me.” You pause to let it sink in. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d really love to go cry my eyes out for thirty minutes. You can lecture me after.”

Tony’s face falls and pales a little even, but you’re too exhausted to notice.

By some stroke of bad luck, Everett Ross happens to overhear your words. His dumbfounded expression comes into view and it takes all of your leftover energy to not deck him right in the jaw.

“Did I just hear you say that you’re his soulmate?”

“No,” you snap. “Because he doesn’t know me and doesn’t want to talk to me. So, sorry, you won’t get to weaponize me today. Now, do you have an office I can cry in? Or do I need to go find it myself?”

Stunned, Everett flounders for a response. “Uh, you can just pick an empty one.”

“Great,” you swallow around the lump in your throat, keeping your eyes on the ground as you finally escape from everyone around you.

The office is glass, so it isn’t like you’re getting much privacy at all, but it’s enough. You take the farthest one, turning to face the wall so no one else has to see your pathetic tears as they stream down your face.

Saying it out loud made it real.

Bucky doesn’t want you. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care what you feel. He doesn’t care that you’re his soulmate. He doesn’t want any part of any of it.

Your chest feels like it might rip itself open just for your heart to escape, and part of you wishes it could. You wish you could be without your heart and this soulmate business just for one day.

All those years. Thinking he’d want you.

The past two years. Rehearsing how to talk to him. How to make it work because you weren’t foolish enough to think it’d be easy. You knew it would be hard, that he’d be troubled with his own issues. But you never thought about the possibility of him straight-up rejecting you.

All of it. For nothing. For a soulmate who insists he doesn’t know you.

You try to muffle your choked sob as best you can, but you fail, the noise only causing more tears to fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was brainwashed by HYDRA and you were stupid enough to hope that he’d want you in his life, that he’d remember you.

Maybe he doesn’t remember you. Maybe when they did something to his mind, it erased all of you.

But he remembers Steve, you remind yourself, and the hurt takes over once more.

You turn and press your back to the glass, shutting your eyes so you won’t see if anyone is watching you. You know how absurd you must look. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want you. What does any of it matter anymore?

You slide down to the floor, burying your face in your knees. God, it hurts. It hurts and it hurts and it hurts and you want it to stop. You wish you never went to that damn exhibit with your best friend. You wish you never knew about Bucky. Living in blissful ignorance was painful, but at least you had peace alongside the pain.

At least that image of your soulmate wanted you.

+++

Back outside, Everett watches your shaking form with a newfound worry. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know.” Tony hangs his head. “Do you need me for anything?”

Everett glances at his watch. “No, actually I’ve got things to get to.” He disappears without another word.

Tony thinks it over, wondering if he should even go check on you. You’re like a daughter to him, though he’ll never admit that to you, and you’d never suspect it. The two of you hardly speak. You were surprised when he reached out about your protection. Steve had apparently mentioned you, and Tony being Tony, knew he had the money to make you feel safe.

And he did. The classes helped. Keeping everything about you, except what you wanted people to see -- that you were an Honors student, a well-supported, intelligent young woman -- a secret helped.

The two of you bicker. You argued when you first met. Tony wanted to pay for extra security, personal security that would follow you around. He wanted to move you from the college apartments to some fancier complex where he could control the security protocols. You turned him down, asked about classes. He compromised. But not without some off-handed, pissed-off remark, that you promptly replied to with, “Fuck off.”

You’re strong, he’ll give you that. Anyone else would’ve denied their feelings, sworn they weren’t the soulmate of the fist of HYDRA. But you embraced it. You knew you couldn’t change it. You knew you would get Bucky back one day -- your Bucky.

But you never would’ve guessed that he would’ve reacted this way. Shielding you from bullets while insisting that he has no idea who the hell you are.

His insistence is what hurt you the most. You had thought when you confessed that you can feel when he’s lying, he would’ve given in. That maybe he needed a confirmation, a reason to believe it was really you, because anyone can lie. Technology -- Stark’s, at least -- has advanced, anyone can look like whoever they want. You thought Bucky needed proof. But that wasn’t it.

He just didn’t care.

Tony watches as you turn around, pressing your back to the glass. Your eyes are closed, face wet with tears and hand pressed over your mouth. You slide to the floor, and that’s the last straw.

You look up when you hear Tony knocking on the glass.

Once you see it’s him, though, you put your head back in your hands. “I said thirty minutes,” you mumble. “I know damn well it’s only been ten.”

“Just shut up and come here.”

You look up again, your expression pained as if he just slapped you. Tony frowns. He’s making it worse when he wants to make it better.

“What do you want?” You ask tiredly, rubbing both hands on your face to wipe the rest of the tears away. You sniffle loudly, grimacing at the noise. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just come here.”

“What do you want?”

“To give you a damn hug,” Tony mutters, invading your personal space by sitting next to you on the floor.

You accept his hug, but only for a few seconds. That’s all you can take.

“Sorry,” you murmur, shrugging him off and scooting a foot away. “Anything that touches me makes me want to punch. I don’t know if it’s him feeling that, or me, but…” You sigh. “Regardless I’d just like for this to be over.”

“You and me both, kiddo,” Tony exhales, leaning his head back against the glass. “Why did you go with Cap and Sam?”

You shrug. “If it was Pepper...wouldn’t you?”

“Pepper wasn’t brainwashed by HYDRA,” Tony says. “And Pepper didn’t assassinate dozens of people.”

“But if she had, if it was Pepper in that box right now, wouldn’t you have done anything? Even if you knew it was a losing battle?”

Tony stays quiet, thinking. “Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I would.” Then he lets out a dry laugh. “I don’t think she’d put me in that position -- I think it’s more likely the other way around.”

You look over at him, frowning.

He sees you looking and sighs, closing his eyes. “We’re taking a break.”

That explains it. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. In her defense, I’m a handful.” Typical Tony. Deflecting his real feelings with humor. “Anyway, I’m sorry, too. Earlier. I shouldn’t have spilled your secrets like that.”

You shrug. “It’s whatever. It’s out there now. I’m sure Everett is thinking of every way he can to somehow get through to Bucky through me.” The mention of your soulmate has tears jumping back into your eyes.

Then a wave of panic rushes over you.

Your eyes shoot open and you scramble to your feet, moving to the farthest corner of the office to get a good look at the screens. Without audio, you can’t tell much, but that doesn’t make it any better.

“What wrong?” Tony asks, joining you.

“He’s panicked,” you murmur. “Where’s Steve?”

Tony doesn’t have time to answer you before you’re practically running out of the office to find Steve. You find him with Sam and Sharon in another office.

“Steve--” You stop when you hear the audio. It’s Bucky’s voice.

“Where’s Y/N?” He says. You look at the screen, thinking your ears have deceived you, but he says it again. “Y/N, I need to talk to her.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, noticing the look on your face.

“Something’s wrong,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t know what. But he’s panicking. Or maybe it’s me. Something’s wrong.”

About that time, the power goes out.

Literally. Everywhere. Emergency lights coat the room in a soft blue glow, the red of the exits the only other light working in the place.

“Fuck!” You smack the table, looking to Sharon. “Where is he?”

“Sub-level five, East wing,” she answers quickly.

You don’t look to Sam or Steve, you just start running.

The slapping of footsteps behind you is the only indication you have that they’re following you. Tears spring to your eyes as another wave of panic comes over you, nearly choking you this time. Something bad. It’s something bad.

Anger comes next, burning in your chest. What the hell is happening? That psychiatrist -- what’s he doing to your Bucky?

Then you feel it.

It spreads throughout your whole body. The old feeling you had once forgotten. Two years is long enough to get used to Bucky and forget all about The Winter Soldier, but not long enough to not recognize it when it returns.

You push forward, running as fast as you can. You slow once you’re at the correct sub-level, waiting for Sam and Steve. You hold your hands up when they come into view.

Steve comes skidding to a stop. “What?”

“He’s not Bucky right now,” you say quietly, despite the thrumming in your ears. “He’s the Soldier. We have to be careful. I don’t know what happened, but I felt it.”

“Shit,” Steve cusses. “Okay.”

Back on track, the first sign that the Soldier is here is all of the guards lying unconscious on the floor. Inside the room, the psychiatrist sent to evaluate Bucky -- though you’re suspecting he isn’t the psychiatrist -- lies in the middle of the floor, barely conscious.

Steve walks in and drags the man up off of the floor, pinning him to the wall.

You’re right. He’s not who he says he is.

While Steve is handling him, you and Steve step up to the doorway, but you pause, pressing your arm to Sam’s chest.

Shit. He’s in there.

Sam either doesn’t catch your signal or doesn’t want you walking in by yourself, because he ignores you and steps into the room. Regardless, it earns him a punch to the face that he barely dodges.

“Bucky!” You scream, pushing Sam out of the way before Bucky’s metal fist can smash his head in. “Bucky, stop!”

But he doesn’t. He keeps going after Sam, and only stops once he has thrown Sam halfway across the room into the box he was kept in. Sam falls limply to the floor, unconscious.

“Bucky, look at me,” you plead, tears pushing to the front of your eyes, but you blink them away. “You have to come out of this!”

Bucky pushes past you, going after Steve this time. Well, you think. First, he knocks the psychiatrist out cold, but you don’t mind that. What you do mind is when Bucky focuses back on Steve, choking him up against the wall.

You try to pull on his arm, but you know it’s useless. He holds you back, keeping you away from him, but still not hurting you.

You think. Quick. What would help? Why isn’t he hurting you? He’s capable of handling more than one person, and you’re obviously provoking him in some way right now as you claw at his back. But still, he isn’t hurting you. Why?

A long shot of an idea pops into your head.

“Soldier!” You raise your voice, straightening your shoulders, hoping it’ll give you the look of an authority figure. “Soldier. I said stop.”

Steve hits the ground with a thud, coughing loudly.

“Soldier,” you repeat, keeping your voice even. “Look at me.” Slowly, Bucky turns around. He’s still the Soldier, but at least he isn’t trying to kill Steve. “What are your orders?”

“You give them.”

You blink. “What?”

“Orders are to protect you,” the Soldier says. “Keep you safe.”

Your breath hitches. You push away your emotions, thinking instead how you can use his orders to your advantage right now. You don’t exactly like using him this way, but you don’t have any other option when he’s a highly trained and chemically enhanced assassin.

“Steve is a friend.” You pause, nodding to Sam who is slowly coming back to consciousness on the ground. “So is Sam. Do not hurt them. Understand?”

Firmly, Bucky nods.

You look over your shoulder at Steve. “We’ve gotta get him out of here,” you say. “They’ll kill him if they find him like this.” Regardless of the fact that he’s listening to you.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, voice hoarse. He goes over to Sam, pulling him off the ground. He’s disoriented, but awake. “Come on. We gotta go.”

“Okay, Soldier,” you almost wince, hating talking to him like this. “Get us out of here. Can you do that?”

Again, he nods. His flesh arm wraps protectively around your waist, practically picking you up as he begins to walk.

You try your hardest to ignore the effect it has on your body, but you can’t help it. The combination of his strength and this being the most intimate way that he has touched you yet leaves you breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Wait,” you pause, and Bucky stops. “I’ll hold onto your arm,” you say, slipping his arm from around your waist. You grip his bicep, your other hand sliding into his. You hate to be doing this because you know once Bucky remembers, he’ll probably hate you even more for it. But right now, the Soldier won’t walk two inches without some sort of grip on you. “Is this better?”

The Soldier’s bicep flexes underneath your fingers. You swallow thickly. Maybe this was worse.

“As long as you’re safe,” is all he says, before continuing on.

You look back over your shoulder to find Steve watching with a sad smile.

You shove down the swelling sadness in your chest. You know this is the last time you’ll get to hold his hand, or hold onto him like this. But he can’t stay the Soldier forever. He needs to be Bucky again.

Even if Bucky is the one who doesn’t want you.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 8: Moceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 8 - The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away. 

Content warnings (oh boy): This is an afterlife fic! Meaning there is technically character death, but it is essentially the beginning of a whole new life, and the death itself is only briefly touched upon. That being said, warnings for; hypothermia/frostbite, death, car accident, talk of past death, mention of cancer, brief description of body horror (no gore).

Word count: 2.8k

It started when Janus was two. His parents were awoken by his feral cries, throwing open the door to his room, imagining the worst. They recoiled immediately upon touching him, his skin almost freezing to the touch. They closed the bedroom window and piled him in more layers until he stopped wailing, but that was only the start.  

When he was six, his mother explained soulmates to him. He looked at her with huge eyes, fiddling with the sleeves of his oversized hoodie, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

When he was ten, he had grown sick and tired of the constant cold. A majority of his classmates and friends hadn’t met their soulmates yet, but they all didn’t seem as bothered by it as he was. They didn’t keep their winter jackets on in class, no matter the season, and their hands were never too cold to hold a pencil.

When he was thirteen, he caught hypothermia. At the insistence of his older brother, he joined him outside in the snow for a hike in the forest. His countless layers and heat pads in his pockets only did so much when they got hopelessly lost in the woods, and while his brother seemed to be unaffected by the cold, Janus woke up the next day in the hospital. He could vaguely remember falling face first into the snow, his cold slowly morphing into pleasant warmth, his brother shouting his name. The doctors were unable to save his left eye, leaving him half blind, and his frostbite scars never quite disappeared. They said the very fact that he survived was some kind of miracle. He didn’t go into the snow after that. 

When he was sixteen, his mother took him to a doctor. After thorough examination, the man could find nothing wrong with him. He suggested B-12 supplements and a list of ways to increase his circulation, and when that did nothing to help months later, he sat them both down in his office and explained it most likely meant Janus’ soulmate had died. Janus didn’t know until that moment that it was possible to miss someone you’ve never met, but he cried on the way home. His mom said nothing. 

When he was eighteen, Janus was alone. He had become reclusive and standoffish, unwilling to spend time around any of the people who tried to befriend him. All of them had soulmates. All of them got to be happy. 

When he was twenty, his family suggested group therapy for those who had lost their soulmates, and he had reluctantly gone to one session. For a moment, he felt at home, surrounded by other people in thick sweaters and jackets and gloves, until he learned that all of them had lost their soulmates after meeting them. They had been able to spend years together, enjoying each other’s company, before losing the love of their life. When he explained his situation, he was only met with the same sympathetic looks he’d received everywhere else in life, and he never went back. 

When he was twenty-two, he graduated with his Bachelor’s degree in psychology. The crowd was the quietest it had been all night; no one knew this guy, but it felt wrong to not cheer at all. He shook the Dean’s hand with thick yellow gloves and took the diploma, ignoring the man’s confused raised eyebrow and walking away to the noise of half-hearted claps. 

When he was twenty-five, life was okay. Not good, just okay. He’d found a lab job in the psychological social experiment aspect that paid decently and wasn’t a total bore. Most nights he was numb, especially after experiments that revolved around soulmates, so he turned on Netflix and poured a glass of wine and fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in a thick weighted blanket. Life is fine, he told himself. It could be worse. 

And when Janus was twenty-seven, he died. It was an accident; a mix of a long tiring day and an ignored red light just as he was crossing the street. The car barreled through the intersection, other car horns blaring, and he looked up just in time to see the person looking down, probably on their phone. He’d never know. The impact was quick, and he didn’t even have time to feel pain before the world went dark. He was a little grateful for that.

It stayed dark for a long while after that. Well, in full honesty, he didn’t know how long it was. It felt like a long time, but it also felt extraordinarily short. The seconds turned to years and millennia became mere minutes, the very concept of time fading away just as he did. A minuscule part of him was still aware that he was conscious, and he probably should have been a little scared of that, because did that mean he was destined to float around as an unattached subconscious for eternity? A larger part of him was just relieved to finally rest, with the weight of student debt and an exhaustingly lonely life finally gone. 

Until it wasn’t. The light crept into the center of his vision first and he grumbled in annoyance. Let me just enjoy it a second longer, he thought distantly, but the light didn’t listen as it slowly spread across his vision like molasses. For the first time in his life, he realized with a start, he didn’t feel cold. There was a heat in his chest that he’d never felt before, and he was scared when the darkness faded, so would the warmth. 

“Janus, are you okay?” A desperate voice broke through his dark haze in whisps, slowly clearing the fog that had set in. It rambled on, “Oh, stupid question. You just died. Sorry! Can you see me?”

His vision lit up all the way, replacing the darkness but not taking away the heat. Perfect. He was about to answer no to the stranger’s question; there was just a blur of blue and white and green, until the figure loomed that much closer and came into focus. It was a man, probably his age, with bright blue eyes and floppy golden hair, his freckled nose just inches from Janus’. His eyes held concern but he was smiling like no tomorrow. The man seemed to realize when Janus could in fact see him clearly and backed away, holding out a hand to help him up. Why was he lying on the ground? Where was he?

That question was answered as soon as he took the offered hand, looking around him in shock. Apparently the dark void hadn’t held him for as long as he thought. A distant siren pierced the air, and people’s shouts rang over each other as they milled around the body in the street, his body. The car that had hit him was nowhere to be seen. It was all too surreal, too uncomfortable, and he turned back to the man standing in front of him. They were standing on the sidewalk, just meters away from the gruesome scene on the street, and Janus suddenly felt very lightheaded. 

“I carried you away as soon as your soul formed. Didn’t want to overwhelm you when you opened your eyes for the first time.”

“I’m dead?”

“Yep,” The man answered just a bit too cheerfully, before noticing the newcomer’s expression and softening, “Sorry. I’ve been here for a while, the shock has kind of worn down.”

“What’s here?”

“The afterlife. Deathny World. Aliven’t. I’ve heard it all.”

“Ah,” Janus choked, trying to take in the environment around him without looking at his own dead body, or the paramedics that had just arrived on the scene. It looked like the real world, and obviously they were still in the real world to some extent since he was witnessing the aftereffects of his own death, but the subtle mist floating through the air was definitely new. It curled through the air gently, resting on every surface it could land on, coloring the world with soft rainbow hues. It was the real world, it was just as if he was seeing more of it for the first time. The parts that were invisible before. An orange tuft graced by his ear and he could just make out the sound of someone laughing, the smell of fresh bread, the taste of fresh jam on a summer morning. A smile tugged at his lips before he realized.

“Forgotten memories,” The man spoke up, as if reading his mind. “Every lost memory of every person winds up here. Mostly good ones, but some are bad. You’ll learn how to sift through them soon enough.” 

Janus was finally able to pull himself away from the colorful world, staring into the bright eyes of the stranger. “Who are you?”

“I’m Patton,” he said with a new grin, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I’m your soulmate.”

--------------------------------------

It took Janus a much longer time than he would have liked to admit to unfreeze from the revelation, Patton taking his hand gently and sinking them out to a new location. His stomach churned upon rising up, the new sensation making him nauseous. He didn’t recognize where they were, some cafe, and Patton gently pushed him into a seat before strolling up to the counter with no hesitation, starting a conversation with the barista and gesturing to Janus. The mist, the lost memories, were gone, replaced with a golden haze that gave the world a soft glow. The air was thick with the smell of coffee beans and cookies that instantly calmed Janus’ stomach. When Patton finally walked back to him, two mugs in hand, he explained. 

“This is the soul world. We can pop in from the real world to this one whenever we want. Some souls choose to stay on one side predominantly, some switch back and forth a lot.” 

“This single cafe is the soul world?”

“Oh! No, my bad! There’s a whole lot more outside. I’ll have to show you later. Right now, though, just relax. You’ve had a… long day, to say the least.” He pushed one of the cups into Janus’ grasp.

“What is it?” He asked skeptically. It looked like coffee, but who’s to say anything anymore. 

“Whatever you want it to be. Think of your favorite drink, then try it.”

Janus narrowed his eyes but lifted the mug to his lifts, trying to think of a single drink he liked. His mind decided that this was the ideal moment to forget everything he ever drank in his entire short life, so when he finally took a sip, the liquid was disgustingly tasteless. Like warm water. He set the drink down, watching Patton intensely.

Janus took in his appearance, his general shock finally beginning to wear off. An open light blue button up over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was pretty much Janus’ definition of cute, what with those stupidly adorable dimples and little golden locket hanging on his neck. If he’d met him when he was alive, he no doubt would have fallen head over heels for him.    

“You’re my soulmate? How is that…” He cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t blushing, “How is that possible?”

Patton hummed, wiping off what appeared to be a hot chocolate moustache, “I died when I was three. Cancer.”

“That’s awful.”

Patton shrugged, taking another sip, “It wasn’t great. I woke up by myself, still half wedged in my own corpse. It was terrifying. My parents were crying, and I tried to tell them I was there, somehow, but they couldn’t see me.”

“Totally not traumatic at all.”  

The man actually laughed, despite the dark story, “I had to figure everything out for myself. Sinking down, navigating both worlds, how to control my own form… which you are doing surprisingly well at, by the way.” 

Janus glanced down at himself. He definitely wasn’t alive, that much was sure, if the wisps of yellow smoke cascading down him were any indication. If he concentrated hard enough, the fog began to disappear, leaving him looking normal, albeit a bit paler. As soon as his mind drifted, however, the golden trails were back.

“This was the first place I was able to rise up in in this world. It’s kind of an easy access point. I popped up behind the counter, scared the living daylights out of Virgil.” He pointed to the barista who was currently chatting with another person ghost, laughing over identical mugs with them. “He’s been here a while. Two hundred years, give or take.”

Janus paled, the idea of eternity becoming just that much more real. “Oh…”

“Yeah. He kind of raised me. And then when I was old enough to understand, he explained that I’d left a soulmate behind. I cried for hours after that.” He smiled sadly, finally meeting Janus’ eyes. 

“You knew my name,” The younger recalled suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, “Right when I was waking up, you said my name.”

Patton looked almost sheepish, focusing back on the cup between his hands, “After Virgil told me… I kind of made it my personal mission to find my soulmate. I spent a lot of time in the real world, years, trying to find you, and of course checking in on my parents sometimes. Ghosts don’t need sleep, we can sleep, if we want, but we don’t need to, so it was a constant search. And then, my parents both ended up in the hospital, long story, and I wanted to be there when they woke up. Make their transition into the new world a little easier than mine was,” His expression lit up, wiggling a little in his seat, “And while I was there, I stumbled across a certain young patient with severe frostbite and hypothermia.”

“Me.”

“Mmhm. And I felt this weird warmth in my chest, which is weird, because ghosts don’t really feel temperature. It didn’t last that long, just a couple seconds, really, but it was enough time to know.”

“The soulbond.”

“Yep.”

They both drank in unison. This time, Janus’ drink tasted like the unsweetened chamomile tea from the hospital. He made a sour face and put the cup back down. He stared into his reflection for a moment, almost captivated in the sloshing against the sides of the mug, before Patton spoke again.

“I spent most of my time in the alive-world after that. With you. And it sucked, because there was nothing I wanted more than to talk to you and hug you and just let you know I existed… you were so sad…”

“Yeah…” Janus mumbled, tapping the ridge of his cup with his fingernail. “Is that why you were at the accident?”

“I tried to stop it,” Patton whispered, a look of pure guilt crossing his face, “I couldn’t tug you back though, and you didn’t hear me. So the least I could do was pull you out when you formed and take you away from the crowd.” 

The odd language was starting to confuse Janus, the weird differentiation between his soul and his body, the terminology regarding the soul world he didn’t understand… it was all just a lot. 

“So… Do we age? You’re obviously not three anymore. But the barista doesn’t look two hundred.”

“Virgil. And… I don’t know.”

“Very comforting.”

“You’re sassy.”

“That I am.” 

For the first time in a very long time, Janus’ lips twitched into a smile in response to the absolute beam on Patton’s face. No one had ever taken his snark as anything other than bitchiness, but this guy, his soulmate, seemed to love it. 

“As far as I know, we won’t. I think I only aged along with you, and now that you’re here, we’re probably done.” He had finished his drink, the barista swooping in out of nowhere and plucking it from his grasp with an impish grin. Patton shouted his thanks as Virgil disappeared into the back room. “He’s been waiting to meet you for a long time. But he can be a handful, so we’ll save proper introductions until you’re settled. Speaking of which…” He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and offering his hand to Janus once more. “I can show you where residency is, if you’d like. It might be nice to take a nap, just to process.”

Janus considered. The vague sounding ‘residency’ was intriguing, but he was much too restless to sleep right now. He voiced as much. “Maybe later. Do you think you could show me around first?”

The grin Patton gave him was bright enough to power a city block. Janus took the extended hand and the man squealed, pulling him towards the door excitedly. Yeah. He was definitely already falling for the literal ball of sunshine that was his soulmate. 

“One grand tour of the afterlife, coming up!” 

[kakashiswilloffire]

STEAM, not STEM

ao3

word count: 1.6k

kabuto x sai, college au, enemies to lovers ish, same age au

this is my first server collab with @konoblog-simps! the prompt was college au for august, and you can see the rest of the multifandom fics and artwork here!

***

As a biochemistry major focused on pharmaceuticals with a five year plan included finishing this undergrad degree, moving across the country for a masters in organic chemistry, then likely moving again for a doctorate in organic, along with four internships along the way, so that he could become a renowned creator of antianxiety medications, he was pretty confident in his knowledge. There was nothing a chemistry professor could ask that he couldn’t answer. Calculus came to him as a breeze. His psychology courses presented absolutely no challenge to him. Statistics, courses in professionalism and building his portfolio, and meetings with potential employers never caused him to break a sweat.

This fucking art class might kill him, though.

He had resented for years that humanities courses were required in science degree paths. It was his junior year and he had fought with his advisor for the past four semesters before finally giving in and agreeing to take a class on charcoal sketching. There was no way he would be caught dead in the hugely popular pottery class taught by the blond professor with tattoos of mouths on the back of his hands. Nor would he voluntarily take any basic introductory course in drawing or painting.

That was how he found himself in an advanced charcoal techniques course, prepared to blow through a handful of drawings and easily earn high marks.

However, in a class size of eight, he was drawing attention for the wrong reasons.

To start, the others all seemed to know each other from previous courses, which immediately made him the outsider. To make matters worse, the professor greatly preferred their work to his own. A part of him couldn’t blame the man who insisted he be called Tenzo rather than by any title or honorific. His drawings were definitely in a different style to the rest of the class, and it was a style that didn’t seem to be changing or improving as the weeks passed.

It wouldn’t be so frustrating if it wasn’t the first thing he had ever tried that was proving to be a struggle. As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, the asshole in the front row seemed to take to charcoal like breathing.

On the first day, when Tenzo had gone over the syllabus, he had also made them all introduce themselves and play a get to know you game. They all pretended that it wasn’t for Kabuto’s benefit. Fu and Torune had begun, making a point of making physical contact with each other the whole time they spoke, though he had never seen Torune take off his gloves. The had tuned most of the others out as they spoke, noting Shin seemed decent enough, though he’d prefer if the man stopped coughing for more than a moment. What grated him to no end was the final person to speak.

Sai.

He spoke with a fake smile plastered across his face, eyes closed and voice dripping with confidence. He listed his credentials off without any thought, and it infuriated him that the list of accomplishments and certifications rivaled the length of his own. Sai listed his specialty in art as black and white realism, and his preferred medium as painting, though he was looking forward to learning more about charcoal. From there, he had turned to Kabuto with that same overly-relaxed smile and offered:

“Your turn, flash cards.”

The familiarity rubbed him the wrong way and he had been irritated with him ever since. What made it worse was that Sai was actually really good in the course. He hadn’t been lying about his skill in realism—anything he rendered looked like it was about to run off the page. He seemed to prefer birds, in all species, but every individual feather breathed and flowed and he never got the black dust accidentally smudged on his paper. In fact, he never got the dust anywhere. Kabuto always left the class covered in black smears on his skin, clothing, and bag, and there would always be some hidden patch of charcoal that he never found until he showered that night.

It infuriated him to no end that this shallow jerk who modelled his personality around whoever he was with was also, genuinely, so much better than him at this class that he desperately needed to pass.

Midterm grades had come back the other day and a vein had nearly popped out of his forehead when he saw the disastrously low score. Tenzo had noted that he saw improvement between this and where Kabuto had began the class, but it was still not on level with the rest of the class and where he would need to be in preparation for the next level pastels course. Apparently, it didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be taking the next level course. If he didn’t pass this course with a reasonably high grade, his scholarship sponsor, Orochimaru, would be furious. Risking the scholarship not being renewed meant risking the entire five year plan, and for that—

He’d have to suck it up.

“Hey, Sai?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. Admitting weakness was not his strength and he had no intention of making this a habit.

The crop top wearer glanced up from the hyper-realistic sheet of mice that he was effortlessly rendering. “Ah, Kabuto,” he said, the same smile from before falling across his face. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

He gritted his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax. “The rain we’ve had all week? Sure, Sai.” He pulled up a stool, settling in to the easel next to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Sai nodded, not pausing his movement as he gave life to a mouse’s tail. “My answer is yes.”

Kabuto blinked. Was asking for help really this simple? “You’re willing to tutor me for the final?”

That caused Sai to hesitate, tilting his head slightly to the side. After a beat, he replied “I suppose I could do that. You appear to be capable of learning how to improve your questionable techniques.”

Ignoring the dig, he pressed on. “I would appreciate that. Tenzo said that my linework is improving but my shading is still not where it needs to be. Something about being more mindful of my light sources.”

“I agree with his analysis,” Sai said, continuing on his sketch. “Your grasp of line weight is abysmal, which is a step up from your initial attempt, which was horrific. Your shading on our last assignment, the brickwork, was essentially nonexistent. All of your pieces so far have had at least four light sources that have no apparent source. It’s clear from your work that you have no regard for art and no passion for creation at all.”

He delivered the critique without halting a single graceful stroke on his canvas. There was no malice in his tone, and he said the words almost pleasantly, despite the cutting content.

“I am willing to teach you more technique and skill so that Tenzo is able to assign you a passing grade in this course. However, I do not believe you are capable of being an artist or creating anything of value in the world as you currently are.”

Kabuto froze. He had only meant to ask for a few tips, not to be dragged for all he was worth in this godforsaken art course. How dare this arrogant prick think he was incapable of creation?

He gripped his charcoal stick so tightly in his fist that it crumbled. “Listen, inky. Just because I’m focused in science doesn’t mean I can’t create anything meaningful. My goal is to be a pharmaceutical chemist, to create medications to change people’s lives. Just because I can’t draw some fucking—I don’t know, a fucking rat or a bowl of fruit or whatever, doesn’t make you better than me. So fuck off with that.”

Sai smirked, his eyes closing in his familiar pattern. “I never implied anything about our worth relative to each other. But I do think that it’s cute that you’re concerned about appearing to be less than me. That will create an excellent motivation for self-improvement for both of us in our relationship.”

The light caught Kabuto’s glasses, a white reflection flashing across the lenses. “We don’t have a relationship.”

Finally, Sai put his rectangle of charcoal down on the easel and sat up. “Do we not? What was the intent of your original question to me?”

Kabuto spluttered. “What do you mean? I came up and asked if you’d help me with the final and you said yes, then you were an ass.”

It was now Sai’s turn to blink. “You said that you had a question for me. I replied that my answer was yes. As a result, we are now boyfriends.” He wiped his fingers on a handkerchief hanging on the corner of his easel. “Was your question you intended to ask me not if I would be interested in a romantic relationship with you?”

He flushed a deep red. Sai was attractive, that was undeniable, but that was not how this encounter was meant to go. Romance was not in the five year plan. “I—”

“Just do it,” sighed Tenzo, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. “For the love of God, both of you, stop staring at each other and bickering and just go out, would you?”

Sai smiled, the classic closed-eye smile that looked more genuine each time he did it. “Thank you, Tenzo.”

Kabuto was confused, but in order to learn the skills he needed to pass this class, he’d need to go along with the game. Without another word, he reached out and took Sai’s hand. Might as well give it a shot, right?

[cake-writes]

Breathe (Lecture 1)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Mixed Delivery (Social Media & Written Parts), Eventual 18+

Summary: Bucky takes a history class at his local university in hopes of catching up on the last few decades, on everything he’s missed whilst under Hydra’s control – but he winds up learning a lot more than what’s on the syllabus. He learns how to heal.

Written for @the-omni-princess​​’s 1k writing challenge!

(Formerly Hope & Happiness; I decided that I needed a better title!)

TAG LIST: OPEN

💛 This fic is interactive. Here’s how it works! 💛

So I took the time to find an actual university course to complement this story because I’m just that invested, you guys. (I’m also a huge history nerd, lmao.) The syllabus and lectures are real, and any content relating to these in my story is straight from the source.

Lectures are recorded and available for a listen! Most written chapters will correspond to a lecture; I’ll list which one at the top of the chapter if you want to learn along with Bucky. Each one is about 40-50 minutes long and in English. Click here to access them!

This is definitely optional, though, so please don’t feel pressured to listen, but if you’re a history nerd like me then you may want to take a look!

Wednesday, August 24

Lecture 1: Introductory Lecture

Although Bucky had been on campus a couple of times before now – first to apply, and then to meet with an advisor as all new students were required to do – he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sheer size of it. Universities these days were massive: cities within a city, buildings upon restaurants upon shops and all he wanted to do was learn.

That was all he’d ever wanted to do, really. Learn about himself. Learn what made the world tick. Learn all the things he didn’t know. He’d always excelled in school, and once upon a time he’d started to save money in order to attend university. Didn’t know what he’d study – just knew that he wanted a degree in order to support the family he thought he’d have one day.

Ambitions for the future.

Then came the draft. Because hadn’t yet been able to save enough, he’d been shipped out to the European Theater – sent to hell, not to college.

Ambitions for the past.

Two years spent in cold, wintery foxholes gave him an opportunity to think, but all he could think about was the stench of death surrounding him, surrounding his unit, surrounding every waking moment of his life at war. Not his death, of course, but it may as well have been.

Bucky learned to hone in on the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, the rush of adrenaline in his veins, the sensation of his boots in mud and snow. He learned to focus. He learned to survive.

And all the while, he lived with the very real possibility that he wouldn’t make it through – and, well, he didn’t. Not really. Some parts of him never made it back; what little remained became the property of Hydra. Mind corrupted, soul shattered, will broken into sharp, jagged shards of glass.

Fragile. Breakable. Erased, but still alive.  

Bucky may have survived, but he’d never really been right since – never really been whole. Physically and mentally, with too many pieces of himself missing or damaged, one constant stayed the same: a desire to learn. He’d gotten through the war and Hydra’s harsh training because that quality was a part of him – one of the only parts that made it through.

Battle-worn and weary from surviving – not living, not really – Bucky finally had the opportunity to take a step back from the battlefield to just… exist. To live. To breathe. In taking a leave of absence, he embarked upon another journey: to rediscover the man he used to be.

It would be difficult task, he knew. The twenty-first century was far cry from the 1940s, a far cry from home, and the sheer size of the college campus only served to remind him of that. In fact, he was only able to recognize that he was still in New York because this school happened to be the very same one he’d once planned to attend so long ago. Staten Island University. Right across the bridge from his present-day apartment in Brooklyn, not to mention his old family home.

Home.

But this unfamiliar new century was his home, now, so he sought to learn what he’d missed over all the decades he’d lost to Hydra. In the process, maybe he’d learn about himself, learn what made the world tick, learn all the things he didn’t know.

What better place could there be to do that than at a university?

Bucky soon found out that his education would be paid for by the United States government for his service in the military. Ironic that the very barrier which forced him into war was the same thing being gifted to him now. The GI Bill. A reward for his patriotism. A thank you for his sacrifice.

Flowery words for a bribe meant to keep him silent. Call him jaded.

Worse still, if Bucky thought tuition was expensive back then, he didn’t know what to call it today. He’d been rendered speechless when he found out what a single class would cost, but rest assured, Uncle Sam would pay for it so that he didn’t have to.

Physically, it only cost him an arm but mentally, it cost him so much more.

U.S. Society and Politics Since 1945. Mondays and Wednesdays at two o’clock. Three credit hours, whatever that meant. He signed up for the class after his first meeting with an advisor – thought that it might do him good to put his past behind him and learn.

Bucky arrived about twenty minutes before the class was due to start, all nerves and first day jitters – absolutely ridiculous when he really thought about it, so he tried to put it out of his mind and selected a seat in the very back row in hopes of not being noticed.

Counting seats proved to be a good distraction. Three hundred seats. Would there really be that many students? Save for a handful of his new classmates scattered about, the too-large lecture hall seemed like it would never fill. Sure enough, however, it eventually started to – not all three hundred seats, but close enough.

It wasn’t until then that Bucky realized he might have been woefully unprepared. Just about everyone else had laptops sat out front of them, and while he could use one – clunkily – he still preferred something more a little more tangible. All he’d brought along was the required textbook, a notebook, and two pens, one of which he’d been rolling in between a gloved thumb and forefinger for the last few minutes. 

That was a nervous tic of his, one he’d picked up in the army, except today it was a pen instead of a cigarette and he sure could have used a pack of Lucky Strikes right now. A cigarette would have done wonders to take the edge off, but he didn’t smoke, not anymore. Frustrated, he dropped the pen back down onto his desk and slumped down in his chair.

Had school always been this nerve-wracking? He couldn’t remember.

A snort drew his attention, and Bucky glanced to his left to find you sitting a few seats down in the same back row, watching him in amusement. 

It caught him off-guard.

“Is this your first class?”

A innocent question, unprompted – untainted.

While Bucky knew that there would be some socializing required, especially in the discussion section of the class, never in his wildest dreams did he think that anyone would be willing to strike up a conversation with him. He had half a mind to say ‘no’ and ignore you as long as possible, but for whatever reason, he didn’t. He opened up.

“How could you tell?”

You shrugged. “You’re fidgeting, for one. But mostly because you don’t have a bag.”

Why would he need a bag? He was only taking one class.

At his doubtful look, you spoke again, voice light and airy, “Don’t worry. You’ll learn.”

Well, that was foreboding. Then again, you seemed like you would know. You looked slightly older than most of the other students who were likely fresh out of high school, and you appeared to be all sorts of prepared, what with a leather laptop bag on the chair to your right and some brightly-coloured notebooks, binders, and a few thick textbooks all strewn about the desk in front of you.

A laptop bag, but no laptop. Strange.

Bucky wasn’t really sure why he wanted to know, but he nodded to your books and asked anyway, “What else are you taking?”

“Mostly upper-level psychology classes. I’m in my final year. What about you?”

“This is my only class,” he admitted, and to him, that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. He was only taking the one class with no particular goal in mind, but here you were, taking at least four other classes judging by the number of textbooks on your desk.

You had a goal. 

He didn’t.

You didn’t ask why, though; instead, you offered him your name, along with a bright smile.

“Bucky,” he found himself telling you way too easily.

“Well, Bucky, it’s nice to meet you.” You paused, then, before you made an offhanded comment of, “I think it’s really good to have a friend in class, you know? Mostly so you can steal their notes when you skip.”

A joke, perhaps, but Bucky took it literally. That may have been the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “I’m not gonna— Who pays thousands of dollars in tuition and then decides not to come?”

Your brows rose in surprise for a moment or two, but then you laughed at his stick-in-the-mud response. “Oh no, you’re one of those. What a goody two-shoes!”

Don’t worry, you’d said. You’ll learn.

But the mischievous sparkle in your eyes let him know that you were just teasing, and what’s more, he actually didn’t mind. No, he kind of liked it, having some normal human interaction for once – not whatever the hell he’d grown used to at the compound. Between blood-spattered banter in the field and too-dark humour used as a coping mechanism, his interactions there were anything but normal.

Bucky also liked that you had no idea how wrong your sentiment was; not that he’d never admit it. This was the first time in a long, long while that he’d been treated like a regular person – not enhanced, not a science experiment, not an Avenger – and he had no intention of shattering the illusion anytime soon.

“I’m not giving you my notes, either,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Super goody two-shoes. My mistake.”

When he opened his mouth to respond to your sassy one-liner, however, the professor’s voice sounded from the front of the lecture hall. You gave him a final wink before you turned to face the front, purple pen already poised and ready to go.

Good afternoon! Can you hear me in the nosebleeds? Yes? With me? Okay…

Forty-five minutes passed in a blink, and most of the students quickly started to pack up their belongings – but not you. No, you stayed in your seat and continued scribbling away at something in your notes, seemingly having zero plans to leave anytime soon. Bucky couldn’t help but be curious as to why you weren’t packing up, but it wasn’t any of his business and he didn’t ask.

Armed with a new syllabus and a daunting list of required readings for the week, he pulled himself to his feet and collected his own belongings; only managed to push the chair back in and take about two steps toward the door before he heard your voice again.

“Hey, Bucky, wait.”

He turned around to see you still reading through one of your textbooks, not even looking in his direction, but in your outstretched hand was a bright pink sticky note.

What?

“Come on,” still focused on your reading, you waved the post-it, pink paper flapping in the makeshift breeze but staying stuck to your finger anyway, “Take it. Here.”

Hesitantly, Bucky stepped closer and accepted the proffered note. Upon it, he found that you’d hastily scrawled your name and phone number, along with what he assumed was meant to be a smiley face. The drawing was god-awful, and a welcome distraction from the way his heart had immediately leapt into his throat because a woman had just given him her phone number.

Her phone number.

“Th— Thanks?” he stammered, unsure.

Now, he certainly wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but this—

“Don’t get any weird ideas,” you interrupted his train of thought, finally pulling your eyes away from the textbook to look up at him. 

Gorgeous, glimmering, big doe eyes focused right on him, now, and seeing you up close like this, a fleeting thought crossed his mind about how attractive you were. He blamed it on the fact that you’d just given him your number, and now his brain only wanted to overthink what he’d interpreted as the first sign of potential interest from the opposite sex in – well, far too long. 

Bucky hadn’t been expecting that at all, and he wasn’t particularly interested to pursue such a thing, either. At least not right now. He still needed to get his head on straight; still needed to figure out his own problems before he took on someone else’s.

Even if you were a pretty little thing he might have taken dancing, once.

Then you added, “If you have any questions, just shoot me a text, okay? I remember how lost I was when I first started, especially because I’m a,” you did some air-quotes, then, “‘mature-aged’ student.” Another snort, one much less ladylike than before. “Mature-aged. I’m not that old!”

So it was a friendly offer. Nothing more. Not like the implications in the 40s – and Bucky thought, then, that if you were considered to be ‘mature-aged,’ he didn’t want to find out how he’d stack up.

“Thanks,” he said again, this time a little less unsurely. “I appreciate it.”

Another one of your bright smiles brought a sense of calm over him, a feeling that carried over even when you poked fun at him again, “Then I guess I’ll see you next week, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes.” 

“Yeah,” he responded, feeling the corners of his lips turn up just a little at your goodnatured teasing. “See you next week.”

And when he left the lecture hall, fluorescent pink post-it stuck to the inside of his notebook, Bucky’s footsteps felt just a little lighter than before – and so did his heart.

Part Two

[stoweboyd]

What’s My Agenda: the Future of Work and Work Technologies, or Work Futures

People tend to think of not knowing as something to be wiped out or overcome, as if ignorance were simply the absence of knowledge. But answers don’t merely resolve questions; they provoke new ones.

| Jamie Holmes, The Case for Teaching Ignorance

[Note: This piece was originally published in August 2015 at Gigaom.com. I am reposting it here as a response to various inquiries, where people have been asking for more of a background on the topic of work futures. It has been slightly updated and reformatted.]

The central line of inquiry for my work as an analyst and researcher is the future of work and work technologies, or ‘work futures’, for short. Before breaking that down, let me try to clarify what those terms mean. I will do so by asking a few questions, with Jamie Holmes’ observation, above, in mind.

‘The future of work’ is an academically-oriented domain of discourse, with a strong lean into new theories of humanist business management, and with closely related ideas of economics and organizational development.

On one hand, the intent of the phrase ‘the future of work’ is obvious, just like any other ‘future of’, such as ‘the future of dentistry’ or ‘the future of the European Union’. But the reality is that the meme of ‘the future of work’ has developed a strong connotation related to a specific set of progressive ideals about work, and an underlying implicit criticism of the state of work today, and the preceding era, as well.

‘The future of work’ is an academically-oriented domain of discourse, with a strong lean into new theories of humanist business management, and with closely related ideas of economics and organizational development. As a simplification, I have been using work futures as a shorthand or synonym for ‘the future of work and work technologies’, and will do so for the rest of this post and going forward in general. In fact, work futures was the name of the consulting company that I created when the old Gigaom shut down in March 2015.

The growing interest in work futures has arisen as a central area of discussion about organization, management, and adaptation to new technologies, especially those which are based on the form and function of social networks and social media. This is an expansion and absorption of the discipline called social business, that started in the early ’00s and had been drained of emotive force by 2010, principally due to the blur caused by vendor marketing that has drifted back into the ‘right information to the right people at the right time’ vein, and lost the thread of a more humane workplace and the aspiration for people to find meaning and purpose in work.

The first wave of social business was principally an adoption of technologies like blogging, wikis, forums, intranets, community software, and various sorts of messaging. This was an early phase, much of which predated social networks like Twitter and Facebook.

The second phase of social business tech was more of an aspect of Web 2.0 era technologies, transitioning to software-as-a-service, and increasingly mobile. However, it was principally a desktop-based era, and newer solutions and practices have emerged which are much more mobile at their core, and less likely to be deployed behind the firewall on company servers.

Enterprise 2.0 was a school of thought that was strongly technology centered, based on the parallelism with the term Web 2.0. It was a school of thought that took the ‘tech’ side in the perennial debate about ‘which is more important, the technology or the people side of social business?’ Andrew McAfee of MIT is perhaps the leading advocate for the term, but it has been displaced first by ‘social business’ and now by ‘the future of work’ and ‘digital transformation’.

Digital transformation can be thought of as an industrialization of the thinking behind the research and practice of work futures, building around the growing popularity of customer experience as a unifying metaphor for customer-centered business thinking in an increasingly digital world.

Just as fast as social business has been eclipsed by work futures, in turn work futures is rapidly being crowded out in entrepreneurial and existential management and tech circles by digital transformation. Digital transformation can be thought of as an industrialization of the thinking behind the research and practice of work futures, building around the growing popularity of customer experience as a unifying metaphor for customer-centered business thinking in an increasingly digital world.

Here’s a definition I used in a recent presentation:

Digital Transformation: A new operating model of business — based on continuous innovation — by the application of digital technologies and the restructuring of operations around customer experience to better engage with customers, the company ecosystem, and the greater marketplace.

Note that the work futures content is buried mostly in the ‘restructuring of operations’ phrase, and the shape and tenor of those changes is in service to the need to get onto a digital footing in relation to customers. The focus on humanization and democratization of work in work futures discourse is shifted to customers at the center of the digital transformation weltanschauung.

I threw out the terms ‘entrepreneurial and existential management’ above, and they warrant some unpacking.

Entrepreneurial management is the branch or thread of management thinking and writing that extols entrepreneurialism above other approaches, venerates start-up culture, and which advocates for the application of practices that have come from that quarter for other, and older, companies. This includes lean and agile practice, data-centered management, and valuing experimentation and learning over tradition and institutional knowledge. There is much to admire in entrepreneurial thought, but there are aspects of this body of thought that carry forward questionable practices from the past, such as the central role of consensus building which can lead to group think and the suppression of innovation and diversity.

Existential management takes entrepreneurialism and macro-economic ideas–like Christensen’s disruption theories–and casts the challenges of business into a zero sum landscape shaped by arguments to induce management to operate through a sense of impending doom, that without new principles of business their companies will crash and burn. To the good, there are times when raising the spectre of a dangerous future can help focus attention, but this is easily overused.

I am not making light of the core truths of some of these ideas, such as the potential for companies to disrupt established industries or markets, as Apple, Google, and Uber have done, or the vast potential of lean and agile practices for business. However, the tendency toward hyperbole, and a deeply sententious, and sensationalist writing style by many in these threads often obscures the foundational value of the core ideas being expressed.

At the highest level, those exploring work futures blend cultural and economic criticism, advocacy for a more humanistic set of principles for the management and operation of business, and the scientific insights coming from fields like complexity theory, cognitive science, behavioral economics, and social psychology. As I said in a recent keynote, the shared premise of those investigating work futures is the application of new understanding about human interaction, motivation, and drive, and to embody that understanding in a new way of work.

In the months and years to come I will continue to explore and research the threads that make up the fabric of work futures, including these:

Tools for Work Communications: ‘Social Collaboration’, Work Management, Work Chat, Working Out Loud, and Workforce Communications — I will be closely observing the shifting landscape of the tools being applied for work communications, and the many diverging and competing theories of management that are buried in their architectures.

Culture Management — The tools and techniques being used to create an organization climate where higher levels of feedback and greater degrees of quantitative assessment of engagement lead to a better understanding of the sentiment and orientation of all involved in the workplace.

The New Social Contract — I’ve started a new series on Gigaom Research focused on the changing social contract: the operating premises that underlie the relationships between employees, management and the extended workforce of part-timers, freelancers, and independent and dependent contractors. The new social contract is also influenced by issues like diversity, economics, regulation, and the role of government and other non-corporate actors, like unions.

AI, Robots, and The Ephemeralization of Work — The rising power of robots, artificial intelligence, and algorithmic processing of data is leading to many occupations being taken over in whole or part, with humans having to find work elsewhere. This is one of the most critical trends in work futures. I wrote in the Pew Research report AI, Robots, and the Future of Jobs,

The central question of 2025 will be: What are people for in a world that does not need their labor, and where only a minority are needed to guide the ‘bot-based economy’?

Fast-and-Loose Organization and Culture — A great deal of the smoke and heat in ‘the future of work’ is about new forms of organizations relying on different cultural foundations. This includes the democratization of work in general, and the adoption of new approaches — like Holacracy — that rework the notions of business management. The emerging consensus is that organizations are moving toward lateral and bottom-up networks and away from top-down hierarchies. (Note that hierarchies are networks, too, but ones with slow-and-tight forms of communications and control.) Today’s companies are becoming fast — agile, flexible, resilient — as opposed to slow — stable, rigid, unchanging. To become fast, you have to become loose: relaxing the strong ties of hierarchic controls. I will be tracking the advances made in this area closely.

Leadership and Management — Even management gurus have been suggesting that management has to be rethought in light of the changing conditions for organizations, today. Gary Hamel described the need to move away from bureaucracy in The Beyond Bureaucracy Challenge: Creating Inspired, Open, and Free Organizations, and asking the questions that will shape my investigations in this area:

Managing is largely about controlling and coordinating — the question is, can the work of managing be pushed out to the periphery of our organizations? Can it be automated? Can it be dispensed with entirely? Is it possible for an organization to be highly decentralized and precisely synchronized? Can you get discipline without disciplinarians? Are there ways of combining the freedom and flexibility advantages of markets with the control and coordination advantages of traditional hierarchies? Can we reduce the performance drag of our top-heavy management structures without giving anything up in terms of focus and efficiency? To what extent can “self-management” or “peer-management” substitute for “manager-management?”

Lamentably, bureaucracy lives on, where the few rule the many, and hierarchic management is still accepted as the norm. Entrepreneurial management is becoming the norm, but that may not be going far enough.

Innovation, Creativity, and Learning — Central to many discussions about work futures is the premise that increasing innovation in established companies is problematic, but unleashing the creativity of employees is essential for companies to compete and survive in times of rapid change. As a result we see a great deal written about practices to increase innovation, such as continuous learning, and the selection of people with certain psychological traits — like curiosity — as a precondition of increased innovation.

Cognitive Science — It’s interesting to see that cognitive science has recently shed light on common fallacies about learning, such as the notion that we learn better by focusing on a single skill at a time (see Cognitive Science Upends Conventional Wisdom About Studying). Like that example, there’s a long list of new findings from cognitive science that should have major impacts on business, management, and how we perceive behaviors at work: others and our own. However, much of these findings haven’t found their way into the workplace.

Work/Life Balance and the Costs of High Performance — Recent discussions about the costs of high pressure work environments — including the buzzfest about the New York Times exposé of Amazon — have brought the tension between ‘high performance’ workplaces and work/life balance to the forefront. I will be at the forefront of those discussions.

Open offices, remote work, and the mobile workforce — A revolution has taken place in business in just the past five years, driven by the rise of mobile devices and ubiquitous connectivity, we’ve witnessed wholesale changes in the physical layout of offices and the diaspora of workers from the old notion of working nine-to-five at the same desk for twenty years to a way of work that would have been unimaginable ten years ago.

Incentives, Meaning and Purpose — Moving past the extrinsic motivations of money and benefits, one of the major themes in work futures is interleaving intrinsic motivations — like meaning and purpose — into a larger mesh, in which human striving can be better understood.

Digital Transformation — Digital transformation is gaining greater weight as a result of growing awareness regarding the ‘digital customer’ (which might be better considered the ‘connected customer’). The premise is that businesses have to basically turn themselves inside out to engage customers who are migrating away from traditional forms of media consumption, and are now connected at nearly all times through mobile and other digital devices. This is associated with the growing role of new marketing thinking — based on reaching the customer at all ‘touch points’ along the ‘customer journey’ — and the declining power of the CIO and IT. Companies undergoing a digital transformation often appoint or hire someone to act as chief digital officer, which may be a stint while the company is being transformed, or may be a replacement for the CIO.

You can be sure that I will be trying to create new questions, not just answer the ones I am starting with.

It is, I realize, a broad palette, and I am sure that I am setting myself a stretch goal to included all of these topics. On the other hand, considering how these topics inevitably influence each other — or better said, are inherently tightly linked to each other — it would be pointless to enumerate only a few of these and to pretend that the others can be ignored.

You can be sure that I will be trying to create new questions, not just answer the ones I am starting with.

[evakuality]

Since we are all bored in quarantine I have a prompt for you. You've (jointly!) written two Davenzi soulmate AUs, and I am curious if there are qualities or events in canon that you consider solid 'soulmate material'? As distinct from other really good pairings.

Hmmmm, this is a really interesting question, anon.  First, I have actually written other soulmate things for other pairs under a different name (and no I won’t say what name that is!), but you’re right in that Davenzi are the only pair so far that I’ve done more than one for.  In general I just like soulmate ideas, at least when there’s some sort of difficulty around it, where it’s not just ‘find your soulmate and everything is wonderful’ - I need there to be some ‘what sort of world would this look like?’ stuff.  So from one point of view, I just like exploring soulmates and the ways that can look.

(putting the rest behind a barrier because as usual for me, it got long)

Still, I’ve been thinking about this ever since I got this ask and I think there are things that feel more soulmatey with Davenzi than other pairings I enjoy.  To be clear, when I think soulmates in ‘realistic’ terms I think more about equality, compatibility, trust and therefore the longevity potential of the couple rather than actually being ‘connected mystically’ since I don’t believe that exists in the real world (lol as if fiction is ‘the real world’ but you know what I mean).  And in those terms I feel like Davenzi have more of that than other ‘really good’ pairings I enjoy.

One thing Davenzi has that a lot of the other pairings I love don’t is that they are both at the same age and the same stage of life.  I know it’s a personal thing, but I love equality between the characters I fall for and it’s very very hard to do that when there’s an age or experience gap.  I’ve seen it done well sometimes (I would argue that at least at times this can be true even of Evak), but it often just doesn’t work for me.  So Davenzi already have that on their side.  And then they both deep down just want the same thing: to be loved and accepted for who they are.  There’s a compatibility in what they want, and also in the way they go about loving.  They each do that in the way the other most needs: Matteo with an absolute rock hard conviction that they should be together and refusal to accept anything else (which David needs since he has a tendency to try to push away even those closest to him).  David with a gentle pressure that knocks Matteo out of apathy and lets him know that he’s been seen and accepted for who he is, which is what he wants most (think of that ‘fitting in’ speech he gives Sara).

This is true for another of my loves as well, of course.  Evak also both want to be loved and both think their true self is unloveable in some ways, and I do absolutely love their dynamic in which they both even out what the other most needs.  But the thing that’s different between the two pairings is how long they keep secrets from each other for, and that degree of trust they have.  It’s pretty clear that Even is still very insecure about himself and his worthiness in comparison to Isak.  Isak seems to be fairly secure, except where it comes to Even’s old friends (and how sad that we never really got to explore either of those issues - there was so much there that was left unspoken).  They do trust each other, but they also hide things from each other and/or avoid talking to each other about those things.

But what we see with David, for example, is that once he has Matteo’s support and the rest of the gang has made it clear that they’re with him too, he doesn’t seem to obsess over it the way Even does and he doesn’t keep more secrets.  The things he and Even were hiding are very different of course, but it does lead to a different sort of dynamic between the pairings.  David doesn’t appear to have any further secrets left and so he and Matteo are very secure pretty much as soon as s3 is over.  Even still holds some things tight to his chest right through s4 and so while I do think Even and Isak are rock solid, I feel like they need more time and communication to get to the point where Davenzi are by the end of s4.

Or look at a couple like Jonas and Hanna, who I also enjoy by the end of s4.  Their issues stemmed from a problem of mistrust and miscommunication (and from other people messing up their relationship with half truths etc).  I think they are a ‘really good’ couple, but there’s no way they radiate ‘soulmate’ energy the way Davenzi does for me.  They were never equal to start with (Jonas always considered himself superior to her and he had relationship experience etc), and while they are compatible, the lack of trust and bad communication caused some disastrous problems for them.  

The thing with all three of these couples is that I do think they all work extremely well together at least in the end.  They are all what I would class as ‘really good pairings’ and they are all compatible with each other.  But the thing that, for me, defines that idea of ‘meant to be’ is more prevalent in Davenzi.  If we break it down by the categories I said at the start:

Jonas and Hanna: equal: not really, though it’s better by the time they get back together.  They’ve both had pining experience over the other since they broke up and they both decide they want to work at the relationship.  Compatible: yeah, though again it’s something they may need to work at a little.  But one thing they always did have was that they seem like they’re friends as well as lovers and that’s always important as well.  Trust: hmmmm, well, certainly not at the start, and I think there are still things they need to work through by the time we see them at the end of s4, but I do think they have the tools now.  Longevity potential: I’m not 100% sure that they will last forever.  I think they can, but it would take work and so because of that I can’t say I see this as ‘soulmates’ in the way I imagine that looks in real life.

Evak: equal: in many ways, yes.  But we do have the issue that Even was older and had more experience when they met and so he took the lead in a way that meant Isak became more of a follower than he had been in the past.  Then, Isak was much more easily able to slip into a situation where he saw them as together forever, whereas Even still had his insecurities and fears and so he was keeping things back from Isak for a lot longer.  So while they’re equal, there are ways in which there are/were still some imbalances.  The fact that Even is seen as mysterious and unattainable by Isak for so long is such an integral part of their dynamic that it’s hard to ignore it even once the tables turn later in their story.  Compatible: yes definitely, no questions here at all.  They work together in a way that’s really wonderful to see, and they do each give the other what he most needs.  Trust: well, Even’s tendencies to think of himself as not good enough and therefore to hide things from Isak is a possible point of contention.  Longevity potential: If they talk it all through, I feel like there’s a good chance for things to be really amazing with them into the future, but Even’s issues with being fully open have the potential to be a stumbling block.  I think they have a MUCH better chance at lasting than Jonas and Hanna, but there’s that one shadow looming.  I suspect this would have been different if we’d been allowed to see their complete story but because we never did then we get this thing where it could go one way or the other.

Davenzi: equal: yes.  They are the same age, they’re in a similar situation to each other, they want and need similar things.  Compatible: yes, definitely.  The things they each need are given to each other very freely and effortlessly (think about the way Matteo immediately respects David’s boundaries when he says the pinned together pages of his art book are too private, the way he hears ‘I’m not into you’ and absolutely refuses to accept it as truth because he sees easily behind the words to the truth of David’s feelings even if he’s a little confused, or the way David encourages Matteo, without being aggressive, in the early days or the way he lets Matteo lean on him when he needs it, and seems to readily know exactly when those moments are, but also can get Matteo to do what he needs to do by perfectly aimed reverse psychology stuff).  Trust: I literally wrote an entire multi-part meta series on how good these two are at communication even when they aren’t great at it verbally.  Because of this, by the time David has opened up to Matteo about being trans they are rock solid despite some of the stuff that happens.  From that moment they are completely together and that’s never shaken at all.  Longevity potential: I just can’t imagine a pairing that’s less likely to split than these two.  The communication stuff is so important, they survived an entire road trip together, they just seem to ‘get’ each other, and know what the other needs, in a way that is very natural and effortless.  Their similarities and differences just seem to blend together perfectly in a way that’s really hard to define, but that has a lot to do with the fact that they are the same age and they have had similar experiences.

To be completely clear: I love all three of these pairings, but this is just to show my own personal reasonings for why I see ‘soulmatehood’ more in one than the others.  Also to be clear: I fully expect all of them to make it and I will never write any of them breaking up.  But this is just how I see each of the three dynamics.

[gliagirlphd]

Hi! I saw your post about reading principles of neural science! My undergrad physics dept has a tradition of sending grads off with a book they think they’ll find useful in grad school - and this is the book they sent me away with. I’ve been a little lost since graduating two years ago (working in industry currently) and would love to hear about your path!

Hello! Wow, your department gives out such useful gifts; my department gave me a luggage tag id (I plan to make good use of it during grad school when I go to conferences).

So, my story is not very “inspiring” and it definitely did not start with Neuroscience. In fact, I graduated with my Bachelor’s in Genetics. My journey to grad school, and current path, actually starts with developmental biology and signal transduction pathways.

In my third year of undergrad, I picked up a class completely out of the blue called Neural Development; I had no background in Developmental Biology or Neuroscience prior to this class. The last time I took anything close to “Neuroscience” was AP Psychology in high school! In fact, most of my classes and interest revolved around statistical genetics. The professor for the class (henceforth called Dr. E) was very engaging, funny, a bit eccentric, and a very very bad artist. He started out the class with a saying - “cells communicate”. Sure, I had heard this phrase in Intro Bio before but I really didn’t care much for it. As I had started to study for the class, I became really interested in a lot of the unanswered questions. How do cells “talk”? How many forms of communications are there? What happens when cells talk too much or too little or not at all? What happens when some cells ignore the conversation? How does this communication play a role during developmental stages or even pathologies? And all of this I was learning in the context of a developing nervous system.

I loved Dr.E’s class so much that I asked him if I could volunteer in his lab (he worked in signaling pathways of developing nervous system); after one semester volunteering, I was sold on my project and decided to officially join his lab as an undergraduate student doing research for class credits (my graduate student mentor also was a contributing factor to me loving the lab). And thus, I leaped into the world of developmental biology and signaling pathways. Moreover, I fell in love with it because dev bio is elegant, and crucial in our understanding of biology, diseases, and even evolution. (You’ll be surprised by how many biologically components are conserved!). I spent 2 years under his mentorship and did an undergrad thesis project. At the same time, I was also working in two other labs as well, one in synthetic biology (international collaboration), and one in biofuels. In the end, neural development became the heart of my future research interests. (Funny side note: the rotating graduate students told me that I spent more time in lab than a graduate student did, which is how I knew I loved doing research and that my next chapter in life involved going to graduate school).

When I was applying to grad school, I knew that I wanted to be part of the Developmental Biology community. Unfortunately, the graduate program I am a part of doesn’t have a degree in Developmental Biology; but, several departments at my university (Genetics, Neuroscience, Cell Biology) fall under this Developmental Biology program. The lab I rotated in and ended up joining fell under this umbrella. I also briefly rotated in a human genetics/bioinformatics lab that I really loved but I decided to stick to my “roots”. What really spoke to me about my current lab was that my PI had an up and coming project that fell right in my wheelhouse and in a fascinating organ. My work also delves a bit into regenerative bioscience; my scientific interest has always been in contributing in increasing our knowledge in basic science, so that it can be applied in developing biomedical therapies. My current research topic touches this concept (how glial cells contribute to nervous system regeneration). 

The more I learn about the brain (especially at the molecular level and in different organisms), the more mystified and amazed I am by it…

In summary, I was part of several research labs during my undergrad and it helped pave my path into molecular neuroscience (neurobiology, neural development)! 

[atasteforsuicidal]

five years ago today, i had my first shift at 10am at starbucks, the whole time during which my sister was in labour and i was eagerly awaiting news. then i had class that night at 6pm, and she was still in labour. i saw my beautiful, itty-bitty niece for the first time as i sat in one of utm’s lecture halls learning, ironically, about developmental psychology. i still remember getting utterly distracted looking at the first photos my mum sent me of my sister holding her.

it’s so fucking wild to me how time flies?

in that time, i’ve only been able to spend one halloween, one birthday, and two christmases with her, among a handful of non-holiday trips, including visiting for the birth of her little brother and two bereavement visits. last year was actually the most times i’ve visited home in a single year since violet was born, and it’s almost like the world knew what was coming, because with this pandemic, i can’t begin to guess the next time i’m going to see my family from back home. it will be a year come january, and lord knows we won’t be much closer to a solution by then, given that it’s barely two months away.

it will never stop making my heart ache to miss all those celebrations and milestones, not just for one little darling anymore, but for two, and video-chatting tonight to wish my mum and my niece both a happy birthday and hearing that little girl tell me she misses me and she’s sad that i can’t visit broke my heart. knowing that river is going to have no real memories of me from his younger years kills me - i saw him four time in his first year of life, and then that was it. i met him sooner than i met violet, but he won’t have the same kind of spread-out memories of me that she does. it kills me.

in that five years, i also lost two grandparents, and i watched from afar as my other grandmother and one of my uncles struggled against, and ultimately beat, cancer. i received the kind of messages you don’t ever want to receive - i had to call the ambulance for your father. your aunt had a stroke. someone had a miscarriage. your cousin’s wedding is off. your grandmother is in the hospital. your grandmother is gone. your grandfather is gone, too. your other grandmother had a bad fall. now she’s had a stroke.

but there were good calls, too. ever since the 911 incident, your dad hasn’t needed insulin anymore, it’s like something reset in him. your sister’s pregnant again. your cousin is pregnant. that cousin is also engaged again. and there were good visits, too! my parents visiting for my graduation from university. a different cousin’s wedding. river’s birth. a christmas where everyone came home for the first time in years and years and years. a birthday visit from my mum.

i actually graduated from university with an hba after taking two years off in the middle of the degree. i sat on my ass and did nothing with that degree, hemming and hawing over going for a masters. i had a few really wonderful visits with some important friends. i got closer to my cousin kat, and i met morgan. i made some new friends at a regular gaming event thanks to some co-workers. i discovered some new things about myself. i learned to explore my own intimacy. i got active in fandom life again and made some new online friends. i started seeing a therapist. i went back to school and have been absolutely killing it. i started writing again. i actually spoke to one (1) whole person on a dating app. for the first time in my life, i have savings (ignoring the fact that i still have student loans, too). i have really good credit, after struggling on-and-off with debt for years.

but i also broke my own heart - badly. i lost touch with a lot of people who still mean so much to me, and i broke a really important promise to one of those people in doing so. guilt eats at me every day for it. my social anxiety grew worse than it ever was before, and i closed myself off. a mix of social anxiety and a change in location had me not really seeing those games night friends anymore. i forgot how to do anything but keep people at an arm’s length. forgot how to trust, how to let people in. more than ever before, i am a listener and not a talker. it took me days to tell my roommates about my grandmother’s stroke. hell, kat knew my other grandmother had died because her parents called her and told her so she’d come pick me up at work, but when my grandfather passed, i don’t think i said a word to my roommates until i already had my flight booked. i started college in the hopes of meeting people and a global-fucking-pandemic pushed my classes online, secluded me more than ever. i continue to be atrocious at keeping in touch with people online, too, and thus continue to estrange myself from my family and friends, and being unable to visit makes it even worse. discounting kat and her parents and brother, i saw family for the first time in a year this month. that’s. that’s unheard of, in my family. it’s just not done.

and throughout all of that, i’ve had so many ups and downs at work, too. i’ve worked at three different stores in these five years; worked under nine different store managers, two interim store managers, and five different district managers; and, in a few months, it’s going to be coming to an end. i’d be lying if i didn’t say that i’ll be a bit sad, but, more than anything else, it’s going to be a huge weight off my shoulders, and i’m so looking forward to my departure. it’s too social a job. literally being told to talk to customers makes me want to run into traffic, that’s how bad my anxiety has gotten. these last two or so years, making “customer connections” has felt like pulling teeth because opening my damn mouth to make words come out feels like it’s going to kill me. that’s. that’s so fucked up. i spend more time at work thinking about creative ways to kill myself than i do about actually enjoying my job. it’s a shame, it really is. i work for a surprisingly good employer - not a perfect one by any means, but a good one. i used to love the job. now it makes me miserable, and it’s only partly because of the micromanaging.

seeing hundreds of faces a day is exhausting. and then coming home to people who are significantly more social than myself... it’s draining. i feel like i’m being crushed under the weight of it sometimes. i’m under no illusions that the career path i’m aiming for now will still require socialization, but it’s not going to be at that same level. it’s a job that will drive empathy and give you the chance to actually connect with clients you see and correspond with regularly rather than customers who get lost in an endless sea of people day in and day out. i’m ready for that change, i really am.

it’s been a long five years, and it’s been draining, and exhausting, and discouraging in a lot of ways, but it’s had some really rewarding times, too. it’s hard not to look back at the start of those five years and wonder what the fuck happened that i’m still where i’m at now, but the important thing to remember is that i’ve already started the process of getting out of this slump. my motivation comes and goes, and i seem to be dipping into another slump again, but that always happens as winter approaches; i’m used to it now. it’s important to acknowledge where you’ve been and what you’ve gone through, but i just need to keep telling myself to keep my gaze ahead of me and continue moving forward.

so, yeah. ramble-rant-thing over, i guess.

here’s to five more, or whatever. may i have a lot more successes to bring forward at that point.

[bangtangcorner]

Sexstasy - Jeon Jungkook

pairings: yandere!fratboy!jungkook x reader, minor fratboy!seokjin x reader

word count: 4.3k

summary: On the outside, you didn’t like Jeon Jungkook and he didn’t like you. But what you both really wanted deep down, was each other. By the time you found out how insane Jungkook really was, and how wanting him was maybe a mistake, it might’ve been a little late.

warnings: cussing, oral(f.receiving), fingering, nipple play, oppa kink (oops), mild violence, yandere behavior, alcohol, drug usage 

a/n: ok so my FIRST time writing smut and my longest imagine yet! I worked really really hard on this, I hope whoever read this ends up liking it :) If you liked this, then feel free to also check out my other works. Also I LITERALLY have no idea about drugs lol. Also Sexstasty is originally from what I’ve read a combination of ecstasy and viagra and is used by men, but in the fic I switched it up a bit ok bye. Feedback and criticism of any kind is always appreciated <3 

(Edited)

***

The party was already in full swing by the time you and Y/f/n stepped in the frat house. Alpha Kapa Si had successfully sponsored five events under the biology sector in a month, creating yet again, a new record. And this of course, called for a celebration. The house was dimly lit, fairy lights hanging at almost every door. As you expected, Drake was blasting through the speakers at the highest possible volume and every student looked like they were having the time of their life.

“Come on, let’s go find Hoseok!” Y/f/n screamed over the loud music, her hand slipping into yours as she pulled you through the crowd. Both of you made your way to through the sweaty bodies and found Hoseok in the kitchen with Seokjin, refilling their red solo cups.

“Hoseok!”

His face whipped around as his eyes landed on Y/f/n. A big grin stretched across his face as he made his way towards her and enveloped her in a hug, squeezing her too tight in your opinion. He pulled away and looked at you, a smile still evident on his face.

“Hi Y/n”

“Hi Hobi.” He gave you a side hug and then out of the blue moon, started squealing.

“We’re going to party so fucking hard tonight baby!” He jumped like a child who had received candy before dinner and Y/f/n joined him. You shook your head at their silliness and but couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on your face. They were both literal embodiment of sunshine, always happy and cheery, brightening up everyone’s day. So it was no surprise to you when you got a call from Y/f/n in the middle of the night, shouting from too much excitement after Hoseok had asked her out. Of course this meant that you were going to be introduced to Hoseok’s friends and maybe, become friends with them.

To say that they were famous in the university would frankly be an understatement.

Kim Namjoon, doing his PHD in psychology, became President of Alpha Kapa Si last year which was genuinely expected by 95% of the college. With an IQ of 148, he was a born genius. Excelled in not only academics but extracurricular activities as well. He was your kind of guy, minded his own business and had the cleanest reputation out of the 7 boys.

Min Yoongi, pursuing music, honestly looked the most intimidating to you. All the times you had seen him in corridors or in the one class you shared with him, he always had a frown etched upon his face and would cuss out anyone who would cross his way. He was terrifying and you tried to stay as far away from him as possible.

Jung Hoseok, he probably was the happiest human you’d ever come across. Doing his course in MBA, he was ready to take over the family business as soon as he was done with Uni. But that was something he was being forced to do, his heart was in dancing. Also the President of the dance club, Hoseok was pretty much the female version of Y/f/n.

Kim Seokjin, completing his degree in theater arts and animation, was next to Namjoon in terms of being the most sane. He had a little crazy in him too but just the right amount. Being around him made you nervous for some reason, the tension was always thick in the air whenever you two were in the same room. Y/f/n always suggested that you both could ‘fuck that tension out’ to which you always responded with a smack across her head.

Park Jimin, ethereal face, every girl wanted to sit on that dick and most of them actually already had. Being a contemporary dancer, he had probably one of the most beautiful bodies you’d ever seen.Through all the attention he got, he remained humble somehow. You gelled well with him shockingly, to this day you don’t know why.

Kim Taehyung, also known as the Prince of art around the college. He was artistic in every way possible and his passion for painting was unbeatable. With extremely striking features and the sweetest voice, he made girls and even guys swoon. But he was too in love with his long time girlfriend Hwasa to notice any of that.

Lastly, Jeon fucking Jungkook. In the four months that Y/f/n and Hoseok had dated, you had not once interacted with Jungkook properly. His gaze always made you feel uncomfortable, something about him just seemed off. He also never missed a chance to get on your nerves, often stimulating your triggers and making you feel more conscious about yourself than you already were. The worst part was, both of you were in the same photography major, meaning you shared almost all the classes. He was the most infamous out of the 7, often got into fights and had been suspended way too many times. You resented Jeon Jungkook.

“Aren’t they the cutest?” You turned around at the voice.

Seokjin was standing next you and was looking at Y/f/n and Hoseok as they made their way to the middle of the house, probably to dance. He handed you a cup which you greatfully accepted, the finals had you too stressed and you were in desperate need of chilling the fuck out.

“Yeah they are.” You said putting the cup to your lips, chugging down the sweet taste of the punch.

You could feel Seokjin’s stare burning holes in the side of your head. Usually, you would play it off or ignore it, but with the alcohol in your system, you were girl with a mission, a mission to ‘fuck the tension out’.

You turn towards Seokjin and raise your eyebrows, “What? Something on my face?”

Seokjin turned red and averted his eyes to the ground, you chuckled and moved closer to him. His eyes widened a little as you closed the gap between you both, your chests almost touching. You bring the cup to your face and tilt it towards him, “Refill for me please?”

Seokjin shuddered and nodded, taking the cup from your hand and walked towards the kitchen, his pace a little too fast in your opinion. You giggled and shook your head, leaning against the wall.This was so unlike you. You weren’t a typical nerd, sure you kept to yourself and didn’t really stick your nose in other’s business, but that doesn’t mean that your head was always in books. You had your fair share of fun too.

“Ahem.”

“Y/f/n don’t”

She raised her hands in the air, a cheeky glint in her eyes as she trudged towards you, “I’m just saying, maybe it’s time for you guys to just fuck and get over with it.”

You rolled your head to the side and looked at her, a lazy smile forming on your face, “Maybe it is.”

Her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she chocked on her drink. A loud laugh escaped past your lips as you patted her back, helping her calm down.

“Who are you and what have you done to Y/N?”

“Just” You paused for a second, “Wanna let loose tonight.”

“Girl, you do you.” She grinned, “But Y/n, you don’t have to do something you don’t want to.” Her serious tone made you smile warmly at her, you were so lucky to have a friend as caring and loving as Y/f/n.

“I’ll be okay babe.” You squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.

“Am I interrupting you ladies?” Seokjin’s voice pulled you both out of your little stance.

“No no, not all all.” Y/f/n beamed, a playful smile on her face.

“Your drink” Seokjin said as he passed you the refilled cup. You thanked him quietly and turned to look at Y/f/n, raising your brows, silently asking her to leave. She smirked in return and looked at Seokjin, “I’m going to go, she’s all yours Jin.” Her right eye dropped in a wink. 

Jungkook had been distracted by you all night. (a/n: Don’t consider the locket) Hell, you’re the only thing he had been watching all night. You looked marvelous in that mini skirt and crop top even though you showed too much skin according to him. He was so used to seeing you in jumpers and jeans that tonight, you just blew his mind dressed up like that.

To put it simply, Jungkook was infatuated by you. From your bambi eyes to your chubby cheeks, everything about you was mesmerizing to him. It was not only your adorable little habits that pulled him in, it was actually the fact that you were one of the sweetest humans alive, too kind and nice to everyone. You worked hard and never backed down from a challenge, that was something he admired about you. 

When you distanced yourself from him as soon as you and Y/f/n started hanging out with their circle, he was hurt. He had expected you to be shy at first given his reputation but he had not expected you to completely pretend as if he didn’t exist. He knew there was something between you and Seokjin, he could see it clearly. It angered him how well you got along with Jimin and not him, it made him upset to watch you laugh carelessly with his friends in front of his own eyes. So he took his anger out on you. Even if you were pissed at something he said, he would be happy that you’d at least respond to him.

He’d been watching you again when you leaned against the wall and stood a little too close to Seokjin. Your cheeks were red, movements a little slow, of fucking course, you were drunk.

“Did you see Y/n tonight? Holy shit who knew there was all that underneath those baggy clothes.” He snapped out of his thoughts at the voice, turning to look at a couple of guys from the basketball team, snickering while smoking a joint in the corner.

“Look at that skirt, would love to rip it apart and eat that ass out.”

In the next second, all Jungkook could see was red. He marched towards the group of boys, picked one of them by his collar and threw him against the wall. The boy yelped in pain as the others backed up, everyone was aware of Jungkook’s anger and it was advised to not get on his bad side.

Jungkook threw a punch to his jaw and then grabbed him by his throat, pushing him back against the wall and leaned down to his ear, “You better not talk about Y/n ever again. You better not look at Y/n ever again or I will fucking bash your skull, you get me?”

He could only whimper in response as Jungkook was pulled away by Namjoon and Jimin. By now, the music had been lowered down and everyone was witnessing Jungkook’s yet another brawl unfold.

“What? Move!” He shouted as the music was again set at a higher volume and people scattered quickly, too afraid of Jungkook. He pried off Namjoon and Jimin’s hands off him and turned around to look back at where you were standing but was met with an empty spot. He groaned and pushed past people swiftly to find you.

You were just making small talk with Seokjin when you heard the commotion. You didn’t even have to go over to see what was happening, you already knew it was Jungkook. Seokjin titled his head in confusion as you sighed before placing your drink on the table beside you and grabbed his head, pulling him through the crowd that had gathered in the living room.

“I’m assuming it’s Jungkook.” You say in a whisper as both of you reach the living room. Your assumption was confirmed when your eyes fell on a very angry Jungkook holding up a boy against the wall, his hand clasped around his throat. The neck in his veins were protruding, his skin flaming red. The words that came out of his mouth not only shocked you but pretty much everyone present there.

“You better not talk about Y/n ever again. You better not look at Y/n ever again or I will fucking bash your skull, you get me?”

You froze as you digested his words, mind going blank for a second as a shiver ran down your spine. Few people around you turned to look at you, disgusted expressions visible on their faces. Of course, Jeon Jungkook can’t go for someone like Y/n Y/l/n.

And then, you ran. You ran up the stairs as fast as you could, Seokjin trailing behind hot on your heels. You could hear Jungkook shout in distance as you slammed open the door of the first room that you could reach and immediately locked yourself in the bathroom. 

“Y/n? Y/n?!” Seokjin’s knocking on the door was fast and sharp.

You splashed some water across your face and closed your eyes. You took deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. You didn’t know why you were reacting like this, maybe it was because you found Jeon Jungkook really fucking hot, or maybe because you had hots for him since the day your eyes fell on him even if he was an asshole to you. Maybe it was because your body reacted to him in a way you didn’t want it too. Maybe because you wanted him.

You contemplated for a minute so as to what to say to Seokjin. There was something between the two of you for sure, you just couldn’t put your finger on what it exactly was. You opened the door to reveal Seokjin sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at his feet. His face immediately shot up at the noise of the bathroom door opening. Both of you remained silent for a second, just staring at each other. You broke the silence.

“So Jin” You began as you walked closer to him, “You wanna fuck?”

Seokjin chocked on his spit as you straddled him, your hands resting on his shoulders to support yourself. You had never called him Jin and he had never ever imagined that would you be this blunt. His hands naturally landed on your waist as a blush spread across his face.

“We don’t have to do this Y/n, are you sure?”

“Yes Jin, I’m very fucking sure.”

“But you’re drunk”

“And I also want you to make me feel good Jin.” You bent down and slightly grazed his earlobe with your teeth, your hot breath fanning his skin. He sucked in a deep breath and before you could process it, his mouth was on yours, moving fiercely. Your hands fisted his t-shirt as his arms circled around your waist and pulled you closer. Your tongues explored each others mouth, all hot and messy but soft at the same time. Without giving much thought to it, you started grinding on Jin. Both of you let out loud moans at the friction created, your heads being thrown back as your hips worked against each other.

Jungkook walked upstairs to look for you but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard moans coming out of his room. He grumbled to himself about locking his door from the next time and slammed it open to kick out the horny teenagers from his room when his eyes fall upon sight that made his blood boil and mind fog with anger.

You were sat in Seokjin’s lap, your lips interlocked with his as your hips rolled against his crotch. You jumped at the noise of the door hitting the wall and turned around to see Jungkook standing at the door, fuming and looking like he was ready to murder anyone that came in his way. Your eyes were practically hanging from their sockets as you tried to catch your breath from the heavy makeout session you just had with Jin. Your gaze met Jungkook’s and you knew, whatever was going to happen, it was not going to be good.

“Jungko-”

“You have 5 seconds to get the fuck out Jin. I’ll deal with you later.”

It was so silent in the room that you could feel the beads of sweat rolling down from your hairline to your neck. Jin gently pushed you off him and placed you on the bed and made his way to the door quietly. He turned to look at you one last time before leaving, his eyes practically sympathizing with you. He closed the door behind him, the noise echoing in the room.

Jungkook stood frozen on his spot as you your heart ran hundred miles per second. He then walked towards the dresser and shuffled around it for a minute before walking towards you with what looked like a bottle of water.

“Drink up.”

You gulped as you took the bottle from his hands, your fingertips touching, the simple action causing you to quiver. You took a few sips before placing it on the side table beside the bed. All this time, Jungkook stood leaning against his study table and watched your every move.

“Quite a bold move you know, making out with one of my friends in my own room, on my own fucking bed.” His tone was cocky, a little smirk on his face as you looked up, parting your lips to reply but no coherent response coming out.

“I... Jungkook..I”

“Y/n” You could feel his voice coming closer.

Then it happened. You felt a sudden rush in your body, senses becoming extremely strong. Every part of your body became sensitive and you got slightly dizzy, your panties suddenly dampening as there was a sudden rush to your southern region. A soft whimper escaped past your lips as you gripped the bedsheet underneath you.

“W-What is h-happ-ening to m-me?”

Jungkook released a chuckle as he bent down to your level, his hands taking a hold of your waist to keep you steady.

“My sweet girl, don’t you know you’ve been mine since the beginning?”

Want and need were now flowing in your body like blood, the need to release this built up tension had become even worse. It was as if that Jungkook’s words only amplified this, causing you to squeeze your thighs together.

“Uh hu my sweet girl, you shouldn’t do that.” He punctuated his words with his hands parting your knees, the smell of your arousal almost intoxicating him.

“Wha-at did y-you do t-to me?” You muttered out through the frantic spread of pleasure in your body.

Jungkook let out a boisterous laugh and then proceeded to tuck his head in your neck. His tongue made contact with your skin as he licked a long swipe until the base of your ear.

“Sexstasy.” His voice came out in a whisper.

“Huh?”

“One pill of Ecstasy mixed with some other drugs that will keep you turned on for at least 2 hours.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, “H-how-w?”

He lightly traced your earlobe with his lips, occasionally placing a few kisses in the way, “The water you drank.”

With every passing moment, it was becoming unbearable for you to even sit.

“Jungkook.” You whined, your hands clutched his shoulders as you moved forward to press your front against his. Jungkook hissed, his hands moving to unzip the front zipper of your crop top and then took a place on your inner thighs.

“What is it baby?”

“Please”

“Please what?” His fingers made light circles on your skin.

“Please help me Oppa.”

Jungkook’s movements haltered, ragged breaths escaping his lips. His mind went blank for a minute at your words, wondering why did he take so long to have his way with you.

“What did you just say Y/n?”

“I want you to help me Oppa, it hurts.” You moaned as his fingers traced your slit over your panties, the touch making you tremble.

“Yeah? Be a nice girl for Oppa and lay down baby.”

You obliged immediately and fell back on the bed, your legs spread open for Jungkook at the edge of the bed. Never in a million years did you think that you would find yourself in a situation like this. But with the drug and alcohol in your system, all you wanted was Jungkook to eat you out like there was no tomorrow.

His hands pushed up your skirt, causing it to bunch up at your waist. His fingers hooked in the sides on your underwear before pulling it down in a swift motion. 

Jungkook couldn’t believe his eyes, his dreams were finally coming true. You were laid out on the bed, a beautiful flush spreading across your chest. Your pussy was so pretty and pink, clenching around nothing, only because of him. He used a finger and moved it up and down your slit which resulted in you letting out a loud moan, your eyes screwing shut. He stood up from the floor and hovered over you, his fingers moving away causing you to open your eyes. He straddled you, making sure to not put all of his weight on you. His hands grabbed your crop top and pushed it upwards, causing your bare breasts to be revealed. He sucked in a breath at the sight, your tits looking more appetizing that any meal he had ever had.

“Look at you, you dirty girl, no bra huh?” He mumbled as his hands cupped your boobs, taking the nipple in between his fingertips and pinching it. You threw your head back, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Jungkook” His name fell out from your mouth in a whimper as your eyes met his’s. His eyes darkened as he suddenly bent down and took your right nipple in his mouth, sucking gently. His other hand kept toying with your left nipple as the only sound heard in the room were your moans. His fingertips trail across your stomach and go lower as his lips place soft kisses against your chest and move upwards towards neck. 

He spreaded your arousal on your pussy lips with his index and middle finger as you arched into his hold and mewled, your mind blocked with too many sensations and pleasure.

You screamed as he plunged his fingers inside you without a warning, your knuckles turning white as you clasp the sheets in your hands, the need to hold something becoming stronger. 

“So fucking tight baby girl, and so wet and warm. All ready for Oppa huh?”

In the next second, you felt Jungkook’s lips on yours. His lips molded with yours perfectly, tongue massaging against yours as his fingers maintained a steady rhythm. His other hand held the back of your head as the kiss became extremely hot and searing. You could feel him get hard against your thighs, so you moved your hand to palm him.

He pulled away and grabbed your hand that was trying to reach for his crotch and placed it beside your head.

“It’s about you baby.” His words make you more red than you already were, if that was possible. He smirked and bent down on the floor again, your pussy right in front of his eyes. He watched his finger go and in and out, the action almost mesmerizing to him. The squelching sounds of your pussy could be heard throughout the room as he latched his mouth to your clit, earning a loud cry from you. He moaned against you, the vibrations maximizing the pleasure that was coursing through your veins.

Your hands interlocked in his hair as you moaned out his name. Jungkook devoured you like you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. He pulled away for a second, “Tastes so sweet baby, just like you.”

You looked down at him through half lidded eyes and he smiled in return. Your right hand came up to play with your nipples as you whimper again, “Please make me cum Oppa.” 

He growled as fingers gained speed, his mouth sucking on your clit again. Both of you never broke the eye contact as his fingers finally touched the spongy spot inside of you that made you choke on your breath, tears welling up in the corner of your eyes.

A wicked grin took over Jungkook’s lips, “There baby?” 

You frantically nodded as Jungkook assualted that spot repeatedly with his fingers. Your fingers tightened in black locks as you pulled him up in a passionate kiss, your cries and whimpers dying in his mouth.

“Do you think Jin could make you feel like this jagi? Do you think he could fuck you this good with his fingers?”

His lips ghosted over yours as tears started streaming down your face.

“No, N-no Oppa”

He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers as you pulled away from the kiss, your breathing erratic.

“You’re gonna cum for me baby? Milk Oppa’s fingers huh?”

You stumbled upon your words as your body shuddered, an ear-splitting scream came out of your mouth. You vision went blank as you tuned out from the rest of the world for a minute, the intensity of your orgasm too much for you. Jungkook slowed down the movement of his fingers, helping you coax out of your orgasm. He cleaned up your juices with his tongue as you squirmed, too sensitive at the moment. 

Jungkook took in your post orgasm beauty. Your hair was messy, hickeys littered over your chest, lips red and swollen, cheeks tear stained. He cooed at the sight, you looked heavenly.

You opened your eyes and saw Jungkook standing in front of you. His gaze met yours as he licked his fingers clean, a blush spreading across your cheeks at the action. His eyes were still dark, an evil glint in them.

“You’re mine jagi, and I don’t like sharing what’s mine.” 

He bent down and whispered in your ear, “The next time you do something like this, I will fuck you in front of everyone to show you that you belong to me and only me.”

You gulped.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

***

Masterlist

[feelingfreak]

of monsters and moms

When I was a child, elementary and middle school ages, my mother was crazy.  In fact, she was emotionally abusive and negligent of my needs.  I was terrified of her.  It wasn’t until my younger brother was born that she started to change.  I was 12 when he was born.

My older brother and I, like many children our age, had chores to complete before Mom came home.  If we didn’t finish, she would yell and scream at us.  She’d throw and break things.  One time, she broke all the dirty dishes in the sink because we hadn’t cleaned them.  After she was finished yelling, she’d usually go to her bedroom, then come out and apologize, tell us she loved us, that we made her go crazy, and make us tell her that we forgave her.

Sometimes she’d just snap and start yelling without a cause that I know of.  We never knew what kind of mood she’d be in when she got home.  I was always afraid.  Always.

When I was in 6th grade, I remember being pulled out of my math class by the guidance counselor.  She took me to her office, where Mom was waiting.  My teachers were concerned that I seemed depressed.  I was.  I had already been cutting myself, not that Mom knew.  She never knew until I told her when I was 16.  They asked me if I’d like to talk to someone about feeling sad.  I said yes.  Mom promised me she’d take me to see someone.  She didn’t. 

When I was younger, I fell frequently and got hurt.  Mom took me to the doctor.  I remember him asking me if, deep down inside me, there was a smiley face or a sad face.  I told him a sad face.  He told Mom that he thought I needed a psychological evaluation.  She scoffed and never got me one.

Mom married an alcoholic when I was 11.  He made things even more miserable, especially when he WASN’T drinking and had no work.  It wasn’t all bad.  I gained some cousins and we spent time at a lake during the summer.  But I was extremely unhappy.  My step-father had some kind of violent outburst and ended up slamming a door on my mom’s arm.  She kicked him out and promised to never let him come back.  Another broken promise.  She took him back, but it didn’t last long.

By this time, my little brother was born and Mom started to be less unpredictable.  More happy.  Sometimes, I’m jealous of my little brother for the mother he grew up with.  She was always there for him.  I guess she learned from her mistakes.  Overall, I’m extremely glad that he didn’t have to experience what I did.

Fast forward several years.  I’m 16, a junior in high school.  I start to scare myself with how much I’m considering taking my own life.  I think about it almost every day.  I cut myself frequently.  Desperate for help, I finally tell Mom that I’ve been hurting myself and that I need help.  I saw the family physician who prescribed me an antidepressant.  Mom also got me in to see a counselor, but it was through a church service and I was going through a Wicca phase.  The counselor had me play with toys and asked what they were feeling and even made a comment about Wicca when I told her I was exploring my spirituality.  Obviously, I was very uncomfortable with her and never went back to see her.  Mom never took me to see anyone else.  Well, not until I was 21 and in the midst of a crisis away at college.  Those are details for another time, though.

I’m angry.  My older brother had physical issues that Mom took care of.  She never took care of me.  She never gave me what I needed.  Never.  My therapist thinks my anger has worked as a defense mechanism to protect me from the pain my mother has caused me.  I think she’s right.  When I think about it and start to feel the pain, I immediately get angry and end up not feeling the pain and sorrow.  I never get to the point where I can heal.  Even typing this out, I’ve been getting angrier and angrier, pounding my fingers on the keyboard.

My childhood wasn’t all horrible, of course.  There were good moments.  Maybe more than the few I can remember.  But I mostly remember the fear and the sorrow and loneliness I felt.  When my little brother was born, I didn’t feel quite as lonely.  He was a light in my darkness.

I often think of my mother, as she was, as a “monster.”  I equate expressing anger with being a monster.  I do not like expressing anger.  I’ve always felt like it was unacceptable, because of how my mother made me feel--unloved, insignificant, afraid, useless.  I tend to ignore anger and bottle it up.  I actually have done this with most emotions over the years.  I’m just uncomfortable with emotions.  Even joy, once it reaches a certain point, makes me uncomfortable.

So here I am, almost 36-years-old, trying to learn how to healthily handle emotions.  Something a little ironic is that my mom was a social worker and had a degree in psychology.  You’d think things would’ve been different.  I don’t blame Mom for all my problems.  There’s another, smaller, part of my childhood that I don’t deal with well and was afraid to tell her about, which actually made things worse.  I also have bipolar disorder.  They aren’t too sure about the causes, so it could be related to the trauma I experienced, but I don’t blame Mom for that.

Anyway, I’ve cried while writing this and that felt good.  I’m trying to allow myself to experiences emotions.  Only by experiencing them, can I heal.  I’m just realizing how true that this is.  I wanted to share all of this anonymously, which is why I’ve written it down here.

[dwayners13]

Lainey Can’t be Manipulated by Greg, Because Lainey Has a Psychology Degree???. . . WTF

I’m not sure who told Lainey or Greg that having a B.A in psychology somehow makes you immune from being in a manipulative relationship, but here’s the truth. (Just to put this in context, one of my undergraduate degrees is in psychology, I work in the mental health field with adolescents & young adults).

1.) Lainey didn’t have a B.A when Greg started talking with them or dating them, in fact, (if I’m not mistaken) Lainey didn’t even have a high school diploma at that time. Seventeen year old Lainey was a HUGE fan of Onision & believed they were soulmates based off his videos & social media. That’s a relationship ripe with potential for manipulation.

2.) A psychology degree gives you an excellent foundation in psychology, with respect to: it’s history, terms, schools of thought (cognitive/behavioral, nature/nurture etc.,.) the basics of various sub specialties (developmental, clinical, industrial, forensic etc.,.), a basic understanding of how research is done (control & experimental groups, compound variables, sample population, standard deviations, t scores, methodology etc.,.) & it provides you with the knowledge/background to then pursue a masters in psychology if you want to . . . however, the idea that simply obtaining a B.A makes you immune from manipulation or would make it so you could avoid being manipulated in a relationship, (especially one you’re already in) just isn’t realistic. 

3.) While having a B.A in psychology can potentially give you a better understanding of human behavior in comparison with someone who doesn’t have any formal education in this area, the idea that you can’t be manipulated represents one of the common misconceptions some graduates have, in that they overestimate their competency, capabilities & qualifications. For example, Greg & Lainey seem to think that since Lainey has a B.A., Lainey would know if Greg had a mental health diagnoses/disorder, which as Lainey should know is absolutely ridiculous. Where I live/work, having a psychology degree alone doesn’t even qualify you to get a job as a counsellor, let alone give you the ability to ascertain if someone you know does or does not have a mental health disorder. A psychology degree barely scratches the surface when it comes to knowing the various DSM diagnosis’s, the criterion for making a diagnosis, the various &/or specific testing instruments used in connection with specific area of concern (ie., what test are used when an individual might be showing signs or potentially possesses characteristics associated with a particular disorder/diagnosis).

4.) Even if Lainey took a senior level course in ‘‘Identifying Manipulation Tactics Commonly Used in Romantic Relationships” (I just made that course up as an sarcastic example) & scored at the top of their class, when you are involved in a close, intimidate relationship with someone, you lose your objectivity & develop a subjective bias that significantly interferes & negatively affects your ability to see things from an objective standpoint which is CRUCIAL. You tend to overlook certain concerning or problematic behaviors, excuse, ignore &/or justify other indicators of manipulation, as you don’t want to A.) believe your partner would do that, B.) believe that you could be being manipulated & not even realize it (by someone you love no less)  & C.) want to believe you’ve spent all these years in a manipulative relationship & didn’t realize it.

5.) When Greg started talking about wanting Lainey to get a girlfriend, so ‘Lainey’ could explore ‘Lainey’s’ bisexuality, saying that he just wanted ‘Lainey’ to be happy, that he worked a lot & a woman could give ‘Lainey’ something he couldn’t, I think A LOT of people could see where this was going & what Greg’s ultimate agenda/goal might have been. If not, they probably saw it when Greg specifically encouraged Lainey to give a certain attractive 19 year old (Billie) a ‘second chance’, even though Lainey expressed concerns that he & Billie seemed to be doing most of the talking during the first visit, to which Greg assured Lainey there was nothing to worry about as he was just being ‘friendly’. We all know what happened on the very next visit, once Greg realized Lainey didn’t want to include him in exploring their bisexuality, he literally used what he called “MANIPULATIVE LANGUAGE”, in order to do the things he wanted to do when he was left alone with Billie. Things he knew Lainey would’ve said ‘no’ to if he had been honest about his intentions. Greg even acknowledged that he felt Lainey ‘owed’ him, with respect to a threesome. If you think Greg trying to have a threesome with Billie & Lainey just ‘happened’ with no advanced planning or forethought, I’m not sure what to tell you. Right after Lainey wouldn’t consent to the threesome & left, Greg immediately focused on Billie, even telling her he ‘loved’ her, despite the fact it was only the 2nd time he met her & he previously told Lainey they had nothing to worry about after the first visit. When someone admits to using a tactic that, they themselves call ‘‘manipulative language”, what additional proof of manipulation could you possibly want or need. 

A good & (I believe) fair definition of ‘manipulative language’ (especially the way Greg uses it) would be, “intentionally using broad & vague language, in order to conceal your true intentions, but which can later be justified as being connected to the behavior, although very loosely & not overtly obvious prior to the behavior occurring.

6.) Even after promising Lainey, he wouldn’t use “MANIPULATIVE LANGUAGE” ever again (in fact, it was in the infamous relationship contract Greg drew up), HE USED IT AGAIN. And just like the first time, it was  because he want to do something with Billie (have sex without Lainey) that Lainey had already said no to. It’s Ironic that Greg says Lainey is the ‘‘alpha” in their relationship with respect to what he can/can’t do sexually, considering he just uses manipulation tactics (i.e., manipulative language) to get around Lainey’s ‘alpha-ness’. 

It gets even worse, as even though 1.) it was Greg’s idea for he & Billie to have sex, 2.) he broke the contract by not being honest & instead using manipulative language 3.) Lainey suspected what Greg’s true intentions really were, but instead of addressing it with him, they went to Billie 4.) Greg was the one who approached Billie for sex 5.) Greg acknowledged that when Billie repeatedly brought up Lainey being mad & not wanting this, he repeatedly told Billie it was okay because he talked with Lainey . . . yet Greg & Lainey blamed Billie because SHE didn’t keep HER promise to Lainey.

It gets even better, in order to show Billie was sorry to ‘Lainey’ & committed to their relationship, Greg gave Billie a number of options she could pick in order to show that she was sorry to ‘Lainey’, one of the options was to be tied up in the basement for 3 days, something Greg characterized as ‘hot’ & called “50 shades of Greg” (as it would fit into his ‘dom’ fantasies quite nicely) . . . So he got to: 1.) break the relationship contract he made, 2.) have sex with Billie even though he wasn’t supposed to, 3.) got Lainey to blame Billie for not stoping him & best of all 4.) one of the ways he wanted Billie to show ‘Lainey’ she was sorry, was to have Billie grant GREG one of his ‘‘Fifty shades of Greg’ domination fantasies . . .again,  to prove she was sorry to Lainey. Does anyone not see the manipulation in that. He got want he wanted, was able to blame the other person & the punishment for the other person  . . . was to grant him one of his ‘dom’ fantasies. Gee, that’ll teach Greg never to use manipulative language ever again. And according to Lainey, at this point they didn’t want to continue having a relationship with Billie, so why was Greg trying to get Billie to do these things, if not for his own benefit..

I know this is just my opinion, but If this isn’t manipulation, I’m not sure what is.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Greg is some ‘master manipulator’. iIn fact, I don’t think that he’s very good at it (at all), as the only people Greg seems to be able to manipulate are some teenage fans & those JUST out of their teen years. This is why I think A LOT of many adults have a problem with Onision pursuing relationships with not just teenagers in general, but teenage fans who look up to him.

(Please excuse any errors in grammar, spelling, tense shifting etc.,. I have an LD & usually have someone edit my writing, however not when it comes to stuff like this. It would cost me a small fortune)

[probably-voldemort]

Would you mind telling us a bit about studying linguistics? Like what do you like most/least about it? What do kind of classes do you have? What jobs can you have after? I‘m just totally clueless about what to do after finishing school this year and trying to figure out what i could like... I‘m sorry to bother you, feel free to ignore if you don‘t know how to/ want to answer or take your time answering 🙈

Yeah for sure!

(below the line cause this got kinda long lol)

So at my uni you can get either a diploma in applied linguistics, a bachelor of arts in linguistics, or a bachelor of science in linguistics.  The courses you’d take for each different path are different, and I can only really speak for the bachelor of science, since that’s the one I’m doing.

So I needed basic first year science courses (a couple of bio, physics, math, maybe others I’m not 100% sure and I was a science major first year so like I definitely ended up with some sciency courses I don’t actually need for the degree) and then after that it’s basically a lot of linguistics and psychology courses.

From your ask, I’m guessing you’re graduating high school?  Sorry if that ends up not being accurate but that’s what I’m going with for this answer.

So if you think you could be interested in linguistics, I would definitely recommend taking a first year linguistics course as an elective before completely setting yourself up on the path.  First year is pretty basic stuff and pretty general (you learn about sentence structures and what the phonetic alphabet is and how to use it and all the other basics you’d need to know for future courses).  While I personally thought it was super interesting and ended up switching my major to it, there were definitely people in my class who were not into it at all and thought it was dumb.  So like basically what I’m saying is make sure you’re actually into the topic before setting yourself up to get a degree in it.

After that, classes on straight up linguistics are either in phonetics, phonology, morphology, or syntax.  Phonetics and phonology are speech sounds and how they work like physically and within a language and between languages and all that fun stuff.  Morphology is how words work and you learn about like affixes and compounding and that kind of thing.  Syntax is like sentence structure and that kind of thing and is the bane of my existence because it’s generally really prescriptive and that’s not my thing.

So you take a bunch of classes like that, and generally they’re pretty cool.  You can also take classes in like second language acquisition and child language acquisition and sociolinguistics (how language works pertaining to society) and pretty much any other area you can possibly think of.

Some linguistics degrees also make you take a second language to a certain level.  The applied and BA make you do that here but the BSc doesn’t.  I don’t know why.  I’ve taken a lot of ASL courses, though, and some Italian because like I like languages and think they’re cool.  As you can probably tell by the fact that I’m majoring in linguistics.

Also, linguistics is more focused on how languages work than actually learning languages yourself (first question you get asked every single time you say you’re a ling major: how many languages do you speak? like…no).  Like you can definitely take a lot of languages if you want to and that’ll just help you with being a linguist generally but like I have profs who only speak English and they’re still highly respected in the field.

And then for my degree there’s also a lot of psych courses.  As someone not super into psych, that’s tough, but like it is what it is and there are definitely psych courses I do enjoy and like learning the psychology behind speech and everything is important so like I’ll make it.

My least favourite thing about studying linguistics is the amount of research courses you have to do, at least at my uni.  I can 100% say that I do not want to go into research.  I have never wanted to go into research.  And yet every semester I have at least one course focused on either ling or psych research.  It’s rough.  But there are definitely a ton of research opportunities in linguistics since it’s still a relatively recent branch of science so like if you’re into research and enjoy linguistics this is definitely somewhere you can do that.

I also really don’t like syntax classes, as I already mentioned.  So in ling there’s like prescriptivism and descriptivism (both of which may be spelled wrong cause they’ve got a red underline here and I’m too lazy to look up the proper spelling but whatevs).  Prescriptivism is like there is a right way to use language and that is the only way language should be used, while descriptivism is like well no like language is made up and our rules are made up and like as long as I can understand you congrats you’re using language right (obviously this doesn’t apply to a language you don’t know but like within a language).  Me (and most linguists, as far as I can tell) are a lot closer to the descriptivist end.  Your grandma who gets upset when you don’t say something a certain way would be at the prescriptivist end.

Syntax from what I’ve seen is generally pretty prescriptivist, because it focuses more on writing (I think.  I only took like two pretty low level syntax courses because they were required and then was like nope we’re done here so like take all this with a grain of salt) and even though writing is made up there is a general stigma around it and there being a proper way to make your sentences and everything.  So yeah.  But I mean if that’s your thing don’t let me talk you out of doing syntax.

My favourite area would definitely be sociolinguistics in general.  It looks at how languages work with regards to society and like different accents and dialects and basically just from that you can see it’s super descriptivist.  Like no dialect or accent is inherently better than another.  It’s really cool.  I’ve taken classes on like language evolution and variation within communities and it’s honestly just a cool time.  Definitely recommend looking into that.

I also really liked my courses on child language acquisition.  Kids are just super cool and we got to watch a lot of videos of babies learning to talk and it was a super fun time.

So jobs.  I’m gonna link you to this list which I haven’t read through entirely but just looked up for you.

You can go into speech language pathology or audiology.  SLPs work with kids who are having trouble learning to speak properly (if you got speech therapy as a kid you saw an SLP).  They also work with adults who have had a stroke or a brain injury or some other aspect that’s made it so they need help with their speech.  There are definitely other areas, too, but if I get into a masters program I’d want to work with kids so like I don’t really know the other areas.  Oh yeah, this is an area I’m thinking of going into.

Audiologists work on the hearing end of things.  If you need a hearing aid or a cochlear implant or anything like that, this is where you’d go.  I don’t know too much about audiology, but what I’ve heard is pretty cool.

Other areas: teaching your native language as a second language (I’ve got a friend who’s family is from Korea and her plan is to move there after and teach English classes), alternative and augmentative communications (ie working to develop software or non-electronic things for people to use when they can’t use speech), AI developers (if you want your robot to talk, better hire a linguist to help you out), interpreters and translators, you can work in like movies or tv helping coach people on their accents if that’s your thing (personally I think this is super cool but like I have no idea how to get into it), or developing fake languages (like in Lord of the Rings or Arrival.  You need to understand how languages work in order for your made up one to be believable), you can work in publishing, and, like I already mentioned, there are a lot of research opportunities if research is your thing.

There’s a lot of types of jobs with a linguistic degree.  A lot of them also require a masters, though, so like you might be in for a lot of schooling there.

Personally, I’ve been thinking of applying for the SLP masters programs.  Not 100% set on that as a career.  I also think working in publishing would be cool (especially as someone who is also a writer lol) and like I said being an accent coach for tv and movies would be super cool but I have zero idea how you’d go about doing that.

Yeah!  Definitely hit me up again if you want more info.  Hopefully this was helpful, and I wish you the best of luck in figuring out what you want to do!!

[songficsbyrissi]

The Fix (T’Challa x Black Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, smut

“And when that pressure's building

I got what you need, come fuck with me

And when you get that feeling

I got sexual healing” - Nelly feat. Jeremih

A/N: If you haven’t heard this song, get your life lol and go watch the music video which inspired the plot. And this smut is probably trash but points for effort, right? So in the words of Chris Breezy, LEGGO!

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

“Come on, girl! This will be good for you!” Your friend Ari urged on the phone and you scoffed in response as you scrolled through Netflix. “Don’t be like that, hoe!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed out of frustration. “Bitch, for the last motherfucking time, I don’t need fucking therapy. And besides, we are fucking black. Jesus and food is our therapy.”

Ari sucked her teeth on the other line. “Mhm well Jesus says you need some damn therapy. And the food agrees by the same way it be going to your thighs and ass.”

You put down the buffalo wing you were about to bite into and looked down at your thighs.

“Bitch, thick thighs are in!”

She groaned as a reply. “Seriously, girl, I’m worried about you. That bum ass nigga Aaron you call a boyfriend got you all types of fucked up with this stupid “break” he proposed. You’ve been only studying, working, eating, and sleeping. You refuse to go out with us. The only time you go out is to your classes. You’re alone a lot. Look, I’m not trying to find your dead body one of these days because I’ll Lorena Bobbitt that nigga and I’ll end up grieving your death in prison. Do you want that for me? Do you want that for your friend?”

You blinked repeatedly and squinted your eyes in annoyance. “Bitch, you are so dramatic and annoying.”

Ari perked up. “So that’s a yes. Aight so I’m telling Professor Udaku you’re stopping by his office in a hour for a session.”

“Professor Udaku? Isn’t he your psychology professor?” You questioned biting into your buffalo wing you abandoned when the slut on the other line insulted you.

“Yes, but he’s a licensed therapist. He does therapy sessions part time. So shut up, drop the damn buffalo wing, and get dressed. He��s waiting.”

You stared at your phone, the wing in your hand, and then back at your phone. “Alright, hoe. Are you watching me?”

Ari let a snicker and you knew she was smirking. “No, bitch. I just know your ass. Byeeeeee.”

You got dressed and after a good amount of time, you finally found the Moakley building where the famous Professor Udaku had his office. You cringed remembering how you reluctantly asked a group of girls how to get there and they mistaken you for a freshman. It’s your third fucking year at this school, you just weren’t used to coming on this side of campus. Their faces brightened up once they heard his name.

“Of course we know where his office is! He’s like the hottest professor and he’s so smart too! His therapy sessions are the best. Everyone calls him “The Fixer!” They gushed.

Yeah aight. Olivia Pope headass. We’ll fucking see.

You groaned loudly. You really had no business on this fucking side of campus but you are gonna suck it up and attend this one session so Ari can shut the fuck up. You finally found the wooden door that read “Professor T’Challa Udaku.” Mhmm, He’s African. You wonder which part but you didn’t come here to be his friend. You took a deep breath and knocked softly.

The door swung open revealing a 6 foot tall, muscular, man with smooth chocolate skin and black curls on top of his head. He had donned on a black hoodie, black jeans, and black Timbs. You looked up to his face seeing his coffee colored eyes looking back at you curiously. He looked young as fuck and sexy as fuck. Must be a TA or something.

You glanced behind you and put your attention back on him. “Oh I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be meeting with Professor Udaku. I can come bac-“

Handsome stranger cut you off. “I am Professor Udaku and You must be Y/N. It is my greatest pleasure to meet with you.”

You stood there dumbfounded and you’re pretty sure if you were a white girl, you would be blushing hard out of embarrassment. He stepped aside to allow you to walk in and You put your head down to hide your face.

“I’m so sorry. You just look so young. I’m such a dickhead.”

“No worries. I’m not too much older than you anyway so I can see why you thought that. And please. Call me T’Challa.” He spoke in the richest, smoothest accent you’ve ever heard. It sparked something in you that you haven’t felt since Aaron ghosted you. “Please have a seat. Ari has told me much about you.”

You place yourself into the leather armchair as T’Challa sat in an swivel chair across from you. The only thing between you guys was his dark oak desk. You looked up at the wall behind where you see a diploma that reads his name and says he graduated from University of Wakanda. You’ve never heard of that but didn’t care enough to ask. You looked back at him staring you and you get even more nervous crossing your arms. Suddenly you remember what he last said.

“Oh yeah. Of course she did. She got a big mouth. Listen, long story short, I’m on this break from my boyfriend and just because I’m not having much of a social life, she’s worried I’m depressed.” You paused and when he had raised one of his thick eyebrows, you continued narrowing your eyes. “But I’m not. I’m fine. So can you tell her that so she can hop off my clit?”

T’Challa chuckled when you finished and you’re not usually attracted to gaps but he had the most gorgeous smile. You ignored the throbbing down low and huffed looking down.

“Ari mentioned you were very....belligerent at times, and I see that this “break” from your boyfriend is making you tense. I’m examining your body language, I see that you’re nervous.” He stood and moved in front of you leaning back on his desk. “What’s making you so tense and nervous, Y/N?”

You crossed your legs fuming. It was pissing you off how you were so attracted to this man you just met and you had a whole boyfriend. Your eyes found his crotch and you couldn’t help but wonder how big is his- Snap out of it!

“I’m not nervous.” You finally let out.

“Y/N, you’ve barely made eye contact with me since you got here.” T’Challa came a little bit closer. “Do I make you nervous, Y/N?”

Oooh yes say my name again. You mentally slapped yourself. Bitch, what’s wrong with you? Pull it together.

“I take it that you haven’t been intimate for a long time now which is making you tense and belligerent and you’re nervous because you’re attracted to me. Am I correct?”

Did this motherfucker just tell you that you’re dick deprived in technical terms? That you are depressed due to lack of dick? Dickpressed? And saying you’re attracted to him? It’s true but fuck. He ain’t supposed to know that.

You let out a nervous laugh but tried to disguise it. “You’re crazy. I’m not attracted to you. I have a man, sir.”

“Indeed, you have a man but you also have needs and your man is not fulfilling those needs. Lack of intimacy can drive one crazy. Simple psychology.” T’Challa stated simply looking smug. “If it makes you feel any better, I find you attractive too.”

You felt your skin burning under his eyes and gritted your teeth. “For the last time, you’re wrong.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Then why are your eyes on my genitalia?”

SHIT.

You shook your head vigorously. “Ok! So what do you want me to do? Mhmm Doctor? Since you got your degrees and you know every fucking thing, what do you suggest? You gonna write me a prescription for dick?!”

T’Challa pulled the armchair you are sitting towards him causing you two to be face to face with his lips dangerously close to yours.

“I was gonna say I could....fix your problem. That is....if you let me.” his lips brushed against your nose and went down to your jawline. “All you gotta do is say yes.”

At this moment, you felt like R. Kelly. Not pissing on niggas R. Kelly but Bump and Grind R. Kelly. Your mind is telling you no but your body is telling you fuck yes.

“I’m.....I’m not a cheater....I can’t cheat on my boyfriend.” You breathed as his lips found that spot on that neck that always made you weak. That’s your fucking spot!

“Ahh, but entle, he is cheating you by leaving his woman deprived of intimacy. Allow me to fix the issue he created.”

You let out sharp breaths of arousal as he began to give open mouth kisses to your spot. Your hands find the curls on his head and you find yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to your core.

“Fuck......yes! Yes! Give it to me! I need it!” You find yourself saying the words before you can even catch yourself. He took your words as an invitation to lift your body off the chair, turn around and sit you on the desk. T’Challa planted his lips on yours and slipped his warm tongue inside. You returned the kiss and he softly bit down your bottom lip. Your hands traveled inside his hoodie feeling up on his abs. He ceased your makeout session to completely remove his hoodie, revealing his perfectly sculpted chest. He tossed it to the side, letting out a slight chuckle.

“Is this much better for you, entle?” T’Challa’s cheekbones became more visible as his gorgeous face formed a closed mouth smile. He was so fine. Too fucking fine. Why didn’t you believe those thirsty bitches that told you? You tilted your head to the side biting your lip and inspecting this work of art in front of you. You don’t know where it came from but you had sudden force of confidence as you removed your grey crewneck showing your breasts in a red push-up bra.

“Stop asking questions and show me why they call you “The Fixer” the words flowed out of your mouth seductively. Once again, in the back of your head, you wondered “what the hell has gotten into you?” All this boldness and confidence was never you and the fact that you’re about to fuck a college professor baffles you but you’re too deep in lust to back out. You needed something inside you that wasn’t your fingers or your vibrator.

His lips took possession of yours once again and this makeout was more steamy and rough and you loved it. He grabbed your chin and looked deep into your eyes.

“You have a slick mouth. Maybe I should put that to use.” T’Challa stepped back a little and looked you over. “Remove all your clothes now. Don’t waste any time and do as I say.”

You breathed pulling the string of your matching sweats, moving them off your legs along with your short patterned slipper boots. He was watching intensely as you stripped and you felt more aroused and sexier under his smoldering stare. Like a vixen. Sadly, Aaron never made you feel this way. You removed your bra and went to take off your panties when you noticed T’Challa’s jeans around his ankles and his hands wrapped some abnormally large limb. Your eyes widened. Aww fuck. That’s his dick. That nigga is packing a whole sausage and you had the nerve to be bold before. He stroked his shaft slightly looking at your stunned expression.

“What’s wrong, entle?” You hear humor in his tone. He knows he got a third leg.

You cleared your throat. “Uh, nothing. What does “entle” mean?” You questioned as T’Challa discarded his jeans and shoes. He walked back up to you planting kisses on your collarbone and down your breast as his hand caressed the other one.

“It means beautiful. Which is what you are. Now lay back for me and open your legs as wide as you can.”

Shitttttt he ain’t gotta tell you twice. You nodded and obeyed his command. T’Challa continued planting his kisses down your torso and reached your pussy a little bit of hair due to you shaving last week. Even though you haven’t gotten any in a long time, your older sister always told you to “always have your pussy in edible condition.” Her nasty advice actually came through for you.

His lengthy fingers played with your other set of lips causing you to moan breathlessly. You felt his digits push their way inside you thrusting. He began eating you as his fingers picked up the pace. You groaned grasping your breasts throwing your head back.

“Fuckkkkkk! Shit!” Your hand found his hand giving it a push but he slapped it away looking up at you with piercing eyes. You whined at the absence of his touch.

“Allow me to devour you. You’re so delicious , entle. Do not interrupt me.” He grabbed you by you by your smooth thighs and pulled you down. You didn’t realize that you ran from him until he did that.

“And you are not cumming until I tell you to. Understood?”

You nodded vigorously. “Understood. Please fuck me.”

T’Challa grinned shoving his beautiful back between your thighs. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure and your legs shook as you caressed his head. It encouraged him to slurp you even more. Your orgasm came on and you tried not to scream remembering you were in a college building where students and professors could hear you. When you were close to cumming, T’Challa ceased the activity standing up and placed a condom on his dick. Shit, you heard it from that Katt Williams stand up but didn’t think it would ever happen to you. This nigga ate your pussy so good you forgot dick was coming right after. He bit his bottom lip as he opened your legs wider and aligned himself at your entrance.

“Fuckkkkk he brought dick too.”

T’Challa looked at you confused and amused. “What did you say?”

You groaned leaning your head back and squeezing your eyes closed. “Nothing. Just fuck my cervix up.” You muttered.

“You talk too much but I like a verbal woman.” T’Challa slowly entered you and your mouth formed an O as you took every inch of him. You knew it’s been a while since you had dick but you gonna take this like a champ. He slowly moved inside you so you can get used to his size. You moaned loudly feeling yourself about to combust.

“Are you alright?” T’Challa questioned keeping his agonizingly slow pace.

“Yes.” You breathed biting your bottom lip.

“Good.” He pushed your legs back further and started pounding your shit intensely. You began yelling curse words and calling for God when your hands found your mouth stifling your screams. He went deeper as if you wanted someone to hear y’all. The sounds of slapping skin, stifled screaming, and T’Challa’s grunts of pleasure. Your second orgasm came on and you bucked from underneath him.

“CHALLA!” You yelled out releasing yourself all over him. Once you ran empty, you breathed heavily wiping your forehead. You peeked up seeing T’Challa’s dick still hard.

“Are you ok with another orgasm, entle?” T’Challa asked helping you up and kissing your lips and jawline. You nodded saying yes. You needed a third orgasm.

“Then turn over, lay flat on my desk, and open your legs wide.”

“But I wanna taste you.” You pouted getting off the desk. He smiled touching your lips and kissing you again.

“Not this session, ngelosi. Maybe next time. Now do as I say. I didn’t forget you disobeying my order by not cumming on command.”

You obeyed his command spreading as wide as you can. You braced yourself knowing he intended to fuck your shit up as punishment. T’Challa slapped both of your ass cheeks and entered you from behind going the fast pace he did before. You leaned up your elbows slowly as he stroked roughly daring you to cum once again. You began to throw it back which drove T’Challa crazy because he started cursing and groaning in response.

“Bast! You feel so fucking good around me, gorgeous.” His right hand found your neck and the left held your ass as he pumped even faster. You shrieked in ecstasy gripping his desk as he continued breaking your back. You let yourself cum again. His strokes slowed down and his loud groan filled the room as he came into the condom. T’Challa pulled out of you and sat back in the leather chair across from his desk. You steadied your breathing as he got up and threw the filled condom in his trash can.

“Did “The Fixer” live up to your expectations?” T’Challa inquires smugly dressing himself as you managed to get yourself dressed even though you were worn the fuck out.

You looked away from him shyly as you grabbed your crewneck and pulled it over your head. You walked very slowly towards to the door and sighed stopping midway glancing in the professor’s direction.

“Yes. You fixed my...problem.” You attempted to hiding your grin that forcing itself on your face.

T’Challa came up to you grabbing your hand and placing a small white card in your hand.

“When you need that fix again, you know who to call.” He winked giving your hand a tender kiss.

You nervously made your way out of his office and shut the door behind you. You walked down the hall a few steps and looked down at the card that read his full name and cellphone number. You peeped back over at his door and bit your lip.

Maybe you’ll need that fix again soon.